The semi-weekly messenger. [volume] (Wilmington, N.C.) 1897-1908, 1897-06-22
Motley Musings.
In Poetry and Prose,
BY Oueruue.

No one nowadays believes in Ghosts:
though many have a lingering fondness
for spirits. If you want to retain an in
terest in such matters, you must call it
Theosophy or Psychics or Telepathy or
Fsoteric Buddhism, or something that no
one can understand. There is, as yet, no
serious social degradation in sticking to
spirits, and you may call them what you
like; though Scotch whiskey is considered
the most healthful and snakes are some
times seen i'm good spirits.
The clumsy. old fashioned Ghost. will
his gathering chains and rafting bones
has retired before the march of modern
enlightenment, and the dainty astral body
has 1lOated into his shoes.
Toll for the Ghosts.
The Ghosts that walk no more,
All banished from the posts
They occupied before.
Yet, spite of all the spooks
ThcOSOphy can boast,
And all the Brahmin books.
We won't give up the ghost.
There is a club called the 'Thirteen
Club where they cross knives, see black
cats, spill salt. and do all sorts of reckless
things on purpose. 1t is a kind of mission
many other missions, helps the cause it
tries to crush. People resemble the Irish
mans pig-the more you drive them, the
more the won't gO!'
There was a young mar with q mission
To sweep from the earth superstition;
But, the spirits were strong,
And his death. which was long,
Was described in a special edition"
No, superstition still fingers and almost
everyone has his PEI Weakness: so that
traffic is Stacker on a Friday, haunted
houses can be rented for a trifle, and
many a charming maiden would sooner
break hearts than mirrors.
vrI,o NOV yrIo ontortainoI oil tho S11nar-
stitiOns at once would live in constant
fear even in a modern safe deposit.
Such a terrible fate
Not in deadlieSt hate
Would our personal enemy wish us,
For a lunatic's laugh
Would seem Saner by half
Than q man who was so superstitious!
Just think how his terrors would null
tiply,
o. underneath a ladder I never dare to go!
If I do, l cross my fingers to avert the
fatal blow.
And. when around the table l see twelve
sitting down,
I remember some engagement that will
take me cut of town:
I never start on Friday for any kind Of
jaunt.
And avoid the gloomy church yards which
departed spirits haunt:
| always turn my money when the new
moons shining fair.
And twist by tea cup over to read my
Ortun there;
With cherry stones and palmistry my fate
I'd fain desCry,
And / watch the stars to try and ind the
day when ! shall die.
In short. although l try to be as rational
as l can.
Yet everybody says | am a SuperStltlOuS
mani
Every really high class family hes a
-. -l~- Odd Tho l,rrN llnrt iti0
can c~ontrive to keep a skeleton in his
cupboard.
When old Mother Hubbard
Went to the cupboard
To get her poor dog that bone:
She found. some declare,
A skeleton there:
O. those skeletons. so carefully hidden.
yet everlastingly p~rotruding their mock
ing grin just when We thought them Tor
gotten. Q. those ghosts that will not be
laid, and are Indifferent to the t1ash-light
of science! Sad ghosts of departed
loved ones-sadder ghosts of deeds i'll
done-sadder ghosts of all that haunt us
with the memory of opportunities lost.
Spirits of earth and air.
Ghosts of the loved and fair,
Hover about us:
Mem'rieS of actions mean.
Thoughts of what might have been,
Spirits that tlout us.
There is much poetry in the superna-
tural. Let us not quite give up our fair
les. our ghosts. our world OF imagination
and fancy and mystery; our haunted
houses and rowing spirits; our enchanted
castles and quaint legends. The Palace
of Truth may be very clear and bright:
but. like a frosty night, it must be
abominably cold.
Deep in the shade of gloomy frs
Where summer suns are cool,
Where no blithe bird the silence stirs,
There sleeps a darkling pool.
No dancing sunbeams kiss its cheek,
And reak in golden glee,
Nor fish nor fowl its waters seek,
Nor ho~ney-hunting bee.
And. though the shades fall soft and
sweet
In scorching blaze:
And though in lace work at your feet
There sleep the soft moons rays.
And though the scene is passing fair
Fen when the rain clouds lower,
The bOldeSt may not linger there
AT midnight's witching hour.
-Querque.
At Lawrence, Mass, the 500 opera
Tives of the Methuen COmpany'S cot
ton mills have decided to accept a 10
per cent cut in wages rather than have
the mills shut down.