Adventure Magazine Cover — page 212: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

OW SONGS that Wen have Sung Conducted by R. W. GORDON Devoted to outdoor songs, preferably hitherto unprinted—songs of the sea, the lumber-camps, Great Lakes, the old canal days, the negro, mountains, the pioneers, etc. Send in what you have or find, so that all may share in them. Although this department ix conduGed primarily for the collection and preservation old songs, the editor will give information about modern 0 ones when he can do so and if Bi reques are accompanied with self-addressed envelope and suffictent reply palace (not attached). Write to Mr. R. W. Gordon dire& (not to the mag- azine), care O HERE is long broadside text from New Bruns- wick. Like all broadsides it has a minimum of folk traits and a maximum of author. It is, however, worthy of preservation. Does any one know its history? Howard Curry (Communicated by Mr. George Hirdt, who ob- tained it from Mr. Herbert Eddy of Gloucester County, N. B.) My name is Howard Curry; At Grandfall I was born, In a pleasant little cottage On the banks of the St. John, Where the small birds chant their notes so true And the tumbling waters roar; The ivy vines were thickly twined Round our cottage on the shore. We lived there quite contented Till the year of ’eighty-four; It’s then I left my happy home For the Bay of Fundy shore. My aged parents, they being poor, Could not maintain us all; I had to leave my happy home, For our little farm was small. The day I left my happy home They took me by the hand, Saying, ‘“Don’t forget your parents dear When in some foreign land. And don’t forget old proverb, The one that is true of old, ‘All that sparkles is not gems, All glitters is not gold.” My mother led me to a seat Beneath the willow tree, With quivering lips bade me sit down, She wished to speak to me. “You see on yonder hillside The grass is growing green; The daisies and the violets And the wildrose may be seen. “Those flowers are magnificent, Attractive to the eye, But still remember that the snake Beneath the colors lies. And when you are in some foreign land I'll have you to beware— Each pleasure has its poison too And every sweet its snare. 206 Adventure, Spring and Macdougal Streets, New York City. “Shun bad company, my boy, And from strong drink refrain; Don’t patronize those gambling hells, Look on them with disdain!” I rose up from my resting seat, For the dewdrops bright and fair Had kissed the rose a fond adieu— I watched them disappear. It’s one by one they fade away Beneath the sun’s bright ray; The time has come when I must go, I can no longer stay. My sisters and my brothers In a group stood by the door, I waved my hand and left them stand In that cottage by the shore. Four years ago a letter came Which filled me with alarm, Saying, “‘Son, your mother is dying And her heart for you does yearn. She constantly repeats your name ‘Has my wand’ring son returned?’ ” I hastened home, but all too late! I saw that all was o’er. The curtains they were closely drawn, Black crépe hung on the door. And now she sleeps that long, long sleep Beneath the churchyard sod; Four dreary years have passed and gone Since her spirit went to God. Since then I’ve traveled in the East, And in the South also; I’ve traveled in those Western lands Where the lofty redwoods grow. My mother’s warning did not heed, And like a silly fly Got tangled in the silver web, And now am doomed to die. Today I am lying in a room In a town of Rumford Falls, My feverish eyes are wandering Upon its whitewashed walls. The agony I undergo I can not long endure, My limbs are weak and painful, I am dying slow but sure. I'll cut the tender thread of life [ll bid this world adieu, I'll tie this cord unto the hinge mMICLooOoks. Com