PREJUDICE.

I was climbing up a mountain path, With many things to do, Important business of my own, And other people's too, When I ran against a Prejudice That quite cut off the view. My work was such as could not wait, My path quite clearly showed; My strength and time were limited; I carried quite a load, And there that bulking Prejudice Sat all along the road. So I spoke to him politely, For he was huge and high, And begged that he would move a bit, And let me travel by— He smiled, but as for moving— He didn't even try. And then I reasoned quietly With that colossal mule; The time was short, no other path, The mountain winds were cool— I argued like a Solomon, He sat there like a fool. Then I flew into a passion, I danced and howled and swore; I pelted and belaboured him Till I was stiff and sore; He got as mad as I did— But he sat there as before. And then I begged him on my knees— I might be kneeling still, If so I hoped to move that mass Of obdurate ill-will— As well invite the monument To vacate Bunker's Hill! So I sat before him helpless, In an ecstasy of woe— The mountain mists were rising fast, The sun was sinking slow— When a sudden inspiration came, As sudden winds do blow. I took my hat, I took my stick, My load I settled fair, I approached that awful incubus, With an absent-minded air— And I walked directly through him, As if he wasn't there! Charlotte Perkins Stetson.