R. B. Garnett.

The TWENTIETH
CENTURY
EPIC

By R. B. Garnett

THE ROXBURGH PUBLISHING CO., INC.
Boston

Copyrighted 1914
By REUBEN BRODIE GARNETT
All Rights Reserved

Dedication

To the human race this little book is dedicated, with the hope that it may bring some cheer, and also teach you a few things that may lessen your burdens. The subjects that I have put into rhyme are presented as they come to me from my life of experience.

My criticisms may appear too severe, but remember that only your truest friends are allowed to tell you of your faults.

REUBEN BRODIE GARNETT.

The TWENTIETH
CENTURY EPIC

Preface

By the Author.

This poem that I have dignified with the term epic, was written by inspiration, and is dedicated to the human race. I have used the term epic with no intention of assuming a dignity not due my production; but, in the sense that the precepts and warnings contained therein, have a lofty purpose; and are graphically set forth in the plainest words in the English language.

I have not indulged in similes or hyperboles; nor does my epic abound with those picturesque figures of comparison found in Homer or Virgil, nor those cadences and swells found in The Paradise Lost, describing the headlong falls and gigantic flights of those god-like personages peopling the heavens and earth in the poetic mind; nor does my inspiration come from muse or divine breath; nor did it descend upon me from above; on the contrary, it sprang up out of the deep feeling I have for my kind, especially those in the strained walks of life.

Our twentieth century shows society in the process of centralizing itself; and, gradually forcing us into legal socialism. This is plainly shown in the poem. The process of centralization, for years, worked slowly in this country. As long as the influence of the founders of our Republic was potent, liberty was dominant.

The first step in this process was the inauguration of a general system of free public schools. The direct result of this free education was to overcrowd the book and head portion of our population at the expense of the producing classes, making it harder for the clerk to make a bare living. The idea of every parent now seems to be that his or her offspring is especially adapted to the learned professions and to society.

This was also the first step towards the diversion of public funds to private enterprise. The appropriation of public moneys to the extensive and widening fields of private affairs has progressed rapidly in the last decade. This, with its evils, is vividly set forth in my poem. Unless this is checked by united, immediate action, socialism will increase more rapidly in the future than in the past, is my prophecy. This results from the fact that the tax-eaters are the ones who manipulate our bond elections.

The result is plain, and can be predicted with certainty; the end of socialism will be the extreme opposite and, that you all know is anarchy. When everything is so striking that nothing strikes, or in other words, when there are more laws than we can possibly tolerate, we’ll naturally rebel and kick them all over; all, as shown in this epic. The last transition will likely be accomplished by bloodshed and strife.

The laws for the management of society in a state of complete legal socialism will be so numerous and complicated; and the bureaus so haughty and domineering that freemen will not try to learn them, much less obey them. In fact, no one can now keep pace with the rapid production of laws under our incipient socialism. The fight I make is to break off now and go back to fundamentals, as shown in my poem.

As against socialism or anarchy I deliberately prefer the latter; but, as against both of them I prefer a government of limited powers, based exclusively on natural laws that I have so forcibly defined in this work; with a complete abandonment of the barbarous idea of punishment for crimes by criminal courts; the man who commits a crime is to be pitied and helped to a more sane mode of existence, and not be driven into perpetual criminality. As to how he shall be handled can be better settled when we clear ourselves of our false notions on the subject.

Our legal servants, we call officers, are now deteriorating with great rapidity, as set forth in this poem under “Names.” My remedy for that is to cut down the salaries of all officers from President down, so low that no one will seek office for money. Then have the laws such that men will be selected and compelled to serve, by public sentiment, for short terms and take out part of their pay in patriotism and good will.

My observation, over a number of years, shows that the higher the salary, the more inefficient the officer. High salaries also give birth to gangs of politicians who fatten off the public funds and salaries of their appointees, making graft semi-respectable.

Honesty in public and private life seems to me to be very desirable; and, it could be so easily attained, as set forth in my epic. Of course, under our prevailing system, honesty is out of the question; and if any of you think that I have not convicted you of dishonesty, as defined under that topic, please send me your photograph to be used herein.

In writing this poem I have no malice in my heart for a single human being on earth; and, if in any way I have touched upon any of your pet notions or sacred ideas, and thereby wounded your feelings, I sincerely ask your forgiveness; with me all truth is sacred. I have no ill-will against preachers, lawyers, or doctors; I wrote you up to make you think, and also to let you know you were not fooling me.

In conclusion, I say to you one and all, as brothers and fellow citizens, let’s work together to save the greatest country and the greatest civilization on earth.

Let truth together bind us,

And supporting it find us.

REUBEN BRODIE GARNETT.

June 29, 1913.

Proem

I never shall appeal to any muse of old

To give inspiration to my story when it’s told,

But, in words all my own, shall my theme unfold;

And, for my love of man, I’ll tell you what I can;

Tell you what I know that you may truly scan

What to do and what to know for the good of man;

Tell you where to go, the places you should shun

On every working day, when your labor’s done.

In telling where to go I will not name the place

Where you should show your face, but let each run his race

And, for himself decide the spot to cast his lot.

I’ll point out mistakes to help put on brakes

Against the evils of our day one often makes.

From the Charlatan and all designing wise

Strip his robe of guise and expose him to your eyes.

The fawning sycophant and all his crafty kind

Will be painted so they’ll not be hard to find.

I’ll speak of laws and customs old with hoary age

Taught by rulers, priests, and many an ancient sage

That now are practically extinct with non-usage;

And regulations new that men had little to do

With bribes sometimes when they put them through

Legislative halls and Congress we’d now eschew.

I’ll speak to you about your manners

When you sometimes march with banners;

And even with hosannas sitting meekly in your pew

Revolving schemes against others you intend to do.

The roving politicians all seeking fat positions

To feed their hungry maws and all their kin-in-laws

Come in for their share when we divide the flaws.

Even the society genteel in their swift automobile

Had better beware their piccadillos to conceal.

Religions of every shade by ancients and moderns made

To subdue the gentle folk with all that they have said

This subject will meet its due before I’m through,

As I started out for things about that need review.

Theatres too, with music, painting and art,

Might all feel slighted not to have their part

In the criticism we bring as they my song may sing;

And the pictures my word recalls may be carved on walls

In the coming days as was done with other poet’s lays.

Developments in science where we place reliance

To alleviate the misdirection of our state

Should all be alluded to in the story we relate.

Wars, with all their frightful havoc spread

Where victorious and routed passed over dying and dead,

And peace too that came at last

That o’er the earth its healing blessings amassed

Should have a place when in plates my work is cast;

Also ethics, that practical theme so misunderstood,

Should here be elucidated for the general good;

And a few short digressions would not be out of place

In an Epic dedicated to and written for The Human Race.

But what is said under each head you may read,

So to my task the work shall proceed.

Admonition

Take from your statute laws and books

All legal protection for thieves and crooks;

Your complicated bills of mechanics’ liens

That offer to rogues the ample means

The owners of houses with their demesnes

To make go down humbly into their jeans

For the jingly coin doubly to pay

The working man, and padded expenses defray.

Your unjust schemes of municipal taxation

That cause home owners such great vexation.

Your tax upon mortgages, bills and notes

Upon which the poor man’s title barely floats,

Causing him to pay levies upon his lands

As if they were clear like the rich man’s;

By increasing for him his interest and dues

Which the money sharks collect as they choose.

Your laws against usury one may take

Tend solely the poor man’s back to break.

You drive away the cheap money he might get,

And leave him at the mercy of that lawless set

Who fatten upon unfortunates suddenly thrown in debt.

Nearly all your laws for the collection of dues

Into our commercial life dishonesty infuse.

Your regulations of homestead, exemption and stay

Simply postpone our troubles to another day.

By intricate trials with their writs and pleas;

And copious objections about titles and fees,

Remainders absolute, contingent and entailed,

Upon technicalities numberless justice is impaled;

Your instructions, your errors and appeals,

Until the waiting, anxious litigant feels

That the door of the temple of justice is locked;

And his chance of right is securely blocked.

Your free legal aid and your festive welfare board,

Their matrons and clerks, a mighty hungry hoard,

Impose upon the payers of taxes a weighty load;

All for the purpose of sending over the road

Some unfortunate victim of their own slimy graft

Or some poor devil whom they kick “fore and aft.”

Your Juvenile court of which the kids make sport,

Where curtailed haired women and men hold the fort.

And such institutions the wits of man can devise

Are considered by Progressives as blessings in disguise.

Your tariffs for protection passed in Congress halls

To build all around us mighty Chinese walls,

Are sapping from the people their dear blood of life,

And making for politicians no end of deadly strife.

Your proctor with his aids to fight against divorce;

Who by his pugnacity is seeking to enforce

Unfortunate couples bound in unhappy wedded lock

To parade their troubles upon the public dock;

And to bind the chains anew they seek to dissever,

Holding them fast that he may be deemed clever,

In the estimation of all the Christian Endeavor;

And that class of persons who want now and forever

To meddle in the affairs of all whomsoever

Are not able to disclaim the care they obtain;

Who crowd upon the weak the blessings they do not seek;

All to achieve for themselves a home in the sky

When from their missions on earth they fly.

The Commissioners of Vice are pulling for a slice

Of fame as it goes by investigating those

Who employ many girls simply to keep them in hose

And such other fancy articles that they suppose

Will always make them shine when they go out to dine,

As a girl dressed up haply feels fine.

And now here comes Teddy with his big stick and hat

For damages to his soiled name in legal spat,

With a small newspaper man suing for a big chunk

Because he published that T. R. had been drunk.

To tell the names of men who are shams in our times

Would overload my epic with variegated rhymes:

The one named above is more than a man;

He stands for ideas, a party and a clan

Born of disappointment and just turned loose

Sailing under the banner of the Big Bull Moose.

This clique of theirs all swelling up to burst

Decry all our institutions to be the very worst.

They’d have our laws, judges and courts recalled,

And others to suit them forthwith installed.

They’d regulate the wages men have to pay,

Neglecting to tell the laborer he might be in the way

Unless his work he did should his employers pay;

For unless his production his pay did compensate

He and others would soon be off the slate.

They told us too in tones as loud as they could prate

How all the monied men and trusts they’d regulate,

Carefully hiding the man who was running their slate,

And supplying the funds for them to navigate.

The working man too his dinner pail they’d fill

Forgetting also to tell him to send in his bill.

They’d secure to all the women free right to vote,

So they could say to hubby: “We’ve got your goat.”

And volumes of such ideas upon us did they float

All too numerous in this article to quote.

Drop your silly custom not worn off by growth

That judicial bodies must put a witness to oath,

That all he says and all that he shall quote

Will be the truth and nothing but the truth,

About the matters he relates in his witness booth.

The reasons for this habit have long passed forsooth,

It deceives none on bench or in jury box;

It may occasionally aid some old, designing fox

To some youthful, verdant judge deceive

And, of some just debt himself relieve.

On the whole, it does more harm than good

As at present the thing is generally understood:

For in a contested suit with one who knows

Against a trembly one who partially shows

Some lingering faith in “Old Scare Crows,”

The inclination to lie and deceive in the one

Would surely be by the other simply outdone:

The one might be bound by the fears of hell

While the other swears away his lies to tell.

When the witness swears he’s perjured unawares,

For by his plight he must the whole truth reveal

By the rule he must more than half conceal.

Stop your fight for prohibition and do the fair thing;

Our people to temperance themselves will shortly bring.

Take taxes off whisky, wine, liquor and beer;

And, for the cause of temperance you needn’t have a fear.

Let all your marts and markets freely sell

Every kind of liquor they ever heard tell;

Let every one the stuff make from gulf to lake;

Make the price so cheap that with one leap,

Men will forsake the common thing to keep.

At one cent a drink the bar keeper will think

His saloon will sink and soon put him on the brink

Of finding some other way all his expenses to pay;

So out soon he goes not stopping his doors to close.

There still will be drinking and that keeps you thinking,

That by compulsion you can create a revulsion

In the taste of man heap sooner than you can.

The truth is, you’ve always tried in vain

All these cultivated tastes of man to restrain.

The more you try to force men good habits to acquire,

The more you stir up and increase his raging desire,

To show his freedom against which you conspire.

He’ll go to any extent which you’ll never prevent,

To get his booze on which his mind is bent;

He’ll keep his “blind tigers” and his wooden legs,

Hollowed out and neatly made with faucet of pegs,

His whisky he’ll conceal and feel he’s in the right;

So you’ll not stop him no matter how you fight.

The drunkard will drink no matter what you think,

At any cost no matter if you consider him lost.

Make the price so cheap that for his family’s keep,

He’ll still be ahead to buy his folks their bread.

A Digression

I used to tell my friends what I was going to do,

And right away they’d say, “I wouldn’t if I were you.”

I know of once or twice by taking their advice,

A good deal I lost at a distressing cost.

Take my advice; choose your own course to pursue,

And, when you get your plan, just put it through,

And then tell no other man what you’ve been up to.

Then if you succeed you will never need,

Anybody else to claim part of your deed.

Even if you fail, don’t furl up your sail

Nor put your head under the bottom rail,

But try once more just the same as before.

Dorothy

Dorothy

Listen to this story about a little girl,

Who came into the world a short time ago.

I remember the day, only a few months or so;

It was in the month of March over a year;

When all trembling with hope and fear,

We did for her watch—all sincere.

At night she came, and without any name,

Because we did not know what her sex would be;

But at her scream, the doctor said “she”;

And, then, we all at once knew what to do;

About naming her the course to pursue.

We left it to her mother, herself a little bride,

This weighty matter of naming all to decide.

We told her all the names we did hear or see,

But she rejected them all and called her Dorothy.

So Dorothy’s my theme her grandmother’s dream,

During all those years when those babes of hers,

Us did come to see, and, now she still avers,

That she watched through the passing years

Looking to see if one of hers a girl might be,

But they were boys, the whole blessed three.

Now Dorothy’s here to fill our home with cheer

By her little, prattling talk and her shambling walk,

By her little tricks she plays in her winning ways,

Pulling off your hat and fumbling your cravat,

Knocking over chairs, trying to go upstairs,

Picking all the flowers for grandpa to smell,

And more other things than tongue or pen can tell.

She’s a little sprite and good for our sight.

But here I must pause and sadly say,

That one evil day a swelling came on her neck,

We thought for sure had come from us to take

The little brat, and all our hearts to break.