Told in the Twilight

TOLD IN THE TWILIGHT

TOLD
IN THE
TWILIGHT

by F. E. Weatherly

Illustrated by
M. Ellen Edwards
&
John C. Staples

NEW YORK
E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY
39, WEST TWENTY THIRD STREET.

TWILIGHT LAND.

The day is done, the day is done,

And all the troubles of the day!

The long last crimson of the sun

Is melting into silver gray.

The old world slowly fades from view,

Within another world we stand,

And all is strange and all is new,

For this, for this is Twilight-land.

THE TWILIGHT HOUR.

Children, who read these little rhymes,

Out of the Twilight-land sent clear,

There’s many a one in these hurrying times,

Has not the time, like you, to hear.

But, children, this is your hour indeed;

And this is its beauty, this its power,

That all you love and that all you need

Comes to your hearts in the twilight hour.

This is the hour when dreams come true,

And life has never a tear or care,

When those you have lost come back to you,

And all your castles are strong and fair.

Then, children, who read, and I who write,—

Shall we not pray with all our power,

That whatever we lose of the world’s delight,

We lose not the peace of the twilight hour?

CONTENTS.

BELL’S DREAM.

It was the little Isabel,

Upon the sand she lay,

The summer sun struck hotly down,

And she was tired of play,

And down she sank into the sea,

Though how, she could not say.—

She stood within a dreadful court,

Beneath the rolling tide,

There sate a sturgeon as a judge,

Two lobsters at her side;

She had a sort of vague idea

That she was being tried.

And then the jurymen came in,

And, as the clock struck ten,

Rose Sergeant Shark and hitched his gown,

And trifled with a pen,

“Ahem—may’t please your Lordship,

And gentle jurymen!

“The counts against the prisoner

Before you, are that she

Has eaten salmon once at least,

And soles most constantly,

Likewise devoured one hundred shrimps

At Margate with her tea.”

“Call witnesses!”—An oyster rose,

He spoke in plaintive tone,

“Last week her mother bought a fish,”

(He scarce could check a moan,)—

“He was a dear dear friend of mine,

His weight was half a stone!”

“No oysters, ma’am?” the fishman said,

“No, not to-day!” said she;

“My child is fond of salmon, but

Oysters do not agree!”

The fishman wiped a salt salt tear,

And murmured “Certainly!”

“Ahem—but,” interposed the judge,

“How do you know,” said he,

“That she did really eat the fish?”

“My Lud, it so must be,

Because the oysters, I submit,

With her did not agree!”

“Besides, besides,” the oyster cried

Half in an injured way,

“The oysters in that fishman’s shop

My relatives were they:

They heard it all, they wrote to me,

The letter came to-day!”

“’Tis only hearsay evidence,”

The judge remarked, and smiled,

“But it will do in such a case,

With such a murd’rous child.—

Call the next witness!” for he saw

The jury getting wild.

And then uprose a little shrimp:

“I am the last,” said he,

“Of what was once, as you all know,

A happy familee!

Without a care we leapt and danced

All in the merry sea!”

“Alack! the cruel fisherman,

He caught them all but me;

The pris’ner clapped her hands and yelled—

I heard her—‘Shrimps for tea!’

And then went home and ate them all

As fast as fast could be.”

The foreman of the jury rose,

(All hope for Bel has fled,)

“There is no further need, my Lord,

Of witnesses,” he said;

“The verdict of us one and all

Is Guilty on each head!”

“Guilty,” his Lordship said, and sighed,

“A verdict sad but true:

To pass the sentence of the court

Is all I have to do;

It is, that as you’ve fed on us,

Why, we must feed on you!”

She tried to speak; she could not speak;

She tried to run, but no!

The lobsters seized and hurried her

Off to the cells below,

And each pulled out a carving knife,

And waved it to and fro.

* * * *

But hark! there comes a voice she knows,

And some one takes her hand;

She finds herself at home again

Upon the yellow sand;

But how she got there safe and sound,

She cannot understand.

And many a morning afterwards,

Whene’er she sees the tide,

She still retains that vague idea

That she is being tried,

And seems to see the sturgeon judge

And the lobsters at her side.

LONDON RIVER.

All day long in the scorching weather,

All day long in the winter gloom,

Brother and sister stand together,

She with her flowers and he with his broom.

And the folks go on over London river,

Poor and wealthy, busy and wise,

Will nobody see those white lips quiver?

Will nobody stop for those pleading eyes?

The old bridge echoes the ceaseless thunder

Of crowds that gather and stream along,

And the stranger child shrinks back in wonder,

She cannot sing in that hurrying throng.

She thinks of her home across the ocean,

With its deep blue sky and its vineyards green;

But who will heed, in that wild commotion,

The pitiful sound of her tambourine?

Flow! flow! O London river,

Carry thy ships from the mighty town,

Smiles and tears in thy heart for ever,

Smiles and tears as thou hurriest down!

THE ABBEY SWALLOWS.

The year was late, the days were cold,

The swallows long had gone,

Two only by the Abbey door

Still doubting lingered on.

They hovered, wheeling round and round,

Beside the porch in fear,

And as they lighted on the ground

A little child drew near.

Close to her feet the swallows came,

And twittered gay and glad,

She broke her little crust for them—

It was the last she had.

Then blithe and gay they flew away,

She to her corner crept;

There was no one now in the world to care

Whether she smiled or wept.

With summer back the swallows came,

Flew to the Abbey door,

But no one stood to watch for them,

The child was there no more.

She had gone away on the angels’ wings,

No more in the world to roam,

For the love that she gave those helpless things,

She has found in her Heavenly Home.

THE MISGUIDED LAMB.

There were two little girls who had

A fond devoted Mammy,

But spent their warm affections on

A most ungrateful lamb-y,

For spite of all the care of Ruth,

And all the love of Mary,

This lamb was a misguided youth,

Most crooked and contràry.

On Sunday, when they went to church,

And wished to be without him,

He used to wander up the aisle,

And stop and stare about him.

And when the parson and the clerk

Looked stern at Ruth and Mary,

They wished they did not own a lamb

So crooked and contràry.

He used to bleat most piteously

When they came up the mountain,

As if to say “I am so dry,

I’d like to drink the fountain!”

But when they drew a pail for him,

(You really scarce might think it,)

He wagged his tail and winked his eye,

And simply wouldn’t drink it.

It chanced one day they went to pay

Their morning salutation,

But though they called, he never came,

Much to their consternation.

They sought him high, they sought him low,

But no! they could not find him,

They said “He will, he must come back,

And bring his tail behind him.”

They sought him up the windy cliff,

And down the ferny hollow,

And still they said “He can’t be lost!”

And still their feet did follow.

Alas! they found him dead at last—

Alas! for Ruth and Mary:

But then, you see, he always was

So crooked and contràry.

MINNIE’S CALCULATIONS.

Said Minnie with pride,

As she counted her chicks,

“When they’re grown a bit bigger,

I’ll sell all the six.

And as each ought to fetch

At the least half a crown,

I can quite well afford me

A new Sunday gown.”

Alas for our castles!

How soon they all slip!

The cat ate one chicken,

And one got the pip;

And while mourning their brother

And sister, the four

Were crushed by the carter-boy

Slamming the door.

Don’t reckon your chickens

Before they are hatched,

Is a proverb some fancy

Can never be matched.

But I think that this other

Deserves to be told:—

Don’t count on their value

Until they are sold.