diff options
| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 04:43:12 -0700 |
|---|---|---|
| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 04:43:12 -0700 |
| commit | 17664a46fb85d983249cb96331c5e6e7763422ee (patch) | |
| tree | 07ca2ef5fe55a6f99fb26191bbcaa0a47fe9ec8e | |
| -rw-r--r-- | .gitattributes | 3 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 13908-0.txt | 5638 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 13908-h/13908-h.htm | 6423 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | LICENSE.txt | 11 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | README.md | 2 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/13908-h.zip | bin | 0 -> 111231 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/13908-h/13908-h.htm | 6828 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/13908.txt | 6029 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/13908.zip | bin | 0 -> 106402 bytes |
9 files changed, 24934 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/13908-0.txt b/13908-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..db462bf --- /dev/null +++ b/13908-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,5638 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 13908 *** + +PIPES O' PAN AT ZEKESBURY + +BY + +JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY + + + +INDIANAPOLIS + +BOWEN-MERRILL CO., PUBLISHERS + +1895 + + + + + +_TO MY BROTHER JOHN A. RILEY WITH MANY MEMORIES OF THE OLD HOME_ + + +CONTENTS + + PAGE + + +AT ZEKESBURY 13 + +DOWN AROUND THE RIVER POEMS + + DOWN AROUND THE RIVER 37 + + KNEELING WITH HERRICK 39 + + ROMANCIN' 40 + + HAS SHE FORGOTTEN 43 + + A' OLD PLAYED-OUT SONG 45 + + THE LOST PATH 47 + + THE LITTLE TINY KICKSHAW 48 + + HIS MOTHER 49 + + KISSING THE ROD 50 + + HOW IT HAPPENED 51 + + BABYHOOD 53 + + THE DAYS GONE BY 54 + + MRS. MILLER 57 + +RHYMES OF RAINY DAYS + + THE TREE-TOAD 79 + + A WORN-OUT PENCIL 80 + + THE STEPMOTHER 82 + + THE RAIN 83 + + THE LEGEND GLORIFIED 84 + + WHUR MOTHER IS 85 + + OLD MAN'S NURSERY RHYME 86 + + THREE DEAD FRIENDS 88 + + IN BOHEMIA 91 + + IN THE DARK 93 + + WET-WEATHER TALK 94 + + WHERE SHALL WE LAND 96 + + AN OLD SETTLER'S STORY 101 + +SWEET-KNOT AND GALAMUS + + AN OLD SWEETHEART 159 + + MARTHY ELLEN 161 + + MOON-DROWNED 163 + + LONG AFORE HE KNOWED 164 + + DEAR HANDS 166 + + THIS MAN JONES 167 + + TO MY GOOD MASTER 169 + + WHEN THE GREEN GITS BACK 170 + + AT BROAD RIPPLE 171 + + WHEN OLD JACK DIED 172 + + DOC SIFERS 174 + + AT NOON--AND MIDNIGHT 177 + + A WILD IRISHMAN 181 + +RAGWEED AND FENNEL + + WHEN MY DREAMS COME TRUE 205 + + A DOS'T O' BLUES 206 + + THE BAT 208 + + THE WAY IT WUZ 209 + + THE DRUM 212 + + TOM JOHNSON'S QUIT 214 + + LULLABY 216 + + IN THE SOUTH 217 + + THE OLD HOME BY THE MILL 219 + + A LEAVE-TAKING 221 + + WAIT FOR THE MORNING 222 + + WHEN JUNE IS HERE 223 + + THE GILDED ROLL 227 + + + + +PIPES O' PAN AT ZEKESBURY + + + + The pipes of Pan! Not idler now are they + Than when their cunning fashioner first blew + The pith of music from them: Yet for you + And me their notes are blown in many a way + Lost in our murmurings for that old day + That fared so well, without us.--Waken to + The pipings here at hand:--The clear halloo + Of truant-voices, and the roundelay + The waters warble in the solitude + Of blooming thickets, where the robin's breast + Sends up such ecstacy o'er dale and dell, + Each tree top answers, till in all the wood + There lingers not one squirrel in his nest + Whetting his hunger on an empty shell. + + + + +AT ZEKESBURY. + + + +The little town, as I recall it, was of just enough dignity and dearth +of the same to be an ordinary county seat in Indiana--"The Grand Old +Hoosier State," as it was used to being howlingly referred to by the +forensic stump orator from the old stand in the courthouse yard--a +political campaign being the wildest delight that Zekesbury might ever +hope to call its own. + +Through years the fitful happenings of the town and its vicinity went +on the same--the same! Annually about one circus ventured in, and +vanished, and was gone, even as a passing trumpet-blast; the usual +rainy-season swelled the "Crick," the driftage choking at "the covered +bridge," and backing water till the old road looked amphibious; and +crowds of curious townsfolk straggled down to look upon the watery +wonder, and lean awe-struck above it, and spit in it, and turn mutely +home again. + +The usual formula of incidents peculiar to an uneventful town and its +vicinity: The countryman from "Jessup's Crossing," with the cornstalk +coffin-measure, loped into town, his steaming little +gray-and-red-flecked "roadster" gurgitating, as it were, with that +mysterious utterance that ever has commanded and ever must evoke the +wonder and bewilderment of every boy. The small-pox rumor became +prevalent betimes, and the subtle aroma of the assafoetida-bag +permeated the graded schools "from turret to foundation-stone;" the +still recurring exposé of the poor-house management; the farm-hand, +with the scythe across his shoulder, struck dead by lightning; the +long-drawn quarrel between the rival editors culminating in one of +them assaulting the other with a "sidestick," and the other kicking +the one down stairs and thenceward _ad libitum;_ the tramp, +suppositiously stealing a ride, found dead on the railroad; the grand +jury returning a sensational indictment against a bar-tender _non +est_; the Temperance outbreak; the "Revival;" the Church Festival; and +the "Free Lectures on Phrenology, and Marvels of Mesmerism," at the +town hall. It was during the time of the last-mentioned sensation, and +directly through this scientific investigation, that I came upon two +of the town's most remarkable characters. And however meager my +outline of them may prove, my material for the sketch is most accurate +in every detail, and no deviation from the cold facts of the case +shall influence any line of my report. + +For some years prior to this odd experience I had been connected with +a daily paper at the state capitol; and latterly a prolonged session +of the legislature, where I specially reported, having told +threateningly upon my health, I took both the advantage of a brief +vacation, and the invitation of a young bachelor Senator, to get out +of the city for awhile, and bask my respiratory organs in the +revivifying rural air of Zekesbury--the home of my new friend. + +"It'll pay you to get out here," he said, cordially, meeting me at the +little station, "and I'm glad you've come, for you'll find no end of +odd characters to amuse you." And under the very pleasant sponsorship +of my senatorial friend, I was placed at once on genial terms with +half the citizens of the little town--from the shirt-sleeved nabob of +the county office to the droll wag of the favorite loafing-place--the +rules and by-laws of which resort, by the way, being rudely charcoaled +on the wall above the cutter's bench, and somewhat artistically +culminating in an original dialectic legend which ran thus: + + F'rinstance, now whar _some_ folks gits + To relyin' on their wits. + Ten to one they git too smart, + And spile it all right at the start!-- + Feller wants to jest go slow + And do his _thinkin'_ first, you know:---- + _Ef I can't think up somepin' good,_ + _I set still and chaw my cood!_ + +And it was at this inviting rendezvous, two or three evenings +following my arrival, that the general crowd, acting upon the random +proposition of one of the boys, rose as a man and wended its hilarious +way to the town hall. + +"Phrenology," said the little, old, bald-headed lecturer and +mesmerist, thumbing the egg-shaped head of a young man I remembered to +have met that afternoon in some law office; "Phrenology," repeated the +professor--"or rather the _term_ phrenology--is derived from two Greek +words signifying _mind_ and _discourse_; hence we find embodied in +phrenology-proper, the science of intellectual measurement, together +with the capacity of intelligent communication of the varying mental +forces and their flexibilities, etc., &c. The study, then, of +phrenology is, to wholly simplify it--is, I say, the general +contemplation of the workings of the mind as made manifest through the +certain corresponding depressions and protuberances of the human +skull, when, of course, in a healthy state of action and development, +as we here find the conditions exemplified in the subject before us." + +Here the "subject" vaguely smiled. + +"You recognize that mug, don't you?" whispered my friend. "It's that +coruscating young ass, you know, Hedrick--in Cummings' office--trying +to study law and literature at the same time, and tampering with 'The +Monster that Annually,' don't you know?--where we found the two young +students scuffling round the office, and smelling of +peppermint?--Hedrick, you know, and Sweeney. Sweeney, the slim chap, +with the pallid face, and frog-eyes, and clammy hands! You remember I +told you 'there was a pair of 'em?' Well, they're up to something here +to-night. Hedrick, there on the stage in front; and Sweeney--don't you +see?--with the gang on the rear seats." + +"Phrenology--again," continued the lecturer, "is, we may say, a +species of mental geography, as it were; which--by a study of the +skull--leads also to a study of the brain within, even as geology +naturally follows the initial contemplation of the earth's surface. +The brain, thurfur, or intellectual retort, as we may say, natively +exerts a molding influence on the skull contour; thurfur is the expert +in phrenology most readily enabled to accurately locate the +multitudinous intellectual forces, and most exactingly estimate, as +well, the sequent character of each subject submitted to his scrutiny. +As, in the example before us--a young man, doubtless well known in +your midst, though, I may say, an entire stranger to myself--I venture +to disclose some characteristic trends and tendencies, as indicated by +this phrenological depression and development of the skull-proper, as +later we will show, through the mesmeric condition, the accuracy of +our mental diagnosis." + +Throughout the latter part of this speech my friend nudged me +spasmodically, whispering something which was jostled out of +intelligent utterance by some inward spasm of laughter. + +"In this head," said the Professor, straddling his malleable fingers +across the young man's bumpy brow--"In this head we find Ideality +large--abnormally large, in fact; thurby indicating--taken in +conjunction with a like development of the perceptive +qualities--language following, as well, in the prominent eye--thurby +indicating, I say, our subject as especially endowed with a love for +the beautiful--the sublime--the elevating--the refined and +delicate--the lofty and superb--in nature, and in all the sublimated +attributes of the human heart and beatific soul. In fact, we find this +young man possessed of such natural gifts as would befit him for the +exalted career of the sculptor, the actor, the artist, or the +poet--any ideal calling; in fact, any calling but a practical, +matter-of-fact vocation; though in poetry he would seem to best +succeed." + +"Well," said my friend, seriously, "he's _feeling_ for the boy!" Then +laughingly: "Hedrick _has_ written some rhymes for the county papers, +and Sweeney once introduced him, at an Old Settlers' Meeting, as 'The +Best Poet in Center Township,' and never cracked a smile! Always after +each other that way, but the best friends in the world. _Sweeney's_ +strong suit is elocution. He has a native ability that way by no means +ordinary, but even that gift he abuses and distorts simply to produce +grotesque, and oftentimes ridiculous effects. For instance, nothing +more delights him than to 'lothfully' consent to answer a request, at +The Mite Society, some evening, for 'an appropriate selection,' and +then, with an elaborate introduction of the same, and an exalted +tribute to the refined genius of the author, proceed with a most +gruesome rendition of 'Alonzo The Brave and The Fair Imogene,' in a +way to coagulate the blood and curl the hair of his fair listeners +with abject terror. Pale as a corpse, you know, and with that +cadaverous face, lit with those malignant-looking eyes, his slender +figure, and his long, thin legs and arms and hands, and his whole +diabolical talent and adroitness brought into play--why, I want to say +to you, it's enough to scare 'em to death! Never a smile from him, +though, till he and Hedrick are safe out into the night again--then, +of course, they hug each other and howl over it like Modocs! But +pardon; I'm interrupting the lecture. Listen." + +"A lack of continuity, however," continued the Professor, "and an +undue love of approbation, would, measurably, at least, tend to retard +the young man's progress toward the consummation of any loftier +ambition, I fear; yet as we have intimated, if the subject were +appropriately educated to the need's demand, he could doubtless +produce a high order of both prose and poetry--especially the +latter--though he could very illy bear being laughed at for his +pains." + +"He's dead wrong there," said my friend; "Hedrick enjoys being laughed +at; he 's used to it--gets fat on it!" + +"He is fond of his friends," continued the Professor "and the heartier +they are the better; might even be convivially inclined--if so +tempted--but prudent--in a degree," loiteringly concluded the speaker, +as though unable to find the exact bump with which to bolster up the +last named attribute. + +The subject blushed vividly--my friend's right eyelid dropped, and +there was a noticeable, though elusive sensation throughout the +audience. + +"_But!_" said the Professor, explosively, "selecting a directly +opposite subject, in conjunction with the study of the one before us +[turning to the group at the rear of the stage and beckoning], we may +find a newer interest in the practical comparison of these subjects +side by side." And the Professor pushed a very pale young man into +position. + +"Sweeney!" whispered my friend, delightedly; "now look out!" + +"In _this_ subject," said the Professor, "we find the practical +business head. Square--though small--a trifle light at the base, in +fact; but well balanced at the important points at least; thoughtful +eyes--wide-awake--crafty--quick--restless--a policy eye, though not +denoting language--unless, perhaps, mere business forms and direct +statements." + +"Fooled again!" whispered my friend; "and I'm afraid the old man will +fail to nest out the fact also that Sweeney is the cold-bloodedest +guyer on the face of the earth, and with more diabolical resources +than a prosecuting attorney; the Professor ought to know this, too, by +this time--for these same two chaps have been visiting the old man in +his room at the hotel;--that's what I was trying to tell you awhile +ago. The old sharp thinks he's 'playing' the boys, is my idea; but +it's the other way, or I lose my guess." + +"Now, under the mesmeric influence--if the two subjects will consent +to its administration," said the Professor, after some further tedious +preamble, "we may at once determine the fact of my assertions, as will +be proved by their action while in this peculiar state." Here some +apparent remonstrance was met with from both subjects, though amicably +overcome by the Professor first manipulating the stolid brow and +pallid front of the imperturbable Sweeney--after which the same +mysterious ordeal was lothfully submitted to by Hedrick--though a +noticeably longer time was consumed in securing his final loss of +self-control. At last, however, this curious phenomenon was presented, +and there before us stood the two swaying figures, the heads dropped +back, the lifted hands, with thumb and finger-tips pressed lightly +together, the eyelids languid and half closed, and the features, in +appearance, wan and humid. + +"Now, sir!" said the Professor, leading the limp Sweeney forward, and +addressing him in a quick, sharp tone of voice.--"Now, sir, you are a +great contractor--own large factories, and with untold business +interests. Just look out there! [pointing out across the expectant +audience] look there, and see the countless minions toiling servilely +at your dread mandates. And yet--ha! ha! See! see!--They recognize the +avaricious greed that would thus grind them in the very dust; they +see, alas! they see themselves half-clothed--half-fed, that you may +glut your coffers. Half-starved, they listen to the wail of wife and +babe, and, with eyes upraised in prayer, they see _you_ rolling by in +gilded coach, and swathed in silk attire. But--ha! again! Look--look! +they are rising in revolt against you! Speak to them before too late! +Appeal to them--quell them with the promise of the just advance of +wages they demand!" + +The limp figure of Sweeney took on something of a stately and majestic +air. With a graceful and commanding gesture of the hand, he advanced a +step or two; then, after a pause of some seconds duration, in which +the lifted face grew paler, as it seemed, and the eyes a denser black, +he said: + + "But yesterday + I looked away + O'er happy lands, where sunshine lay + In golden blots, + Inlaid with spots + Of shade and wild forget-me-nots." + +The voice was low, but clear, and ever musical. The Professor started +at the strange utterance, looked extremely confused, and, as the +boisterous crowd cried "Hear, hear!" he motioned the subject to +continue, with some gasping comment interjected, which, if audible, +would have run thus: "My God! It's an inspirational poem!" + + "My head was fair + With flaxen hair--" + +resumed the subject. + +"Yoop-ee!" yelled an irreverent auditor. + +"Silence! silence!" commanded the excited Professor in a hoarse +whisper; then, turning enthusiastically to the subject--"Go on, young +man! Go on!--'_Thy head-was fair-with flaxen hair_--'" + + "My head was fair + With flaxen hair, + And fragrant breezes, faint and rare, + And warm with drouth + From out the south, + Blew all my curls across my mouth." + +The speaker's voice, exquisitely modulated, yet resonant as the twang +of a harp, now seemed of itself to draw and hold each listener; while +a certain extravagance of gesticulation--a fantastic movement of both +form and feature--seemed very near akin to fascination. And so flowed +on the curious utterance: + + "And, cool and sweet, + My naked feet + Found dewy pathways through the wheat; + And out again + Where, down the lane, + The dust was dimpled with the rain." + +In the pause following there was a breathlessness almost painful. The +poem went on: + + "But yesterday + I heard the lay + Of summer birds, when I, as they + With breast and wing, + All quivering + With life and love, could only sing. + + "My head was leant, + Where, with it, blent + A maiden's, o'er her instrument; + While all the night, + From vale to height, + Was filled with echoes of delight. + + "And all our dreams + Were lit with gleams + Of that lost land of reedy streams, + Along whose brim + Forever swim + Pan's lilies, laughing up at him." + +And still the inspired singer held rapt sway. + +"It is wonderful!" I whispered, under breath. + +"Of course it is!" answered my friend. "But listen; there is more:" + + "But yesterday!... + O blooms of May, + And summer roses--Where-away? + O stars above; + And lips of love, + And all the honeyed sweets thereof! + + "O lad and lass. + And orchard-pass, + And briared lane, and daisied grass! + O gleam and gloom, + And woodland bloom, + And breezy breaths of all perfume!-- + + "No more for me + Or mine shall be + Thy raptures--save in memory,-- + No more--no more-- + Till through the Door + Of Glory gleam the days of yore." + +This was the evident conclusion of the remarkable utterance, and the +Professor was impetuously fluttering his hands about the subject's +upward-staring eyes, stroking his temples, and snapping his fingers in +his face. + +"Well," said Sweeney, as he stood suddenly awakened, and grinning in +an idiotic way, "how did the old thing work?" And it was in the +consequent hilarity and loud and long applause, perhaps, that the +Professor was relieved from the explanation of this rather astounding +phenomenon of the idealistic workings of a purely practical brain--or, +as my impious friend scoffed the incongruity later, in a particularly +withering allusion, as the "blank-blanked fallacy, don't you know, of +staying the hunger of a howling mob by feeding 'em on Spring poetry!" + +The tumult of the audience did not cease even with the retirement of +Sweeney, and cries of "Hedrick! Hedrick!" only subsided with the +Professor's high-keyed announcement that the subject was even then +endeavoring to make himself heard, but could not until utter quiet was +restored, adding the further appeal that the young man had already +been a long time under the mesmeric spell, and ought not be so +detained for an unnecessary period. "See," he concluded, with an +assuring wave of the hand toward the subject, "see; he is about to +address you. Now, quiet!--utter quiet, if you please!" + +"Great heavens!" exclaimed my friend, stiflingly; "Just look at the +boy! Get onto that position for a poet! Even Sweeney has fled from the +sight of him!" + +And truly, too, it was a grotesque pose the young man had assumed; not +wholly ridiculous either, since the dwarfed position he had settled +into seemed more a genuine physical condition than an affected one. +The head, back-tilted, and sunk between the shoulders, looked +abnormally large, while the features of the face appeared peculiarly +child-like--especially the eyes--wakeful and wide apart, and very +bright, yet very mild and very artless; and the drawn and cramped +outline of the legs and feet, and of the arms and hands, even to the +shrunken, slender-looking fingers, all combined to most strikingly +convey to the pained senses the fragile frame and pixey figure of some +pitiably afflicted child, unconscious altogether of the pathos of its +own deformity. + +"Now, mark the kuss, Horatio!" gasped my friend. + +At first the speaker's voice came very low, and somewhat piping, too, +and broken--an eerie sort of voice it was, of brittle and erratic +_timbre_ and undulant inflection. Yet it was beautiful. It had the +ring of childhood in it, though the ring was not pure golden, and at +times fell echoless. The _spirit_ of its utterance was always clear +and pure and crisp and cheery as the twitter of a bird, and yet +forever ran an undercadence through it like a low-pleading prayer. +Half garrulously, and like a shallow brook might brawl across a shelvy +bottom, the rhythmic little changeling thus began: + + "I'm thist a little crippled boy, an' never goin' to grow + An' git a great big man at all!--'cause Aunty told me so. + When I was thist a baby one't I falled out of the bed + An' got 'The Curv'ture of the Spine'--'at's what the Doctor said. + I never had no Mother nen--far my Pa run away + An' dassn't come back here no more--'cause he was drunk one day + An' stobbed a man in thish-ere town, an' couldn't pay his fine! + An' nen my Ma she died--an' I got 'Curv'ture of the Spine!'" + +A few titterings from the younger people in the audience marked the +opening stanza, while a certain restlessness, and a changing to more +attentive positions seemed the general tendency. The old Professor, in +the meantime, had sunk into one of the empty chairs. The speaker went +on with more gaiety: + + "I'm nine years old! An' you can't guess how much I weigh, I bet!-- + Last birthday I weighed thirty-three!--An' I weigh thirty yet! + I'm awful little far my size--I'm purt' nigh littler 'an + Some babies is!--an' neighbors all calls me 'The Little Man!' + An' Doc one time he laughed an' said: 'I 'spect, first thing you + know, + You'll have a little spike-tail coat an' travel with a show!' + An' nen I laughed--till I looked round an' Aunty was a-cryin'-- + Sometimes she acts like that, 'cause I got 'Curv'ture of the + Spine!'" + +Just in front of me a great broad-shouldered countryman, with a rainy +smell in his cumbrous overcoat, cleared his throat vehemently, looked +startled at the sound, and again settled forward, his weedy chin +resting on the knuckles of his hands as they tightly clutched the seat +before him. And it was like being taken into a childish confidence as +the quaint speech continued: + + "I set--while Aunty's washin'--on my little long-leg stool, + An' watch the little boys an' girls 'a-skippin' by to school; + An' I peck on the winder, an' holler out an' say: + 'Who wants to fight The Little Man 'at dares you all to-day?' + An' nen the boys climbs on the fence, an' little girls peeks + through, + An' they all says: 'Cause you're so big, you think we're 'feared o' + you!' + An' nen they yell, an' shake their fist at me, like I shake mine-- + They're thist in fun, you know, 'cause I got 'Curv'ture of the + Spine!'" + +"Well," whispered my friend, with rather odd irrelevance, I thought, +"of course you see through the scheme of the fellows by this time, +don't you?" + +"I see nothing," said I, most earnestly, "but a poor little wisp of a +child that makes me love him so I dare not think of his dying soon, as +he surely must! There; listen!" And the plaintive gaiety of the homely +poem ran on: + + "At evening, when the ironin's done, an' Aunty's fixed the fire, + An' filled an' lit the lamp, an' trimmed the wick an' turned it + higher, + An' fetched the wood all in far night, an' locked the kitchen door, + An' stuffed the ole crack where the wind blows in up through the + floor-- + She sets the kittle on the coals, an' biles an' makes the tea, + An' fries the liver an' the mush, an' cooks a egg far me; + An' sometimes--when I cough so hard--her elderberry wine + Don't go so bad far little boys with 'Curv'ture of the Spine!'" + +"Look!" whispered my friend, touching me with his elbow. "Look at the +Professor!" + +"Look at everybody!" said I. And the artless little voice went on +again half quaveringly: + + "But Aunty's all so childish-like on my account, you see, + I'm 'most afeared she'll be took down--an' 'at's what bothers + _me!_-- + 'Cause ef my good ole Aunty ever would git sick an' die, + I don't know what she'd do in Heaven--till _I_ come, by an' by:-- + Far she's so ust to all my ways, an' ever'thing, you know, + An' no one there like me, to nurse, an' worry over so!-- + 'Cause all the little childerns there's so straight an' strong an' + fine, + They's nary angel 'bout the place with 'Curv'ture of the Spine!'" + +The old Professor's face was in his handkerchief; so was my friend's +in his; and so was mine in mine, as even now my pen drops and I reach +for it again. + +I half regret joining the mad party that had gathered an hour later in +the old law-office where these two graceless characters held almost +nightly revel, the instigators and conniving hosts of a reputed +banquet whose _menu's_ range confined itself to herrings, or "blind +robins," dried beef, and cheese, with crackers, gingerbread, and +sometimes pie; the whole washed down with anything but + + "----Wines that heaven knows when + Had sucked the fire of some forgotten sun, + And kept it through a hundred years of gloom + Still glowing in a heart of ruby." + +But the affair was memorable. The old Professor was himself lured into +it, and loudest in his praise of Hedrick's realistic art; and I yet +recall him at the orgie's height, excitedly repulsing the continued +slurs and insinuations of the clammy-handed Sweeney, who, still +contending against the old man's fulsome praise of his more fortunate +rival, at last openly declared that Hedrick was _not_ a poet, _not_ a +genius, and in no way worthy to be classed in the same breath with +_himself_--"the gifted but unfortunate _Sweeney_, sir--the +unacknowledged author, sir--'y gad, sir!--of the two poems that held +you spell-bound to-night!" + + + + +DOWN AROUND THE RIVER POEMS + + + + +DOWN AROUND THE RIVER. + + + + Noon-time and June-time, down around the river! + Have to furse with 'Lizey Ann--but lawzy! I fergive her! + Drives me off the place, and says 'at all 'at she's a-wishin', + Land o' gracious! time'll come I'll git enough o' fishin'! + Little Dave, a-choppin' wood, never 'pears to notice; + Don't know where she's hid his hat, er keerin' where his coat is,-- + Specalatin', more 'n like, he haint a-goin' to mind me, + And guessin' where, say twelve o'clock, a feller'd likely find me. + + Noon-time and June-time, down around the river! + Clean out o' sight o' home, and skulkin' under kivver + Of the sycamores, jack-oaks, and swamp-ash and ellum-- + Idies all so jumbled up, you kin hardly tell 'em!-- + _Tired_, you know, but _lovin'_ it, and smilin' jest to think 'at + Any sweeter tiredness you'd fairly want to _drink_ it. + Tired o' fishin'--tired o' fun--line out slack and slacker-- + All you want in all the world's a little more tobacker! + + Hungry, but _a-hidin'_ it, er jes' a-not a-keerin':- + Kingfisher gittin' up and skootin' out o' hearin'; + Snipes on the t'other side, where the County Ditch is, + Wadin' up and down the aidge like they'd rolled their britches! + Old turkle on the root kindo-sorto drappin' + Intoo th' worter like he don't know how it happen! + Worter, shade and all so mixed, don't know which you'd orter + Say, th' _worter_ in the shadder--_shadder_ in the _worter!_ + + Somebody hollerin'--'way around the bend in + Upper Fork--where yer eye kin jes' ketch the endin' + Of the shiney wedge o' wake some muss-rat's a-makin' + With that pesky nose o' his! Then a sniff o' bacon, + Corn-bread and 'dock-greens--and little Dave a-shinnin' + 'Crost the rocks and mussel-shells, a-limpin' and a-grinnin', + With yer dinner far ye, and a blessin' from the giver. + Noon-time and June-time down around the river! + + + + +KNEELING WITH HERRICK. + + + + Dear Lord, to Thee my knee is bent.-- + Give me content-- + Full-pleasured with what comes to me, + What e'er it be: + An humble roof--a frugal board, + And simple hoard; + The wintry fagot piled beside + The chimney wide, + While the enwreathing flames up-sprout + And twine about + The brazen dogs that guard my hearth + And household worth: + Tinge with the ember's ruddy glow + The rafters low; + And let the sparks snap with delight, + As ringers might + That mark deft measures of some tune + The children croon: + Then, with good friends, the rarest few + Thou holdest true, + Ranged round about the blaze, to share + My comfort there,-- + Give me to claim the service meet + That makes each seat + A place of honor, and each guest + Loved as the rest. + + + + +ROMANCIN'. + + + + I' b'en a-kindo musin', as the feller says, and I'm + About o' the conclusion that they ain't no better time, + When you come to cipher on it, than the times we used to know + When we swore our first "dog-gone-it" sorto solem'-like and low! + + You git my idy, do you?--_Little_ tads, you understand-- + Jes' a wishin' thue and thue you that you on'y was a _man_.-- + Yit here I am, this minute, even forty, to a day, + And fergittin' all that's in it, wishin' jes' the other way! + + I hain't no hand to lectur' on the times, er dimonstrate + Whur the trouble is, er hector and domineer with Fate,-- + But when I git so flurried, and so pestered-like and blue, + And so rail owdacious worried, let me tell you what I do!-- + + I jes' gee-haw the hosses, and unhook the swingle-tree, + Whur the hazel-bushes tosses down their shadders over me, + And I draw my plug o' navy, and I climb the fence, and set + Jes' a-thinkin' here, 'y gravy! till my eyes is wringin'-wet! + + Tho' I still kin see the trouble o' the _present_, I kin see-- + Kindo like my sight was double--all the things that _used to be_; + And the flutter o' the robin, and the teeter o' the wren + Sets the willer branches bobbin "howdy-do" thum Now to Then! + + The deadnin' and the thicket's jes' a bilin' full of June, + Thum the rattle o' the cricket, to the yallar-hammer's tune; + And the catbird in the bottom, and the sap-suck on the snag, + Seems ef they cain't--od-rot'em!--jes' do nothin' else but brag! + + They's music in the twitter of the bluebird and the jay, + And that sassy little critter jes' a-peckin' all the day; + They's music in the "flicker," and they's music in the thrush, + And they's music in the snicker o' the chipmunk in the brush! + + They's music _all around_ me!--And I go back, in a dream-- + Sweeter yit than ever found me fast asleep--and in the stream + That used to split the medder whur the dandylions growed, + I stand knee-deep, and redder than the sunset down the road. + + Then's when I' b'en a-fishin'!--and they's other fellers, too, + With their hickry poles a-swishin' out behind 'em; and a few + Little "shiners" on our stringers, with their tails tiptoein' bloom, + As we dance 'em in our fingers all the happy journey home. + + I kin see us, true to Natur', thum the time we started out + With a biscuit and a 'tater in our little "roundabout!" + I kin see our lines a-tanglin', and our elbows in a jam, + And our naked legs a-danglin' thum the apern of the dam. + + I kin see the honeysuckle climbin' up around the mill; + And kin hear the worter chuckle, and the wheel a-growlin' still; + And thum the bank below it I kin steal the old canoe, + And jes' git in and row it like the miller used to do. + + W'y, I git my fancy focussed on the past so mortal plain + I kin even smell the locus'-blossoms bloomin' in the lane; + And I hear the cow-bells clinkin' sweeter tunes 'n "money musk" + Far the lightnin'-bugs a-blinkin'and a-dancin'in the dusk. + + And so I keep on musin', as the feller says, till I'm + Firm-fixed in the conclusion that they hain't no better time, + When you come to cipher on it, than the _old_ times,--and, I swear, + I kin wake and say "dog-gone-it!" jes' as soft as any prayer! + + + + +HAS SHE FORGOTTEN. + + + +I. + + Has she forgotten? On this very May + We were to meet here, with the birds and bees, + As on that Sabbath, underneath the trees + We strayed among the tombs, and stripped away + The vines from these old granites, cold and gray-- + And yet, indeed, not grim enough were they + To stay our kisses, smiles and ecstacies, + Or closer voice-lost vows and rhapsodies. + Has she forgotten--that the May has won + Its promise?--that the bird-songs from the tree + Are sprayed above the grasses as the sun + Might jar the dazzling dew down showeringly? + Has she forgotten life--love--everyone-- + Has she forgotten me--forgotten me? + + + +II. + + Low, low down in the violets I press + My lips and whisper to her. Does she hear, + And yet hold silence, though I call her dear, + Just as of old, save for the tearfulness + Of the clenched eyes, and the soul's vast distress? + Has she forgotten thus the old caress + That made our breath a quickened atmosphere + That failed nigh unto swooning with the sheer + Delight? Mine arms clutch now this earthen heap + Sodden with tears that flow on ceaselessly + As autumn rains the long, long, long nights weep + In memory of days that used to be,-- + Has she forgotten these? And, in her sleep, + Has she forgotten me--forgotten me? + + + +III. + + To-night, against my pillow, with shut eyes, + I mean to weld our faces--through the dense + Incalculable darkness make pretense + That she has risen from her reveries + To mate her dreams with mine in marriages + Of mellow palms, smooth faces, and tense ease + Of every longing nerve of indolence,-- + Lift from the grave her quiet lips, and stun + My senses with her kisses--drawl the glee + Of her glad mouth, full blithe and tenderly, + Across mine own, forgetful if is done + The old love's awful dawn-time when said we, + "To-day is ours!".... Ah, Heaven! can it be + She has forgotten me--forgotten me! + + + + +A' OLD PLAYED-OUT SONG. + + + + It's the curiousest thing in creation, + Whenever I hear that old song, + "Do They Miss Me at Home?" I'm so bothered, + My life seems as short as it's long!-- + Far ever'thing 'pears like adzackly + It 'peared, in the years past and gone,-- + When I started out sparkin', at twenty, + And had my first neckercher on! + + Though I'm wrinkelder, older and grayer + Right now than my parents was then, + You strike up that song, "Do They Miss Me?" + And I'm jest a youngster again!-- + I'm a-standin' back there in the furries + A-wishin' far evening to come, + And a-whisperin' over and over + Them words, "Do They Miss Me at Home?" + + You see, Marthy Ellen she sung it + The first time I heerd it; and so, + As she was my very first sweetheart, + It reminds of her, don't you know,-- + How her face ust to look, in the twilight, + As I tuck her to spellin'; and she + Kep' a-hummin' that song 'tel I ast her, + Pine-blank, ef she ever missed me! + + I can shet my eyes now, as you sing it, + And hear her low answerin' words, + And then the glad chirp of the crickets + As clear as the twitter of birds; + And the dust in the road is like velvet, + And the ragweed, and fennel, and grass + Is as sweet as the scent of the lilies + Of Eden of old, as we pass. + + "Do They Miss Me at Home?" Sing it lower-- + And softer--and sweet as the breeze + That powdered our path with the snowy + White bloom of the old locus'-trees! + Let the whippoorwills he'p you to sing it, + And the echoes 'way over the hill, + 'Tel the moon boolges out, in a chorus + Of stars, and our voices is still. + + But, oh! "They's a chord in the music + That's missed when _her_ voice is away!" + Though I listen from midnight 'tel morning, + And dawn, 'tel the dusk of the day; + And I grope through the dark, lookin' up'ards + And on through the heavenly dome, + With my longin' soul singin' and sobbin' + The words, "Do They Miss Me at Home?" + + + + +THE LOST PATH. + + + + Alone they walked--their fingers knit together, + And swaying listlessly as might a swing + Wherein Dan Cupid dangled in the weather + Of some sun-flooded afternoon of Spring. + + Within the clover-fields the tickled cricket + Laughed lightly as they loitered down the lane, + And from the covert of the hazel-thicket + The squirrel peeped and laughed at them again. + + The bumble-bee that tipped the lily-vases + Along the road-side in the shadows dim, + Went following the blossoms of their faces + As though their sweets must needs be shared with him. + + Between the pasture bars the wondering cattle + Stared wistfully, and from their mellow bells + Shook out a welcoming whose dreamy rattle + Fell swooningly away in faint farewells. + + And though at last the gloom of night fell o'er them, + And folded all the landscape from their eyes, + They only know the dusky path before them + Was leading safely on to Paradise. + + + + +THE LITTLE TINY KICKSHAW. + + + + "--_And any little tiny kickshaws_."--Shakespeare. + + + + O the little tiny kickshaw that Mither sent tae me, + 'Tis sweeter than the sugar-plum that reepens on the tree, + Wi' denty flavorin's o' spice an' musky rosemarie, + The little tiny kickshaw that Mither sent tae me. + + 'Tis luscious wi' the stalen tang o' fruits frae ower the sea, + An' e'en its fragrance gars we laugh wi' langin' lip an' ee, + Till a' its frazen sheen o' white maun melten hinnie be-- + Sae weel I luve the kickshaw that Mither sent tae me. + + O I luve the tiny kickshaw, an' I smack my lips wi' glee, + Aye mickle do I luve the taste o' sic a luxourie, + But maist I luve the luvein' han's that could the giftie gie + O' the little tiny kickshaw that Mither sent tae me. + + + + +HIS MOTHER. + + + + DEAD! my wayward boy--_my own_-- + Not _the Law's!_ but _mine_--the good + God's free gift to me alone, + Sanctified by motherhood. + + "Bad," you say: Well, who is not? + "Brutal"--"with a heart of stone"-- + And "red-handed."--Ah! the hot + Blood upon your own! + + I come not, with downward eyes, + To plead for him shamedly,-- + God did not apologize + When He gave the boy to me. + + Simply, I make ready now + For _His_ verdict.--_You_ prepare-- + You have killed us both--and how + Will you face us There! + + + + +KISSING THE ROD. + + + + O heart of mine, we shouldn't + Worry so! + What we've missed of calm we couldn't + Have, you know! + What we've met of stormy pain, + And of sorrow's driving rain, + We can better meet again, + If it blow! + + We have erred in that dark hour + We have known, + When our tears fell with the shower, + All alone!-- + Were not shine and shadow blent + As the gracious Master meant?-- + Let us temper our content + With His own. + + For, we know, not every morrow + Can be sad; + So, forgetting all the sorrow + We have had, + Let us fold away our fears, + And put by our foolish tears, + And through all the coming years + Just be glad. + + + + +HOW IT HAPPENED. + + + + I got to thinkin' of her--both her parents dead and gone-- + And all her sisters married off, and none but her and John + A-livin' all alone there in that lonesome sort o' way, + And him a blame old bachelor, confirmder ev'ry day! + I'd knowed 'em all from childern, and their daddy from the time + He settled in the neighborhood, and had n't ary a dime + Er dollar, when he married, far to start housekeepin' on!-- + So I got to thinkin' of her--both her parents dead and gone! + + I got to thinkin' of her; and a-wundern what she done + That all her sisters kep' a gittin' married, one by one, + And her without no chances--and the best girl of the pack-- + An old maid, with her hands, you might say, tied behind her back! + And Mother, too, afore she died, she ust to jes' take on, + When none of 'em was left, you know, but Evaline and John, + And jes' declare to goodness 'at the young men must be bline + To not see what a wife they 'd git if they got Evaline! + + I got to thinkin' of her; in my great affliction she + Was sich a comfert to us, and so kind and neighberly,-- + She 'd come, and leave her housework, far to be'p out little Jane, + And talk of _her own_ mother 'at she 'd never see again-- + Maybe sometimes cry together--though, far the most part she + Would have the child so riconciled and happy-like 'at we + Felt lonesomer 'n ever when she 'd put her bonnet on + And say she 'd railly haf to be a-gittin' back to John! + + I got to thinkin' of her, as I say,--and more and more + I'd think of her dependence, and the burdens 'at she bore,-- + Her parents both a-bein' dead, and all her sisters gone + And married off, and her a-livin' there alone with John-- + You might say jes' a-toilin' and a-slavin' out her life + Far a man 'at hadn't pride enough to git hisse'f a wife-- + 'Less some one married _Evaline_, and packed her off some day!-- + So I got to thinkin' of her--and it happened thataway. + + + + +BABYHOOD. + + + + Heigh-ho! Babyhood! Tell me where you linger: + Let's toddle home again, for we have gone astray; + Take this eager hand of mine and lead me by the finger + Back to the Lotus lands of the far-away. + + Turn back the leaves of life; don't read the story,-- + Let's find the _pictures_, and fancy all the rest:-- + We can fill the written pages with a brighter glory + Than Old Time, the story-teller, at his very best! + + Turn to the brook, where the honeysuckle, tipping + O'er its vase of perfume spills it on the breeze, + And the bee and humming-bird in ecstacy are sipping + From the fairy flagons of the blooming locust trees. + + Turn to the lane, where we used to "teeter-totter," + Printing little foot-palms in the mellow mold, + Laughing at the lazy cattle wading in the water + Where the ripples dimple round the buttercups of gold: + + Where the dusky turtle lies basking on the gravel + Of the sunny sandbar in the middle-tide, + And the ghostly dragonfly pauses in his travel + To rest like a blossom where the water-lily died. + + Heigh-ho! Babyhood! Tell me where you linger: + Let's toddle home again, for we have gone astray; + Take this eager hand of mine and lead me by the finger + Back to the Lotus lands of the far-away. + + + + +THE DAYS GONE BY. + + + + O the days gone by! O the days gone by! + The apples in the orchard, and the pathway through the rye; + The chirrup of the robin, and the whistle of the quail + As he piped across the meadows sweet as any nightingale; + When the bloom was on the clover, and the blue was in the sky, + And my happy heart brimmed over in the days gone by. + + In the days gone by, when my naked feet were tripped + By the honey-suckle's tangles where the water-lilies dipped, + And the ripples of the river lipped the moss along the brink + Where the placid-eyed and lazy-footed cattle came to drink, + And the tilting snipe stood fearless of the truant's wayward cry + And the splashing of the swimmer, in the days gone by. + + O the days gone by! O the days gone by! + The music of the laughing lip, the luster of the eye; + The childish faith in fairies, and Aladdin's magic ring-- + The simple, soul-reposing, glad belief in everything,-- + When life was like a story, holding neither sob nor sigh, + In the golden olden glory of the days gone by. + + + + +MRS. MILLER + + + +John B. McKinney, Attorney and Counselor at Law, as his sign read, +was, for many reasons, a fortunate man. For many other reasons he was +not. He was chiefly fortunate in being, as certain opponents often +strove to witheringly designate him, "the son of his father," since +that sound old gentleman was the wealthiest farmer in that section, +with but one son and heir to, in time, supplant him in the role of +"county god," and haply perpetuate the prouder title of "the biggest +tax-payer on the assessment list." And this fact, too, fortunate as it +would seem, was doubtless the indirect occasion of a liberal +percentage of all John's misfortunes. From his earliest school-days in +the little town, up to his tardy graduation from a distant college, +the influence of his father's wealth invited his procrastination, +humored its results, encouraged the laxity of his ambition, "and even +now," as John used, in bitter irony, to put it, "it is aiding and +abetting me in the ostensible practice of my chosen profession, a +listless, aimless undetermined man of forty, and a confirmed bachelor +at that!" At the utterance of this self-depreciating statement, John +generally jerked his legs down from the top of his desk; and, rising +and kicking his chair back to the wall, he would stump around his +littered office till the manilla carpet steamed with dust. Then he +would wildly break away, seeking refuge either in the open street, or +in his room at the old-time tavern, The Eagle House, "where," he would +say, "I have lodged and boarded, I do solemnly asseverate, for a long, +unbroken, middle-aged eternity of ten years, and can yet assert, in +the words of the more fortunately-dying Webster, that 'I still live!'" + +Extravagantly satirical as he was at times, John had always an +indefinable drollery about him that made him agreeable company to his +friends, at least; and such an admiring friend he had constantly at +hand in the person of Bert Haines. Both were Bohemians in natural +tendency, and, though John was far in Bert's advance in point of age, +he found the young man "just the kind of a fellow to have around;" +while Bert, in turn, held his senior in profound esteem--looked up to +him, in fact, and in even his eccentricities strove to pattern after +him. And so it was, when summer days were dull and tedious, these two +could muse and doze the hours away together; and when the nights were +long, and dark, and deep, and beautiful, they could drift out in the +noon-light of the stars, and with "the soft complaining flute" and +"warbling lute," "lay the pipes," as John would say, for their +enduring popularity with the girls! And it was immediately subsequent +to one of these romantic excursions, when the belated pair, at two +o'clock in the morning, had skulked up a side stairway of the old +hotel, and gained John's room, with nothing more serious happening +than Bert falling over a trunk and smashing his guitar,--just after +such a night of romance and adventure it was that, in the seclusion of +John's room, Bert had something of especial import to communicate. + +"Mack," he said, as that worthy anathematized a spiteful match, and +then sucked his finger. + +"Blast the all-fired old torch!" said John, wrestling with the +lamp-flue, and turning on a welcome flame at last. "Well, you said +'Mack!' Why don't you go on? And don't bawl at the top of your lungs, +either. You've already succeeded in waking every boarder in the house +with that guitar, and you want to make amends now by letting them go +to sleep again!" + +"But my dear fellow," said Bert, with forced calmness, "you're the +fellow that's making all the noise--and--" + +"Why, you howling dervish!" interrupted John, with a feigned air of +pleased surprise and admiration. "But let's drop controversy. Throw +the fragments of your guitar in the wood-box there, and proceed with +the opening proposition." + +"What I was going to say was this," said Bert, with a half-desperate +enunciation; "I'm getting tired of this way of living--clean, +dead-tired, and fagged out, and sick of the whole artificial +business!" + +"Oh, yes!" exclaimed John, with a towering disdain, "you needn't go +any further! I know just what malady is throttling you. It's +reform--reform! You're going to 'turn over a new leaf,' and all that, +and sign the pledge, and quit cigars, and go to work, and pay your +debts, and gravitate back into Sunday-School, where you can make love +to the preacher's daughter under the guise of religion, and desecrate +the sanctity of the innermost pale of the church by confessions at +Class of your 'thorough conversion!' Oh, you're going to--" + +"No, but I'm going to do nothing of the sort," interrupted Bert, +resentfully. "What I mean--if you'll let me finish--is, I'm getting +too old to be eternally undignifying myself with this 'singing of +midnight strains under Bonnybell's window panes,' and too old to be +keeping myself in constant humiliation and expense by the borrowing +and stringing up of old guitars, together with the breakage of the +same, and the general wear-and-tear on a constitution that is slowly +being sapped to its foundations by exposure in the night-air and the +dew." "And while you receive no further compensation in return," said +John, "than, perhaps, the coy turning up of a lamp at an upper +casement where the jasmine climbs; or an exasperating patter of +invisible palms; or a huge dank wedge of fruit-cake shoved at you by +the old man, through a crack in the door." + +"Yes, and I'm going to have my just reward, is what I mean," said +Bert, "and exchange the lover's life for the benedict's. Going to hunt +out a good, sensible girl and marry her." And as the young man +concluded this desperate avowal he jerked the bow of his cravat into a +hard knot, kicked his hat under the bed, and threw himself on the sofa +like an old suit. + +John stared at him with absolute compassion. "Poor devil," he said, +half musingly, "I know just how he feels-- + + 'Ring in the wind his wedding chimes, + Smile, villagers, at every door; + Old church-yards stuffed with buried crimes, + Be clad in sunshine o'er and o'er.--'" + +"Oh, here!" exclaimed the wretched Bert, jumping to his feet; "let up +on that dismal recitative. It would make a dog howl to hear that!" + +"Then you 'let up' on that suicidal talk of marrying," replied John, +"and all that harangue of incoherency about your growing old. Why, my +dear fellow, you're at least a dozen years my junior, and look at me!" +and John glanced at himself in the glass with a feeble pride, noting +the gray sparseness of his side-hair, and its plaintive dearth on top. +"Of course I've got to admit," he continued, "that my hair is +gradually evaporating; but for all that, I'm 'still in the ring,' +don't you know; as young in society, for the matter of that, as +yourself! And this is just the reason why I don't want you to blight +every prospect in your life by marrying at your age--especially a +woman--I mean the kind of woman you'd be sure to fancy at your age." + +"Didn't I say 'a good, sensible girl' was the kind I had selected?" +Bert remonstrated. + +"Oh!" exclaimed John, "you've selected her, then?--and without one +word to me!" he ended, rebukingly. + +"Well, hang it all!" said Bert, impatiently; "I knew how _you_ were, +and just how you'd talk me out of it; and I made up my mind that for +once, at least, I'd follow the dictations of a heart that--however +capricious in youthful frivolties--should beat, in manhood, loyal to +itself and loyal to its own affinity." + +"Go it! Fire away! Farewell, vain world!" exclaimed the excited +John.--"Trade your soul off for a pair of ear-bobs and a +button-hook--a hank of jute hair and a box of lily-white! I've buried +not less than ten old chums this way, and here's another nominated for +the tomb." + +"But you've got no _reason_ about you," began Bert,--"I want to"-- + +"And so do _I_ 'want to,'" broke in John, finally,--"I want to get +some sleep.--So 'register' and come to bed.--And lie up on edge, too, +when you _do_ come--'cause this old catafalque-of-a-bed is just about +as narrow as your views of single blessedness! Peace! Not another +word! Pile in! Pile in! I'm three-parts sick, anyhow, and I want +rest!" And very truly he spoke. + +It was a bright morning when the slothful John was aroused by a long, +vociferous pounding on the door. He started up in bed to find himself +alone--the victim of his wrathful irony having evidently risen and +fled away while his pitiless tormentor slept--"Doubtless to at once +accomplish that nefarious intent as set forth by his unblushing +confession of last night," mused the miserable John. And he ground his +fingers in the corners of his swollen eyes, and leered grimly in the +glass at the feverish orbs, blood-shotten, blurred and aching. + +The pounding on the door continued. John looked at his watch; it was +only 8 o'clock. + +"Hi, there!" he called viciously. "What do you mean, anyhow?" he went +on, elevating his voice again; "shaking a man out of bed when he's +just dropping into his first sleep?" + +"I mean that you're going to get up; that's what!" replied a firm +female voice. "It's 8 o'clock, and I want to put your room in order; +and I'm not going to wait all day about it, either! Get up and go down +to your breakfast, and let me have the room!" And the clamor at the +door was industriously renewed. + +"Say!" called John, querulously, hurrying on his clothes, "Say! you!" + +"There's no 'say' about it!" responded the determined voice: "I've +heard about you and your ways around this house, and I'm not going to +put up with it! You'll not lie in bed till high noon when I've got to +keep your room in proper order!" + +"Oh ho!" bawled John, intelligently: "reckon you're the new invasion +here? Doubtless you're the girl that's been hanging up the new +window-blinds that won't roll, and disguising the pillows with clean +slips, and 'hennin' round among my books and papers on the table here, +and ageing me generally till I don't know my own handwriting by the +time I find it! Oh, yes! you're going to revolutionize things here; +you're going to introduce promptness, and system, and order. See +you've even filled the wash-pitcher and tucked two starched towels +through the handle. Haven't got any tin towels, have you? I rather +like this new soap, too! So solid and durable, you know; warranted not +to raise a lather. Might as well wash one's hands with a door-knob!" +And as John's voice grumbled away into the sullen silence again, the +determined voice without responded: "Oh, you can growl away to your +heart's content, Mr. McKinney, but I want you to distinctly understand +that I'm not going to humor you in any of your old bachelor, +sluggardly, slovenly ways, and whims and notions. And I want you to +understand, too, that I'm not hired help in this house, nor a +chambermaid, nor anything of the kind. I'm the landlady here; and I'll +give you just ten minutes more to get down to your breakfast, or +you'll not get any--that's all!" And as the reversed cuff John was in +the act of buttoning slid from his wrist and rolled under the dresser, +he heard a stiff rustling of starched muslin flouncing past the door, +and the quick italicized patter of determined gaiters down the hall. + +"Look here," said John to the bright-faced boy in the hotel office, a +half hour later. "It seems the house here's been changing hands +again." + +"Yes, sir," said the boy, closing the cigar case, and handing him a +lighted match. "Well, the new landlord, whoever he is," continued +John, patronizingly, "is a good one. Leastwise, he knows what's good +to eat, and how to serve it." + +The boy laughed timidly,--"It aint a landlord,' though--it's a +landlady; it's my mother." + +"Ah," said John, dallying with the change the boy had pushed toward +him. "Your mother, eh?" And where's your father?" + +"He's dead," said the boy. + +"And what's this for?" abruptly asked John, examining his change. + +"That's your change," said the boy: "You got three for a quarter, and +gave me a half." + +"Well, _you_ just keep it," said John, sliding back the change. "It's +for good luck, you know, my boy. Same as drinking your long life and +prosperity. And, Oh yes, by the way, you may tell your mother I'll +have a friend to dinner with me to-day." + +"Yes, sir, and thank you, sir," said the beaming boy. + +"Handsome boy!" mused John, as he walked down street. "Takes that from +his father, though, I'll wager my existence!" + +Upon his office desk John found a hastily written note. It was +addressed in the well-known hand of his old chum. He eyed the missive +apprehensively, and there was a positive pathos in his voice as he +said aloud, "It's our divorce. I feel it!" The note, headed, "At the +Office, 4 in Morning," ran like this: + + "Dear Mack--I left you slumbering so soundly that, by noon, + when you waken, I hope, in your refreshed state, you will + look more tolerantly on my intentions as partially confided + to you this night. I will not see you here again to say + good-bye. I wanted to, but was afraid to 'rouse the sleeping + lion.' I will not close my eyes to-night--fact is, I haven't + time. Our serenade at Josie's was a pre-arranged signal by + which she is to be ready and at the station for the 5 + morning train. You may remember the lighting of three + consecutive matches at her window before the igniting of her + lamp. That meant, 'Thrice dearest one, I'll meet thee at the + depot at 4:30 sharp.' So, my dear Mack, this is to inform + you that, even as you read, Josie and I have eloped. It is + all the old man's fault, yet I forgive him. Hope he'll + return the favor. Josie predicts he will, inside of a + week--or two weeks, anyhow. Good-bye, Mack, old boy; and let + a fellow down as easy as you can. + + Affectionately, + + BERT." + +"Heavens!" exclaimed John, stifling the note in his hand and stalking +tragically around the room. "Can it be possible that I have nursed a +frozen viper? An ingrate? A wolf in sheep's clothing? An orang-outang +in gent's furnishings?" + +"Was you callin' me, sir?" asked a voice at the door. It was the +janitor. + +"No!" thundered John; "Quit my sight! get out of my way! No, no, +Thompson, I don't mean that," he called after him. "Here's a half +dollar for you, and I want you to lock up the office, and tell anybody +that wants to see me that I've been set upon, and sacked and +assassinated in cold blood; and I've fled to my father's in the +country, and am lying there in the convulsions of dissolution, +babbling of green fields and running brooks, and thirsting for the +life of every woman that comes in gunshot!" And then, more like a +confirmed invalid than a man in the strength and pride of his prime, +he crept down into the street again, and thence back to his hotel. + +Dejectedly and painfully climbing to his room, he encountered, on the +landing above, a little woman in a jaunty dusting-cap and a trim habit +of crisp muslin. He tried to evade her, but in vain. She looked him +squarely in the face--occasioning him the dubious impression of either +needing shaving very badly, or having egg-stains on his chin. + +"You're the gentleman in No. 11, I believe?" she said. + +He nodded confusedly. + +"Mr. McKinney is your name, I think?" she queried, with a pretty +elevation of the eyebrows. + +"Yes, ma'am," said John, rather abjectly. "You see, ma'am--But I beg +pardon," he went on stammeringly, and with a very awkward bow--"I beg +pardon, but I am addressing--ah--the--ah--the--" + +"You are addressing the new landlady," she interpolated, pleasantly. +"Mrs. Miller is my name. I think we should be friends, Mr. McKinney, +since I hear that you are one of the oldest patrons of the house." + +"Thank you--thank you!" said John, completely embarrassed. "Yes, +indeed!--ha, ha. Oh, yes--yes--really, we must be quite old friends, I +assure you, Mrs.--Mrs.--" + +"Mrs. Miller," smilingly prompted the little woman. + +"Yes, ah, yes,--Mrs. Miller. Lovely morning, Mrs. Miller," said John, +edging past her and backing toward his room. + +But as Mrs. Miller was laughing outright, for some mysterious reason, +and gave no affirmation in response to his proposition as to the +quality of the weather, John, utterly abashed and nonplussed, darted +into his room and closed the door. "Deucedly extraordinary woman!" he +thought; "wonder what's her idea!" + +He remained locked in his room till the dinner-hour; and, when he +promptly emerged for that occasion, there was a very noticeable +improvement in his personal appearance, in point of dress, at least, +though there still lingered about his smoothly-shaven features a +certain haggard, care-worn, anxious look that would not out. + +Next his own place at the table he found a chair tilted forward, as +though in reservation for some honored guest. What did it mean? Oh, he +remembered now. Told the boy to tell his mother he would have a friend +to dine with him. Bert--and, blast the fellow! he was, doubtless, +dining then with a far preferable companion--his wife--in a palace-car +on the P., C. & St. L., a hundred miles away. The thought was +maddening. Of course, now, the landlady would have material for a new +assault. And how could he avert it? A despairing film blurred his +sight for the moment--then the eyes flashed daringly. "I will meet it +like a man!" he said, mentally--"like a State's Attorney,--I will +invite it! Let her do her worst!" + +He called a servant, directing some message in an undertone. + +"Yes, sir," said the agreeable servant, "I'll go right away, sir," and +left the room. + +Five minutes elapsed, and then a voice at his shoulder startled him: + +"Did you send for me, Mr. McKinney? What is it I can do?" + +"You are very kind, Mrs.--Mrs.--" + +"Mrs. Miller," said the lady, with a smile that he remembered. + +"Now, please spare me even the mildest of rebukes. I deserve your +censure, but I can't stand it--I can't positively!" and there was a +pleading look in John's lifted eyes that changed the little woman's +smile to an expression of real solicitude. "I have sent for you," +continued John, "to ask of you three great favors. Please be seated +while I enumerate them. First--I want you to forgive and forget that +ill-natured, uncalled-for grumbling of mine this morning when you +wakened me." + +"Why, certainly," said the landlady, again smiling, though quite +seriously. + +"I thank you," said John, with dignity. "And, second," he +continued--"I want your assurance that my extreme confusion and +awkwardness on the occasion of our meeting later were rightly +interpreted." + +"Certainly--certainly," said the landlady, with the kindliest +sympathy. + +"I am grateful--utterly," said John, with newer dignity. "And then," +he went on,--after informing you that it is impossible for the best +friend I have in the world to be with me at this hour, as intended, I +want you to do me the very great honor of dining with me. Will you?" + +"Why, certainly," said the charming little landlady--"and a thousand +thanks beside! But tell me something of your friend," she continued, +as they were being served. "What is he like--and what is his name--and +where is he?" + +"Well," said John, warily,--"he's like all young fellows of his age. +He's quite young, you know--not over thirty, I should say--a mere boy, +in fact, but clever--talented--versatile." + +"--Unmarried, of course," said the chatty little woman. + +"Oh, yes!" said John, in a matter-of-course tone--but he caught +himself abruptly--then stared intently at his napkin--glanced +evasively at the side-face of his questioner, and said,--"Oh yes! Yes, +indeed! He's unmarried.--Old bachelor like myself, you know. Ha! Ha!" + +"So he's not like the young man here that distinguished himself last +night?" said the little woman, archly. + +The fork in John's hand, half-lifted to his lips, faltered and fell +back toward his plate. + +"Why, what's that?" said John, in a strange voice; "I hadn't heard +anything about it--I mean I haven't heard anything about any young +man. What was it?" + +"Haven't heard anything about the elopement?" exclaimed the little +woman, in astonishment.--"Why, it's been the talk of the town all +morning. Elopement in high life--son of a grain-dealer, name of Hines, +or Himes, or something, and a preacher's daughter--Josie +somebody--didn't catch her last name. Wonder if you don't know the +parties--Why, Mr. McKinney, are you ill?" + +"Oh, no--not at all!" said John: "Don't mention it. Ha--ha! Just +eating too rapidly, that's all. Go on with--you were saying that Bert +and Josie had really eloped." + +"What 'Bert'?" asked the little woman quickly. + +"Why, did I say Bert?" said John, with a guilty look. "I meant Haines, +of course, you know--Haines and Josie.--And did they really elope?" + +"That's the report," answered the little woman, as though deliberating +some important evidence; "and they say, too, that the plot of the +runaway was quite ingenious. It seems the young lovers were assisted +in their flight by some old fellow--friend of the young man's--Why, +Mr. McKinney, you _are_ ill, surely?" + +John's face was ashen. + +"No--no!" he gasped, painfully: "Go on--go on! Tell me more about +the--the--the old fellow--the old reprobate! And is he still at +large?" + +"Yes," said the little womon, anxiously regarding the strange demeanor +of her companion. "They say, though, that the law can do nothing with +him, and that this fact only intensifies the agony of the +broken-hearted parents--for it seems they have, till now, regarded him +both as a gentleman and family friend in whom"-- + +"I really am ill," moaned John, waveringly rising to his feet; "but I +beg you not to be alarmed. Tell your little boy to come to my room, +where I will retire at once, if you'll excuse me, and send for my +physician. It is simply a nervous attack. I am often troubled so; and +only perfect quiet and seclusion restores me. You have done me a great +honor, Mrs."--("Mrs.--Miller," sighed the sympathetic little +woman)--"Mrs. Miller,--and I thank you more than I have words to +express." He bowed limply, turned through a side door opening on a +stair, and tottered to his room. + +During the three weeks' illness through which he passed, John had +every attention--much more, indeed, than he had consciousness to +appreciate. For the most part his mind wandered, and he talked of +curious things, and laughed hysterically, and serenaded mermaids that +dwelt in grassy seas of dew, and were bald-headed like himself. He +played upon a fourteen-jointed flute of solid gold, with diamond +holes, and keys carved out of thawless ice. His old father came at +first to take him home; but he could not be moved, the doctor said. + +Two weeks of John's illness had worn away, when a very serious looking +young man, in a traveling duster, and a high hat, came up the stairs +to see him. A handsome young lady was clinging to his arm. It was Bert +and Josie. She had guessed the very date of their forgiveness. John +wakened even clearer in mind than usual that afternoon. He recognized +his old chum at a glance, and Josie--now Bert's wife. Yes, he +comprehended that. He was holding a hand of each when another figure +entered. His thin, white fingers loosened their clasp, and he held a +hand toward the new comer. "Here," he said, "is my best friend in the +world--Bert, you and Josie will love her, I know; for this is +Mrs.--Mrs."--"Mrs. Miller," said the radiant little +woman.--"Yes,--Mrs. Miller," said John, very proudly. + + + + +RHYMES OF RAINY DAYS + + + + +THE TREE-TOAD. + + + + "'Scurious-like," said the tree-toad, + "I've twittered far rain all day; + And I got up soon, + And I hollered till noon-- + But the sun, hit blazed away, + Till I jest clumb down in a crawfish-hole, + Weary at heart, and sick at soul! + +"Dozed away far an hour, + And I tackled the thing agin; + And I sung, and sung, + Till I knowed my lung + Was jest about give in; + And then, thinks I, ef hit don't rain now. + There're nothin' in singin', anyhow! + + "Once in awhile some + Would come a drivin' past; + And he'd hear my cry, + And stop and sigh-- + Till I jest laid back, at last, + And I hollered rain till I thought my th'oat + Would bust right open at ever' note! + + "But _I fetched_ her! O _I fetched_ her!-- + 'Cause a little while ago, + As I kindo' set, + With one eye shet, + And a-singin' soft and low, + A voice drapped down on my fevered brain, + Sayin',--' Ef you'll jest hush I'll rain!'" + + + + +A WORN-OUT PENCIL. + + + + Welladay! + Here I lay + You at rest--all worn away, + O my pencil, to the tip + Of our old companionship! + + Memory + Sighs to see + What you are, and used to be, + Looking backward to the time + When you wrote your earliest rhyme!-- + + When I sat + Filing at + Your first point, and dreaming that + Your initial song should be + Worthy of posterity. + + With regret + I forget + If the song be living yet, + Yet remember, vaguely now, + It was honest, anyhow. + + You have brought + Me a thought-- + Truer yet was never taught,-- + That the silent song is best, + And the unsung worthiest. + + So if I, + When I die, + May as uncomplainingly + Drop aside as now you do, + Write of me, as I of you:-- + + Here lies one + Who begun + Life a-singing, heard of none; + And he died, satisfied, + With his dead songs by his side. + + + + +THE STEPMOTHER. + + + + First she come to our house, + Tommy run and hid; + And Emily and Bob and me + We cried jus' like we did + When Mother died,--and we all said + 'At we all wisht 'at we was dead! + + And Nurse she couldn't stop us, + And Pa he tried and tried,-- + We sobbed and shook and wouldn't look, + But only cried and cried; + And nen someone--we couldn't jus' + Tell who--was cryin' same as us! + + Our Stepmother! Yes, it was her, + Her arms around us all-- + 'Cause Tom slid down the bannister + And peeked in from the hall.-- + And we all love her, too, because + She's purt nigh good as Mother was! + + + + +THE RAIN. + + + +I. + + The rain! the rain! the rain! + It gushed from the skies and streamed + Like awful tears; and the sick man thought + How pitiful it seemed! + And he turned his face away, + And stared at the wall again, + His hopes nigh dead and his heart worn out. + O the rain! the rain! the rain! + + + +II. + + The rain! the rain! the rain! + And the broad stream brimmed the shores; + And ever the river crept over the reeds + And the roots of the sycamores: + A corpse swirled by in a drift + Where the boat had snapt its chain-- + And a hoarse-voiced mother shrieked and raved. + O the rain! the rain! the rain! + + + +III. + + The rain! the rain! the rain!-- + Pouring, with never a pause, + Over the fields and the green byways-- + How beautiful it was! + And the new-made man and wife + Stood at the window-pane + Like two glad children kept from school.-- + O the rain! the rain! the rain! + + + + +THE LEGEND GLORIFIED. + + + + "I deem that God is not disquieted"-- + This in a mighty poet's rhymes I read; + And blazoned so forever doth abide + Within my soul the legend glorified. + + Though awful tempests thunder overhead, + I deem that God is not disquieted,-- + The faith that trembles somewhat yet is sure + Through storm and darkness of a way secure. + + Bleak winters, when the naked spirit hears + The break of hearts, through stinging sleet of tears, + I deem that God is not disquieted; + Against all stresses am I clothed and fed. + + Nay, even with fixed eyes and broken breath, + My feet dip down into the tides of death, + Nor any friend be left, nor prayer be said, + I deem that God is not disquieted. + + + + +WANT TO BE WHUR MOTHER IS. + + + + "Want to be whur mother is! Want to be whur mother is!" + Jeemses Rivers! won't some one ever shet that howl o' his? + That-air yellin' drives me wild! + Cain't none of ye stop the child? + Want jer Daddy? "Naw." Gee whizz! + "Want to be whur mother is!" + + "Want to be whur mother is! Want to be whur mother is!" + Coax him, Sairy! Mary, sing somepin far him! Lift him, Liz-- + Bang the clock-bell with the key-- + Er the _meat-ax!_ Gee-mun-nee! + Listen to them lungs o' his! + "Want to be whur mother is!" + + "Want to be whur mother is! Want to be whur mother is!" + Preacher guess'll pound all night on that old pulpit o' his; + 'Pears to me some wimmin jest + Shows religious interest + Mostly 'fore their fambly's riz! + "Want to be whur mother is!" + + * * * * * + + "Want to be whur mother is! Want to be whur mother is!" + Nights like these and whipperwills allus brings that voice of his! + Sairy; Mary; 'Lizabeth; + Don't set there and ketch yer death + In the dew--er rheumatiz-- + Want to be whur mother is? + + + + +OLD MAN'S NURSERY RHYME. + + + +I. + + In the jolly winters + Of the long-ago, + It was not so cold as now-- + O! No! No! + Then, as I remember, + Snowballs, to eat, + Were as good as apples now, + And every bit as sweet! + + + +II. + + In the jolly winters + Of the dead-and-gone, + Bub was warm as summer, + With his red mitts on,-- + Just in his little waist- + And-pants all together, + Who ever heard him growl + About cold weather? + + + +III. + + In the jolly winters of the long-ago-- + Was it _half_ so cold as now? + O! No! No! + Who caught his death o' cold, + Making prints of men + Flat-backed in snow that now's + Twice as cold again? + + + +IV. + + In the jolly winters + Of the dead-and-gone, + Startin' out rabbit-hunting + Early as the dawn,-- + Who ever froze his fingers, + Ears, heels, or toes,-- + Or'd a cared if he had? + Nobody knows! + + + +V. + + Nights by the kitchen-stove, + Shelling white and red + Corn in the skillet, and + Sleepin' four abed! + Ah! the jolly winters + Of the long-ago! + We were not so old as now-- + O! No! No! + + + + +THREE DEAD FRIENDS. + + + + Always suddenly they are gone-- + The friends we trusted and held secure-- + Suddenly we are gazing on, + Not a _smiling_ face, but the marble-pure + Dead mask of a face that nevermore + To a smile of ours will make reply-- + The lips close-locked as the eyelids are-- + Gone--swift as the flash of the molten ore + A meteor pours through a midnight sky, + Leaving it blind of a single star. + + Tell us, O Death, Remorseless Might! + What is this old, unescapable ire + You wreak on us?--from the birth of light + Till the world be charred to a core of fire! + We do no evil thing to you-- + We seek to evade you--that is all-- + That is your will--you will not be known + Of men. What, then, would you have us do?-- + Cringe, and wait till your vengeance fall, + And your graves be fed, and the trumpet blown? + + You desire no friends; but _we_--O we + Need them so, as we falter here, + Fumbling through each new vacancy, + As each is stricken that we hold dear. + One you struck but a year ago; + And one not a month ago; and one-- + (God's vast pity!)--and one lies now + Where the widow wails, in her nameless woe, + And the soldiers pace, with the sword and gun, + Where the comrade sleeps, with the laureled brow. + + And what did the first?--that wayward soul, + Clothed of sorrow, yet nude of sin, + And with all hearts bowed in the strange control + Of the heavenly voice of his violin. + Why, it was music the way he _stood_, + So grand was the poise of the head and so + Full was the figure of majesty!-- + One heard with the eyes, as a deaf man would, + And with all sense brimmed to the overflow + With tears of anguish and ecstasy. + + And what did the girl, with the great warm light + Of genius sunning her eyes of blue, + With her heart so pure, and her soul so white-- + What, O Death, did she do to you? + Through field and wood as a child she strayed, + As Nature, the dear sweet mother led; + While from her canvas, mirrored back, + Glimmered the stream through the everglade + Where the grapevine trailed from the trees to wed + Its likeness of emerald, blue and black. + + And what did he, who, the last of these, + Faced you, with never a fear, O Death? + Did you hate _him_ that he loved the breeze, + And the morning dews, and the rose's breath? + Did you hate him that he answered not + Your hate again--but turned, instead, + His only hate on his country's wrongs? + Well--you possess him, dead!--but what + Of the good he wrought? With laureled head + He bides with us in his deeds and songs. + + Laureled, first, that he bravely fought, + And forged a way to our flag's release; + Laureled, next--for the harp he taught + To wake glad songs in the days of peace-- + Songs of the woodland haunts he held + As close in his love as they held their bloom + In their inmost bosoms of leaf and vine-- + Songs that echoed, and pulsed and welled + Through the town's pent streets, and the sick child's room, + Pure as a shower in soft sunshine. + + Claim them, Death; yet their fame endures, + What friend next will you rend from us + In that cold, pitiless way of yours, + And leave us a grief more dolorous? + Speak to us!--tell us, O Dreadful Power!-- + Are we to have not a lone friend left?-- + Since, frozen, sodden, or green the sod,-- + In every second of every hour, + _Some one_, Death, you have left thus bereft, + Half inaudibly shrieks to God. + + + + +IN BOHEMIA. + + + + Ha! My dear! I'm back again-- + Vendor of Bohemia's wares! + Lordy! How it pants a man + Climbing up those awful stairs! + Well, I've made the dealer say + Your sketch _might_ sell, anyway! + And I've made a publisher + Hear my poem, Kate, my dear. + + In Bohemia, Kate, my dear-- + Lodgers in a musty flat + On the top floor--living here + Neighborless, and used to that,-- + Like a nest beneath the eaves, + So our little home receives + Only guests of chirping cheer-- + We'll be happy, Kate, my dear! + + Under your north-light there, you + At your easel, with a stain + On your nose of Prussian blue, + Paint your bits of shine and rain; + With my feet thrown up at will + O'er my littered window-sill, + I write rhymes that ring as clear + As your laughter, Kate, my dear. + + Puff my pipe, and stroke my hair-- + Bite my pencil-tip and gaze + At you, mutely mooning there + O'er your "Aprils" and your "Mays!" + Equal inspiration in + Dimples of your cheek and chin, + And the golden atmosphere + Of your paintings, Kate, my dear! + + _Trying_! Yes, at times it is, + To clink happy rhymes, and fling + On the canvas scenes of bliss, + When we are half famishing!-- + When your "jersey" rips in spots, + And your hat's "forget-me-nots" + Have grown tousled, old and sere-- + It is trying, Kate, my dear! + + But--as sure--_some_ picture sells, + And--sometimes--the poetry-- + Bless us! How the parrot yells + His acclaims at you and me! + How we revel then in scenes + Of high banqueting!--sardines-- + Salads--olives--and a sheer + Pint of sherry, Kate, my dear! + + Even now I cross your palm, + With this great round world of gold!-- + "Talking wild?" Perhaps I am-- + Then, this little five-year-old!-- + Call it anything you will, + So it lifts your face until + I may kiss away that tear + Ere it drowns me, Kate, my dear. + + + + +IN THE DARK. + + + + O in the depths of midnight + What fancies haunt the brain! + When even the sigh of the sleeper + Sounds like a sob of pain. + + A sense of awe and of wonder + I may never well define,-- + For the thoughts that come in the shadows + Never come in the shine. + + The old clock down in the parlor + Like a sleepless mourner grieves, + And the seconds drip in the silence + As the rain drips from the eaves. + + And I think of the hands that signal + The hours there in the gloom, + And wonder what angel watchers + Wait in the darkened room. + + And I think of the smiling faces + That used to watch and wait, + Till the click of the clock was answered + By the click of the opening gate.-- + + They are not there now in the evening-- + Morning or noon--not there; + Yet I know that they keep their vigil, + And wait for me Somewhere. + + + + +WET WEATHER TALK. + + + + It ain't no use to grumble and complain; + It's jest as cheap and easy to rejoice: + When God sorts out the weather and sends rain, + W'y, rain's my choice. + + Men giner'ly, to all intents-- + Although they're ap' to grumble some-- + Puts most their trust in Providence, + And takes things as they come;-- + That is, the commonality + Of men that's lived as long as me, + Has watched the world enough to learn + They're not the boss of the concern. + + With _some_, of course, it's different-- + I've seed _young_ men that knowed it all, + And didn't like the way things went + On this terrestial ball! + But, all the same, the rain some way + Rained jest as hard on picnic-day; + Er when they railly wanted it, + It maybe wouldn't rain a bit! + + In this existence, dry and wet + Will overtake the best of men-- + Some little skift o' clouds'll shet + The sun off now and then; + But maybe, while you're wondern' who + You've fool-like lent your umbrell' to, + And _want_ it--out'll pop the sun, + And you'll be glad you ain't got none! + + It aggervates the farmers, too-- + They's too much wet, er too much sun, + Er work, er waiting round to do + Before the plowin''s done; + And maybe, like as not, the wheat, + Jest as it's lookin' hard to beat, + Will ketch the storm--and jest about + The time the corn 's a-jintin' out! + + These here cy-clones a-foolin' round-- + And back'ard crops--and wind and rain, + And yit the corn that's wallered down + May elbow up again! + They ain't no sense, as I kin see, + In mortals, sich as you and me, + A-faultin' Nature's wise intents, + And lockin' horns with Providence! + + It ain't no use to grumble and complain; + It's jest as cheap and easy to rejoice: + When God sorts out the weather and sends rain, + W'y, rain's my choice. + + + + +WHERE SHALL WE LAND. + + + + "_Where shall we land you, sweet_?"--Swinburne. + + + + All listlessly we float + Out seaward in the boat + That beareth Love. + Our sails of purest snow + Bend to the blue below + And to the blue above. + Where shall we land? + + We drift upon a tide + Shoreless on every side, + Save where the eye + Of Fancy sweeps far lands + Shelved slopingly with sands + Of gold and porphyry. + Where shall we land? + + The fairy isles we see, + Loom up so mistily-- + So vaguely fair, + We do not care to break + Fresh bubbles in our wake + To bend our course for there. + Where shall we land? + + The warm winds of the deep + Have lulled our sails to sleep, + And so we glide + Careless of wave or wind, + Or change of any kind, + Or turn of any tide. + Where shall we land? + + We droop our dreamy eyes + Where our reflection lies + Steeped in the sea, + And, in an endless fit + Of languor, smile on it + And its sweet mimicry. + Where shall we land? + + "Where shall we land?" God's grace! + I know not any place + So fair as this-- + Swung here between the blue + Of sea and sky, with you + To ask me, with a kiss, + "Where shall we land?" + + + + +AN OLD SETTLER'S STORY + + + +William Williams his name was--or so he said;--Bill Williams they +called him, and them 'at knowed him best called him Bill Bills. + +The first I seed o' Bills was about two weeks after he got here. The +Settlement wasn't nothin' but a baby in them days, far I mind 'at old +Ezry Sturgiss had jist got his saw and griss-mill a-goin', and Bills +had come along and claimed to know all about millin', and got a job +with him; and millers in them times was wanted worse'n congerss-men, +and I reckon got better wages; far afore Ezry built, ther wasn't a +dust o' meal er flour to be had short o' the White Water, better'n +sixty mild from here, the way we had to fetch it. And they used to +come to Ezry's far ther grindin' as far as that; and one feller I +knowed to come from what used to be the old South Fork, over eighty +mild from here, and in the wettest, rainyest weather; and mud! _Law!_ + +Well, this-here Bills was a-workin' far Ezry at the time--part the +time a-grindin', and part the time a-lookin' after the sawin', and +gittin' out timber and the like. Bills was a queer-lookin' feller, +shore! About as tall a build man as Tom Carter--but of course you +don't know nothin' o' Tom Carter. A great big hulk of a feller, Tom +was; and as far back as Fifty-eight used to make his brags that he +could cut and put up his seven cord a day. + +Well, what give Bills this queer look, as I was a-goin' on to say, was +a great big ugly scar a-runnin' from the corner o' one eye clean down +his face and neck, and I don't know how far down his breast--awful +lookin'; and he never shaved, and ther wasn't a hair a-growin' in that +scar, and it looked like a--some kind o' pizen snake er somepin' a +crawlin' in the grass and weeds. I never seed sich a' out-an'-out +onry-lookin' chap, and I'll never fergit the first time I set eyes on +him. + +Steve and me--Steve was my youngest brother; Steve's be'n in Californy +now far, le' me see,--well, anyways, I reckon, over thirty +year.--Steve was a-drivin' the team at the time--I allus let Steve +drive; 'peared like Steve was made a-purpose far hosses. The +beatin'est hand with hosses 'at ever you _did_ see-an'-I-know! W'y, a +hoss, after he got kind o' used to Steve a-handlin' of him, would do +anything far _him_! And I've knowed that boy to swap far hosses 'at +cou'dn't hardly make a shadder; and, afore you knowed it, Steve would +have 'em a-cavortin' around a-lookin' as peert and fat and slick! + +Well, we'd come over to Ezry's far some grindin' that day; and Steve +wanted to price some lumber far a house, intendin' to marry that +Fall--and would a-married, I reckon, ef the girl hadn't a-died jist as +she'd got her weddin' clothes done, and that set hard on Steve far +awhile. Yit he rallied, you know, as a youngster will; but he never +married, someway--never married. Reckon he never found no other woman +he could love well enough, 'less it was--well, no odds.--The Good +Bein's jedge o' what's best far each and all. + +We lived _then_ about eight mild from Ezry's, and it tuck about a day +to make the trip; so you kin kind o' git an idee o' how the roads was +in them days. + +Well, on the way over I noticed Steve was mighty quiet-like, but I +didn't think nothin' of it, tel at last he says, says he, "Tom, I want +you to kind o' keep an eye out far Ezry's new hand," meanin Bills. And +then I kind o' suspicioned somepin' o' nother was up betwixt 'em; and +shore enough ther was, as I found out afore the day was over. + +I knowed 'at Bills was a mean sort of a man, from what I'd heerd. His +name was all over the neighborhood afore he'd be'n here two weeks. + +In the first place, he come in a suspicious sort o' way. Him and his +wife, and a little baby only a few months old, come through in a +kivvered wagon with a fambly a-goin' som'ers in The Illinoy; and they +stopped at the mill, far some meal er somepin', and Bills got to +talkin' with Ezry 'bout millin', and one thing o' nother, and said he +was expeerenced some 'bout a mill hisse'f, and told Ezry ef he'd give +him work he'd stop; said his wife and baby wasn't strong enough to +stand trav'lin', and ef Ezry'd give him work he was ready to lick into +it then and there; said his woman could pay her board by sewin' and +the like, tel they got ahead a little; and then, ef he liked the +neighberhood, he said he'd as leave settle there as anywheres; he was +huntin' a home, he said, and the outlook kind o' struck him, and his +woman railly needed rest, and wasn't strong enough to go much furder. +And old Ezry kind o' tuck pity on the feller; and havin' houseroom to +spare, and railly in need of a good hand at the mill, he said all +right; and so the feller stopped and the wagon druv ahead and left +'em; and they didn't have no things ner nothin'--not even a +cyarpet-satchel, ner a stitch o' clothes, on'y what they had on their +backs. And I think it was the third er fourth day after Bills stopped +'at he whirped Tomps Burk, the bully o' here them days, tel you would +n't a-knowed him! + +Well, I'd heerd o' this, and the fact is I'd made up my mind 'at Bills +was a bad stick, and the place was n't none the better far his bein' +here. But, as I was a-goin' on to say,--as Steve and me driv up to the +mill, I ketched sight o' Bills the first thing, a-lookin' out o' where +some boards was knocked off, jist over the worter-wheel; and he knowed +Steve--I could see that by his face; and he hollered somepin', too, +but what it was I couldn't jist make out, far the noise o' the wheel; +but he looked to me as ef he'd hollered somepin' mean a-purpose so's +Steve _wouldn't_ hear it, and _he'd_ have the consolation o' knowin' +'at he'd called Steve some onry name 'thout givin' him a chance to +take it up. Steve was allus quiet like, but ef you raised his dander +one't--and you could do that 'thout much trouble, callin' him names er +somepin', particular' anything 'bout his mother. Steve loved his +mother--allus loved his mother, and would fight far her at the drap o' +the hat. And he was her favo-_rite_--allus a-talkin' o' "her boy, +Steven," as she used to call him, and so proud of him, and so keerful +of him allus, when he 'd be sick er anything; nuss him like a baby, +she would. + +So when Bills hollered, Steve didn't pay no attention; and I said +nothin', o' course, and didn't let on like I noticed him. So we druv +round to the south side and hitched; and Steve 'lowed he'd better +feed; so I left him with the hosses and went into the mill. + +They was jist a-stoppin' far dinner. Most of 'em brought ther +dinners--lived so far away, you know. The two Smith boys lived on what +used to be the old Warrick farm, five er six mild, anyhow, from wher' +the mill stood. Great stout fellers, they was; and little Jake, the +father of 'em, wasn't no man at all--not much bigger'n you, I rickon. +Le' me see, now:--Ther was Tomps Burk, Wade Elwood, and Joe and Ben +Carter, and Wesley Morris, John Coke--wiry little cuss, he was, afore +he got his leg sawed off--and Ezry, and--Well, I don't jist mind all +the boys--'s a long time ago, and I never was much of a hand far +names.--Now, some folks'll hear a name and never fergit it, but I +can't boast of a good ricollection, 'specially o' names; and far the +last thirty year my mem'ry's be'n a-failin' me, ever sence a spell o' +fever 'at I brought on onc't--fever and rheumatiz together. You see, I +went a-sainin' with a passel o' the boys, fool-like, and let my +clothes freeze on me a-comin' home. Wy, my breeches was like +stove-pipes when I pulled 'em off. 'Ll, ef I didn't pay far that +spree! Rheumatiz got a holt o' me and helt me there flat o' my back +far eight weeks, and couldn't move hand er foot 'thout a-hollerin' +like a' Injun. And I'd a-be'n there yit, I reckon, ef it had n't +a-be'n far a' old hoss-doctor, name o' Jones; and he gits a lot o' sod +and steeps it in hot whisky and pops it on me, and +I'll-be-switched-to-death ef it didn't cuore me up, far all I laughed +and told him I'd better take the whisky inardly and let him keep the +grass far his doctor bill. But that's nuther here ner there:--As I was +a-saying 'bout the mill: As I went in, the boys had stopped work and +was a-gittin' down ther dinners, and Bills amongst 'em, and old Ezry +a-chattin' away--great hand, he was, far his joke, and allus a-cuttin' +up and a-gittin' off his odd-come-shorts on the boys. And that day he +was in particular good humor. He'd brought some liquor down far the +boys, and he'd be'n drinkin' a little hisse'f, enough to feel it. He +didn't drink much--that is to say, he didn't git drunk adzactly; but +he tuck his dram, you understand. You see, they made ther own whisky +in them days, and it was n't nothin' like the bilin' stuff you git +now. Old Ezry had a little still, and allus made his own whisky, +enough far fambly use, and jist as puore as worter, and as harmless. +But now-a-days the liquor you git's rank pizen. They say they put +tobacker in it, and strychnine, and the Lord knows what; ner I never +knowed why, 'less it was to give it a richer-lookin' flavor, like. +Well, Ezry he 'd brought up a jug, and the boys had be'n a-takin' it +purty free; I seed that as quick as I went in. And old Ezry called out +to me to come and take some, the first thing. Told him I did n't +b'lieve I keered about it; but nothin' would do but I must take a +drink with the boys; and I was tired anyhow and I thought a little +would n't hurt; so I takes a swig; and as I set the jug down Bills +spoke up and says, "You're a stranger to me, and I'm a stranger to +you, but I reckon we can drink to our better acquaintance," er +somepin' to that amount, and poured out another snifter in a gourd +he'd be'n a-drinkin' coffee in, and handed it to me. Well, I could n't +well refuse, of course, so I says, "Here 's to us," and drunk her +down--mighty nigh a half pint, I reckon. Now, I railly did n't want +it, but, as I tell you, I was obleeged to take it, and I downed her at +a swaller and never batted an eye, far, to tell the fact about it, I +liked the taste o' liquor; and I do yit, only I know when I' got +enough. Jist then I didn't want to drink on account o' Steve. Steve +couldn't abide liquor in no shape ner form--far medicine ner nothin', +and I 've allus thought it was his mother's doin's. + +Now, a few months afore this I 'd be'n to Vincennes, and I was jist +a-tellin' Ezry what they was a-astin' far ther liquor there--far I 'd +fetched a couple o' gallon home with me 'at I 'd paid six bits far, +and pore liquor at that: And I was a-tellin' about it, and old Ezry +was a-sayin' what an oudacious figger that was, and how he could make +money a-sellin' it far half that price, and was a-goin' on a-braggin' +about his liquor--and it was a good article--far new whisky,--and jist +then Steve comes in, jist as Bills was a-sayin' 'at a man 'at wouldn't +drink that whisky wasn't no man at all. So, of course, when they ast +Steve to take some and he told 'em no, 'at he was much obleeged, Bills +was kind o' tuck down, you understand, and had to say somepin'; and +says he, "I reckon you ain't no better 'n the rest of us, and _we 've_ +be'n a-drinkin' of it." But Steve did n't let on like he noticed Bills +at all, and rech and shuck hands with the other boys and ast how they +was all a-comin' on. + +I seed Bills was riled, and more 'n likely wanted trouble; and shore +enough, he went on to say, kind o' snarlin' like, 'at "he'd knowed o' +men in his day 'at had be'n licked far refusin' to drink when their +betters ast 'em;" and said furder 'at "a lickin' wasn't none too good +far anybody 'at would refuse liquor like that o' Ezry's, and in his +own house too"--er _buildin'_, ruther. Ezry shuck his head at him, but +I seed 'at Bills was bound far a quarrel, and I winks at Steve, as +much as to say, "Don't you let him bully you; you'll find your brother +here to see you have fair play!" _I_ was a-feelin' my oats some about +then, and Steve seed I was, and looked so sorry like, and like his +mother, 'at I jist thought, "I kin fight far you, and die far you, +'cause you're wuth it!"--And I didn't someway feel like it would +amount to much ef I did die er git killed er somepin' on his account. +I seed Steve was mighty white around the mouth and his eyes was a +glitterin' like a snake's; but Bills didn't seem to take warnin', but +went on to say 'at he'd knowed boys 'at loved the'r mothers so well +they couldn't drink nothin' stronger 'n milk.--And then you'd ort o' +seed Steve's coat fly off, jist like it wanted to git out of his way, +and give the boy room accordin' to his stren'th. I seed Bills grab a +piece o' scantlin' jist in time to ketch his arm as he struck at +Steve,--far Steve was a-comin' far him dangerss. But they'd ketched +Steve from behind jist then; and Bills turned far me. I seed him draw +back, and I seed Steve a-scufflin' to ketch his arm; but he didn't +reach it quite in time to do me no good. It must a-come awful suddent. +The first I ricollect was a roarin' and a buzzin' in my ears, and when +I kind o' come a little better to, and crawled up and peeked over the +saw-log I was a-layin' the other side of, I seed a couple clinched and +a rollin' over and over, and a-makin' the chips and saw-dust fly, now +I tell you! Bills and Steve it was--head and tail, tooth and toenail, +and a-bleedin' like good fellers. I seed a gash o' some kind in +Bills's head, and Steve was purty well tuckered, and a-pantin' like a +lizard; and I made a rush in, and one o' the Carter boys grabbed me +and told me to jist keep cool; 'at Steve didn't need no he'p, and they +might need me to keep Bills's friends off ef they made a rush. By this +time Steve had whirlt Bills, and was a-jist a-gittin' in a fair way to +finish him up in good style, when Wesley Morris run in--I seed him do +it--run in, and afore we could ketch him he struck Steve a deadener in +the butt o' the ear and knocked him as limber as a rag. And then Bills +whirlt Steve and got him by the throat, and Ben Carter and me and old +Ezry closed in--Carter tackled Morris, and Ezry and me grabs +Bills--and as old Ezry grabbed him to pull him off, Bills kind o' give +him a side swipe o' some kind and knocked him--I don't know how far! +And jist then Carter and Morris come a-scufflin' back'ards right +amongst us, and Carter throwed him right acrost Bills and Steve. Well, +it ain't fair, and I don't like to tell it, but I seed it was the last +chance and I tuck advantage of it:--As Wesley and Ben fell it pulled +Bills down in a kind o' twist, don't you understand, so's he couldn't +he'p hisse'f, yit still a-clinchin' Steve by the throat, and him black +in the face: Well, as they fell I grabbed up a little hick'ry limb, +not bigger 'n my two thumbs, and I struck Bills a little tap kind o' +over the back of his head like, and blame me ef he didn't keel over +like a stuck pig--and not any too soon, nuther, far he had Steve's +chunk as nigh put out as you ever seed a man's, to come to agin. But +he was up th'reckly and ready to a-went at it ef Bills could a-come to +the scratch; but Mister Bills he wasn't in no fix to try it over! +After a-waitin' awhile far him to come to, and him not a-comin' to, we +concluded 'at we'd better he'p him, maybe. And we worked with him, and +washed him, and drenched him with whisky, but it 'peared like it +wasn't no use: He jist laid there with his eyes about half shet, and +a-breathin' like a hoss when he's bad sceart; and I'll be dad-limbed +ef I don't believe he'd a-died on our hands ef it hadn't a-happened +old Doc Zions come a-ridin' past on his way home from the Murdock +neighberhood, where they was a-havin' sich a time with the milk-sick. +And he examined Bills, and had him laid on a plank and carried down to +the house--'bout a mild, I reckon, from the mill. Looked kind o' +curous to see Steve a-heppin' pack the feller, after his nearly +chokin' him to death. Oh, it was a bloody fight, I tell you! W'y, ther +wasn't a man in the mill 'at didn't have a black eye er somepin'; and +old Ezry, where Bills hit him, had his nose broke, and was as bloody +as a butcher. And you'd ort a-seed the women-folks when our p'session +come a-bringin' Bills in. I never seed anybody take on like Bills's +woman. It was distressin'; it was, indeed.--Went into hysterics, she +did; and we thought far awhile she'd gone plum crazy, far she cried so +pitiful over him, and called him "Charley! Charley!" 'stid of his +right name, and went on, clean out of her head, tel she finally jist +fainted clean away. + +Far three weeks Bills laid betwixt life and death, and that woman set +by him night and day, and tended him as patient as a' angel--and she +was a' angel, too; and he'd a-never lived to bother nobody agin ef it +hadn't a-be'n far Annie, as he called her. Zions said ther was a +'brazure of the--some kind o' p'tubernce, and ef he'd a-be'n struck +jist a quarter of a' inch below--jist a quarter of a' inch--he'd +a-be'n a dead man. And I've sence wished--not 'at I want the life of a +human bein' to account far, on'y, well, no odds--I've sence wished 'at +I had a-hit him jist a quarter of a' inch below! + +Well, of course, them days ther wasn't no law o' no account, and +nothin' was ever done about it. So Steve and me got our grindin', and +talked the matter over with Ezry and the boys. Ezry said he was +a-goin' to do all he could far Bills, 'cause he was a good hand, and +when he wasn't drinkin' ther wasn't no peaceabler man in the +settlement. I kind o' suspicioned what was up, but I said nothin' +then. And Ezry said furder, as we was about drivin' off, that Bills +was a despert feller, and it was best to kind o' humor him a little. +"And you must kind o' be on your guard," he says, "and I'll watch him +and ef anything happens 'at I git wind of I'll let you know," he says; +and so we put out far home. + +Mother tuck on awful about it. You see, she thought she'd be'h the +whole blame of it, 'cause the Sunday afore that her and Steve had went +to meetin', and they got there late, and the house was crowded, and +Steve had ast Bills to give up his seat to Mother, and he wouldn't do +it, and said somepin' 'at disturbed the prayin', and the preacher +prayed 'at the feller 'at was a-makin' the disturbance might be +forgive; and that riled Bills so he got up and left, and hung around +till it broke up, so's he could git a chance at Steve to pick a fight. +And he did try it, and dared Steve and double-dared him far a fight, +but Mother begged so hard 'at she kep' him out of it. Steve said 'at +he'd a-told me all about it on the way to Ezry's, on'y he'd promised +Mother, you know, not to say nothin' to me. + + * * * * * + +Ezry was over at our house about six weeks after the fight, +appearantly as happy as you please. We ast him how him and Bills was +a-makin' it, and he said firstrate; said 'at Bills was jist a-doin' +splendid; said he'd got moved in his new house 'at he'd fixed up far +him, and ever'thing was a-goin' on as smooth as could be; and Bills +and the boys was on better terms 'n ever; and says he, "As far as you +and Steve 's concerned, Bills don't 'pear to bear you no ill feelin's, +and says as far as he 's concerned the thing 's settled." "Well," says +I, "Ezry, I hope so; but I can't he'p but think ther 's somepin' at +the bottom of all this;" and says I, "I do n't think it's in Bills to +ever amount to anything good;" and says I, "It's my opinion ther 's a +dog in the well, and now you mark it!" + +Well, he said he _wasn't_ jist easy, but maybe he 'd come out all +right; said he couldn't turn the feller off--he hadn't the heart to do +that, with that-air pore, dilicate woman o' his, and the baby. And +then he went on to tell what a smart sort o' woman Bills's wife +was,--one of the nicest little women he 'd ever laid eyes on, said she +was; said she was the kindest thing, and the sweetest-tempered, and +all--and the handiest woman 'bout the house, and 'bout sewin', and +cookin', and the like, and all kinds o' housework; and so good to the +childern, and all; and how they all got along so well; and how proud +she was of her baby, and allus a-goin' on about it and a-cryin' over +it and a-carryin' on, and wouldn't leave it out of her sight a minute. +And Ezry said 'at she could write so purty, and made sich purty +pictures far the childern; and how they all liked her better'n ther +own mother. And, sence she'd moved, he said it seemed so lonesome like +'thout _her_ about the house--like they'd lost one o' ther own fambly; +said they didn't git to see her much now, on'y sometimes, when her man +would be at work, she'd run over far awhile, and kiss all the childern +and women-folks about the place,--the greatest hand far the childern, +she was; tell 'em all sorts o'little stories, you know, and sing far +'em; said 'at she could sing so sweet-like,'at time and time agin +she'd break clean down in some song o'nuther, and her voice would +trimble so mournful-like 'at you'd find yourse'f a-cryin' afore you +knowed it. And she used to coax Ezry's woman to let her take the +childern home with her; and they used to allus want to go, 'tel Bills +come onc't while they was there, and they said he got to jawin' her +far a-makin' some to-do over the baby, and swore at her and tuck it +away from her and whipped it far cryin', and she cried and told him to +whip her and not little Annie, and he said that was jist what he was +a-doin'. And the childern was allus afear'd to go there any more after +that--'fear'd he'd come home and whip little Annie agin. Ezry said he +jist done that to skeer 'em away--'cause he didn't want a passel o' +childern a-whoopin' and a-howlin' and a-trackin' 'round the house all +the time. + +But, shore enough, Bills, after the fight, 'peared like he 'd settled +down, and went 'bout his business so stiddy-like, and worked so well, +the neighbors begin to think he was all right after all, and railly +_some_ got to _likin'_ him. But far me, well, I was a leetle slow to +argy 'at the feller wasn't "a-possumin'." But the next time I went +over to the mill--and Steve went with me--old Ezry come and met us, +and said 'at Bills didn't have no hard feelin's ef _we_ didn't, and +'at he wanted us to fergive him; said 'at Bills wanted him to tell us +'at he was sorry the way he'd acted, and wanted us to fergive him. +Well, I looked at Ezry, and we both looked at him, jist perfectly tuck +back--the idee o' Bills a-wantin' anybody to fergive him! And says I, +"Ezry, what in the name o' common sense do you mean?" And says he, "I +mean jist what I say; Bills jined meetin' last night and had 'em all +a-prayin' far him; and we all had _a glorious time_," says old Ezry; +"and his woman was there and jined, too, and prayed and shouted and +tuck on to beat all; and Bills got up and spoke and give in his +experience, and said he'd be'n a bad man, but, glory to God, them +times was past and gone; said 'at he wanted all of 'em to pray far +him, and he wanted to prove faithful, and wanted all his inemies to +fergive him; and prayed 'at you and Steve and your folks would fergive +him, and ever'body 'at he ever wronged anyway." And old Ezry was +a-goin' on, and his eyes a-sparklin', and a-rubbin' his hands, he was +so excited and tickled over it, 'at Steve and me we jist stood there +a-gawkin' like, tel Bills hisse'f come up and rech out one hand to +Steve and one to me; and Steve shuck with him kind o' oneasy like, and +I--well, sir, I never felt cur'oser in my born days than I did that +minute. The cold chills crep' over me, and I shuck as ef I had the +agur, and I folded my hands behind me and I looked that feller square +in the eye, and I tried to speak three or four times afore I could +make it, and when I did, my voice wasn't natchurl--sounded like a +feller a-whisperin' through a tin horn er somepin'.--and I says, says +I, "You're a liar," slow and delibert. That was all. His eyes blazed a +minute, and drapped; and he turned, 'thout a word, and walked off. And +Ezry says, "He's in airnest; I know he's in airnest, er he'd a-never +a-tuck that!" And so he went on, tel finally Steve jined in, and +betwixt 'em they p'suaded me 'at I was in the wrong and the best thing +to do was to make it all up, which I finally did. And Bills said 'at +he'd a-never a-felt jist right 'thout _my_ friendship, far he'd +wronged me, he said, and he'd wronged Steve and Mother, too, and he +wanted a chance, he said, o' makin' things straight agin. + +Well, a-goin' home, I don't think Steve and me talked o' nothin' else +but Bills--how airnest the feller acted 'bout it, and how, ef he +_wasn't_ in airnest he'd a-never a-swallered that 'lie,' you see. +That's what walked my log, far he could a-jist as easy a-knocked me +higher 'n Kilgore's kite as he could to walk away 'thout a-doin' of +it. + +Mother was awful tickled when she heerd about it, far she'd had an +idee 'at we'd have trouble afore we got back, and a-gitten home safe, +and a-bringin' the news 'bout Bills a-jinin' church and all, tickled +her so 'at she mighty nigh shouted far joy. You see, Mother was a' old +church-member all her life; and I don't think she ever missed a +sermont er a prayer-meetin' 'at she could possibly git to--rain er +shine, wet er dry. When ther was a meetin' of any kind a-goin' on, go +she would, and nothin' short o' sickness in the fambly, er knowin' +nothin' of it would stop _her_! And clean up to her dyin' day she was +a God-fearin' and consistent Christian ef ther ever was one. I mind +now when she was tuck with her last spell and laid bedfast far +eighteen months, she used to tell the preacher, when he 'd come to see +her and pray and go on, 'at she could die happy ef she could on'y be +with 'em all agin in their love-feasts and revivals. She was purty low +then, and had be'n a-failin' fast far a day er two; and that day +they'd be'n a-holdin' service at the house. It was her request, you +know, and the neighbers had congergated and was a-prayin' and +a-singin' her favorite hymns--one in p'tickler, "God moves in a +mysterous way his wunders to p'form," and 'bout his "Walkin' on the +sea and a-ridin' of the storm."--Well, anyway, they'd be'n a-singin' +that hymn far her--she used to sing that 'n so much, I ricollect as +far back as I kin remember; and I mind how it used to make me feel so +lonesome-like and solemn, don't you know,--when I'd be a-knockin' +round the place along of evenin's, and she'd be a-milkin', and I'd +hear her, at my feedin', way off by myse'f, and it allus somehow made +me feel like a feller'd ort o' try and live as nigh right as the law +allows, and that's about my doctern yit. Well, as I was a-goin' on to +say, they'd jist finished that old hymn, and Granny Lowry was jist +a-goin to lead in prayer, when I noticed mother kind o' tried to turn +herse'f in bed, and smiled so weak and faint-like, and looked at me, +with her lips a-kind o' movin'; and I thought maybe she wanted another +dos't of her syrup 'at Ezry's woman had fixed up far her, and I kind +o' stooped down over her and ast her if she wanted anything. "Yes," +she says, and nodded, and her voice sounded so low and solemn and so +far away-like 'at I knowed she'd never take no more medicine on this +airth. And I tried to ast her what it was she wanted, but I couldn't +say nothin'; my throat hurt me, and I felt the warm tears a-boolgin' +up, and her kind old face a-glimmerin' a-way so pale-like afore my +eyes, and still a-smilin' up so lovin' and forgivin' and so good 'at +it made me think so far back in the past I seemed to be a little boy +agin; and seemed like her thin gray hair was brown, and a-shinin' in +the sun as it used to do when she helt me on her shoulder in the open +door, when Father was a-livin' and we used to go to meet him at the +bars; seemed like her face was young agin, and a-smilin' like it allus +used to be, and her eyes as full o' hope and happiness as afore they +ever looked on grief er ever shed a tear. And I thought of all the +trouble they had saw on my account, and of all the lovin' words her +lips had said, and of all the thousand things her pore old hands had +done far me 'at I never even thanked her far; and how I loved her +better 'n all the world besides, and would be so lonesome ef she went +away--Lord! I can't tell you what I didn't think and feel and see. And +I knelt down by her, and she whispered then far Steven, and he come, +and we kissed her--and she died--a smilin' like a child--jist like a +child. + +Well--well! 'Pears like I'm allus a-runnin' into somepin' else. I +wisht I could tell a story 'thout driftin' off in matters 'at hain't +no livin' thing to do with what I started out with. I try to keep from +thinkin' of afflictions and the like, 'cause sich is bound to come to +the best of us; but a feller's ricollection will bring 'em up, and I +reckon it'd ort 'o be er it wouldn't be; and I've thought, sometimes, +it was done may be to kind o' admonish a feller, as the Good Book +says, of how good a world 'd be 'thout no sorrow in it. + +Where was I? Oh, yes, I ricollect;--about Bills a-jinin' church. Well, +sir, ther' wasn't a better-actin' feller and more religious-like in +all the neighberhood. Spoke in meetin's, he did, and tuck a' active +part in all religious doin's, and, in fact, was jist as square a man, +appearantly, as the preacher hisse'f. And about six er eight weeks +after he'd jined, they got up another revival, and things run high. +Ther' was a big excitement, and ever'body was a'tendin' from far and +near. Bills and Ezry got the mill-hands to go, and didn't talk o' +nothin' but religion. People thought awhile 'at old Ezry 'd turn +preacher, he got so interested 'bout church matters. He was easy +excited 'bout anything; and when he went into a thing it was in dead +earnest, shore!--"jist flew off the handle," as I heerd a comical +feller git off onct. And him and Bills was up and at it ever' +night--prayin' and shoutin' at the top o' the'r voice. Them railly did +seem like good times--when ever'body jined together, and prayed and +shouted ho-sanner, and danced around together, and hugged each other +like they was so full o' glory they jist couldn't he'p +theirse'v's--that's the reason I jined; it looked so kind o' +whole-souled-like and good, you understand. But la! I didn't hold out +on'y far a little while, and no wunder! + +Well, about them times Bills was tuck down with the agur; first got to +chillin' ever'-other-day, then ever' day, and harder and harder, tel +sometimes he 'd be obleeged to stay away from meetin' on account of +it. And one't I was at meetin' when he told about it, and how when he +couldn't be with 'em he allus prayed at home, and he said 'at he +believed his prayers was answered, far onc't he'd prayed far a new +outpourin' of the Holy Sperit, and that very night ther' was three new +jiners. And another time he said 'at he 'd prayed 'at Wesley Morris +would jine, and lo and behold you! he _did_ jine, and the very night +'at he prayed he would. + +Well, the night I'm a-speakin' of he'd had a chill the day afore and +couldn't go that night, and was in bed when Ezry druv past far him; +said he'd like to go, but had a high fever and couldn't. And then +Ezry's woman ast him ef he was too sick to spare Annie; and he said +no, they could take her and the baby: and told her to fix his medicine +so's he could reach it 'thout gittin' out o' bed, and he'd git along +'thout her. And so she tuck the baby and went along with Ezry and his +folks. + +I was at meetin' that night and ricollect 'em comin' in. Annie got a +seat jist behind me--Steve give her his'n and stood up; and I +ricollect a-astin' her how Bills was a-gittin' along with the agur; +and little Annie, the baby, kep' a-pullin' my hair and a-crowin' tel +finally she went to sleep; and Steve ast her mother to let _him_ hold +her--cutest little thing you ever laid eyes on, and the very pictur' +_of_ her mother. + +Old Daddy Barker preached that night, and a mighty good sermont. His +text, ef I ricollect right, was "workin' out your own salvation;" and +when I listen to preachers nowadays in ther big churches and ther fine +pulpits, I allus think o' Daddy Barker, and kind o' some way wisht the +old times could come agin, with the old log meetin'-house with its +puncheon floor and the chinkin' in the walls, and old Daddy Barker in +the pulpit. He'd make you feel 'at the Lord could make hissef at home +there, and find jist as abundant comfort in the old log house as he +could in any of your fine-furnished churches 'at you can't set down in +'thout payin' far the privilege, like it was a theater. + +Ezry had his two little girls jine that night, and I ricollect the +preacher made sich a purty prayer about the Savior a-cotin' from the +Bible 'bout "Suffer little childern to come unto me" and all; and +talked so purty about the jedgment day, and mothers a-meetin' the'r +little ones there and all; and went on tel ther wasn't a dry eye in +the house--and jist as he was a-windin' up, Abe Riggers stuck his head +in at the door and hollered "fire" loud as he could yell. We all +rushed out, a-thinkin' it was the meetin'-house; but he hollered it +was the mill; and shore enough, away off to the southards we could see +the light acrost the woods, and see the blaze a-lickin' up above the +trees. I seed old Ezry as he come a-scufflin' through the crowd; and +we put out together far it. Well, it was two mild to the mill, but by +the time we'd half way got there, we could tell it wasn't the mill +a-burnin', 'at the fire was furder to the left, and that was Ezry's +house; and by the time we got there it wasn't much use. We pitched +into the household goods, and got out the beddin', and the furnitur' +and cheers and the like o' that; saved the clock and a bedstid, and +got the bureau purt' nigh out when they hollered to us 'at the roof +was a cavin' in, and we had to leave it; well, we'd tuck the drawers +out, all but the big one, and that was locked; and it and all in it +went with the buildin', and that was a big loss: All the money 'at +Ezry was a-layin' by was in that-air drawer, and a lot o' keepsakes +and trinkets 'at Ezry's woman said she wouldn't a-parted with far the +world and all. + +I never seed a troubleder fambly than they was. It jist 'peared like +old Ezry give clean down, and the women and childern a-cryin' and +a-takin' on. It looked jist awful--shore's you're born!--Losin' +ever'thing they'd worked so hard far--and there it was, purt' nigh +midnight, and a fambly, jist a little while ago all so happy, and now +with no home to go to ner nothin'! + +It was arranged far Ezry's to move in with Bills--that was about the +on'y chance--on'y one room and a loft; but Bills said they could +manage _some_ way, far a while anyhow. + +Bills said he seed the fire when it first started, and could a-put it +out ef he'd on'y be'n strong enough to git there; said he started +twic't to go, but was too weak and had to go back to bed agin; said it +was a-blazin' in the kitchen roof when he first seed it. So the +gineral conclusion 'at we all come to was--it must a-ketched from the +flue. + +It was too late in the Fall then to think o' buildin' even the onryest +kind o' shanty, and so Ezry moved in with Bills. And Bills used to say +ef it had n't a-be'n far Ezry _he'd_ a-never a-had no house, ner +nuthin' to put in it, nuther. You see, all the household goods 'at +Bills had in the world he'd got of Ezry, and he 'lowed he'd be a +triflin' whelp ef he didn't do all in his power to make Ezry perfeckly +at home 's long as he wanted to stay there. And together they managed +to make room far 'em all, by a-buildin' a kind o' shed-like to the +main house, intendin' to build when Spring come. And ever'thing went +along first-rate, I guess; never heerd no complaints--that is, +p'ticular. + +Ezry was kind o' down far a long time, though; didn't like to talk +about his trouble much, and didn't 'tend meetin' much, like he used +to; said it made him think 'bout his house burnin', and he didn't feel +safe to lose sight o' the mill. And the meetin's kind o' broke up +altogether that winter. Almost broke up religious doin's, it did. 'S +long as I've lived here I never seed jist sich a slack in religion as +ther' was that winter; and 'fore then, I kin mind the time when ther' +wasn't a night the whole endurin' winter when they didn't have +preachin' er prayer-meetin' o' some kind a-goin' on. W'y, I ricollect +one night in p'ticular--_the coldest_ night, _whooh!_ And somebody had +stold the meetin'-house door, and they was obleeged to preach 'thout +it. And the wind blowed in so they had to hold the'r hats afore the +candles, and then one't-in-a-while they'd git sluffed out. And the +snow drifted in so it was jist like settin' out doors; and they had to +stand up when they prayed--yessir! stood up to pray. I noticed that +night they was a' oncommon lot o' jiners, and I believe to this day +'at most of 'em jined jist to git up wher' the stove was. Lots o' +folks had the'r feet froze right in meetin'; and Steve come home with +his ears froze like they was whittled out o' bone; and he said 'at +Mary Madaline Wells's feet was froze, and she had two pair o' socks on +over her shoes. Oh, it was cold, now I tell you! + +They run the mill part o' that winter--part they couldn't. And they +didn't work to say stiddy tel along in Aprile, and then ther' was snow +on the ground yit--in the shadders--and the ground froze, so you +couldn't hardly dig a grave. But at last they got to kind o' jiggin' +along agin. Plenty to do ther' was; and old Ezry was mighty tickled, +too; 'peared to recruit right up like. Ezry was allus best tickled +when things was a-stirrin', and then he was a-gittin' ready far +buildin', you know, wanted a house of his own, he said--and of course +it wasn't adzackly like home, all cluttered up as they was there at +Bills's. They got along mighty well, though, together; and the +women-folks and childern got along the best in the world. Ezry's woman +used to say she never laid eyes on jist sich another woman as Annie +was. Said it was jist as good as a winter's schoolin' far the +childern; said her two little girls had learnt to read, and didn't +know the'r a-b abs afore Annie learnt 'em; well, the oldest one, Mary +Patience, she did know her letters, I guess--fourteen year old, she +was; but Mandy, the youngest, had never seed inside a book afore that +winter; and the way she learnt was jist su'prisin'. She was puny-like +and frail-lookin' allus, but ever'body 'lowed she was a heap smarter +'n Mary Patience, and she was; and in my opinion she railly had more +sense 'n all the rest o' the childern put together, 'bout books and +cipherin' and arethmetic, and the like; and John Wesley, the oldest of +'em, he got to teachin' at last, when he growed up,--but, la! he +couldn't write his own name so 's you could read it. I allus thought +ther was a good 'eal of old Ezry in John Wesley. Liked to romance +'round with the youngsters 'most too well.--Spiled him far teachin', I +allus thought; far instance, ef a scholard said somepin' funny in +school, John-Wes he'd jist have to have his laugh out with the rest, +and it was jist fun far the boys, you know, to go to school to him. +Allus in far spellin'-matches and the like, and learnin' songs and +sich. I ricollect he give a' exhibition onc't, one winter, and I'll +never fergit it, I reckon. + +The school-house would on'y hold 'bout forty, comfortable, and that +night ther' was up'ards of a hunderd er more--jist crammed and jammed! +And the benches was piled back so's to make room far the flatform +they'd built to make the'r speeches and dialogues on; and fellers +a-settin' up on them back seats, the'r heads was clean aginst the +j'ist. It was a low ceilin', anyhow, and o' course them 'at tuck a +part in the doin's was way up, too. Janey Thompson had to give up her +part in a dialogue, 'cause she looked so tall she was afeard the +congergation would laugh at her; and they couldn't git her to come out +and sing in the openin' song 'thout lettin' her set down first and git +ready 'fore they pulled the curtain. You see, they had sheets sewed +together, and fixed on a string some way, to slide back'ards and +for'ards, don't you know. But they was a big bother to 'em--couldn't +git 'em to work like. Ever' time they'd git 'em slid 'bout half way +acrost, somepin' would ketch, and they'd have to stop and fool with +'em awhile 'fore they could git 'em the balance o' the way acrost. +Well, finally, t'ords the last, they jist kep' 'em drawed back all the +time. It was a pore affair, and spiled purt nigh ever' piece; but the +scholards all wanted it fixed thataway, the teacher said, in a few +appropert remarks he made when the thing was over. Well, I was a +settin' in the back part o' the house on them high benches, and my +head was jist even with them on the flatform, and the lights was pore, +wher' the string was stretched far the curtain to slide on it looked +like the p'formers was strung on it. And when Lige Boyer's boy was +a-speakin'--kind o' mumbled it, you know, and you couldn't half +hear--it looked far the world like he was a-chawin' on that-air +string; and some devilish feller 'lowed ef he'd chaw it clean in two +it'd be a good thing far the balance. After that they all sung a +sleigh-ridin' song, and it was right purty, the way they got it off. +Had a passel o' sleigh-bells they'd ring ever' onc't-in-a-while, and +it sounded purty--shore! + +Then Hunicut's girl, Marindy, read a letter 'bout winter, and what fun +the youngsters allus had in winter-time, a-sleighin' and the like, and +spellin'-matches, and huskin'-bees, and all. Purty good, it was, and +made a feller think o' old times. Well, that was about the best thing +ther' was done that night; but ever'body said the teacher wrote it far +her; and I wouldn't be su'prised much, far they was married not long +afterwards. I expect he wrote it far her.--Wouldn't put it past Wes! + +They had a dialogue, too, 'at was purty good. Little Bob Arnold was +all fixed up--had on his pap's old bell-crowned hat, the one he was +married in. Well, I jist thought die I would when I seed that old hat +and called to mind the night his pap was married, and we all got him a +little how-come-you-so on some left-handed cider 'at had be'n a-layin' +in a whisky-bar'l tel it was strong enough to bear up a' egg. I kin +ricollect now jist how he looked in that hat, when it was all new, you +know, and a-settin on the back of his head, and his hair in his eyes; +and sich hair!--as red as git-out--and his little black eyes a-shinin' +like beads. Well sir, you'd a-died to a-seed him a-dancin'. We danced +all night that night, and would a-be'n a-dancin' yit, I reckon, ef the +fiddler hadn't a-give out. Wash Lowry was a-fiddlin' far us; and along +to'rds three or four in the mornin' Wash was purty well fagged out. +You see, Wash could never play far a dance er nothin' 'thout +a-drinkin' more er less, and when he got to a certain pitch you +couldn't git nothin' out o' him but "Barbary Allan;" so at last he +struck up on that, and jist kep' it up and _kep_' it up, and nobody +couldn't git nothin' else out of him! + +Now, anybody 'at ever danced knows 'at "Barbary Allan" hain't no tune +to dance by, no way you can fix it; and, o' course, the boys seed at +onc't the'r fun was gone ef they could n't git him on another +tune.--And they 'd coax and beg and plead with him, and maybe git him +started on "The Wind Blows over the Barley," and 'bout the time they'd +git to knockin' it down agin purty lively, he'd go to sawin' away on +"Barbary Allan"--and I'll-be-switched-to-death ef that feller didn't +set there and play hisse'f sound asleep on "Barbary Allan," and we had +to wake him up afore he'd quit! Now, that's jes' a plum' facts. And +ther' wasn't a better fiddler nowheres than Wash Lowry, when he was at +hisse'f. I've heerd a good many fiddlers in my day, and I never heerd +one yit 'at could play my style o' fiddlin' ekal to Wash Lowry. You +see, Wash didn't play none o' this-here newfangled music--nothin' but +the old tunes, you understand, "The Forkéd Deer," and "Old Fat Gal," +and "Gray Eagle," and the like. Now, them's music! Used to like to +hear Wash play "Gray Eagle." He could come as nigh a-makin' that old +tune talk as ever you heerd! Used to think a heap o' his fiddle--and +he had a good one, shore. I've heard him say, time and time agin, 'at +a five-dollar gold-piece wouldn't buy it, and I knowed him my-se'f to +refuse a calf far it onc't--yessir, a yearland calf--and the feller +offered him a double-bar'l'd pistol to boot, and blame ef he'd take +it; said he'd ruther part with anything else he owned than his +fiddle.--But here I am, clean out o' the furry agin. Oh, yes; I was +a-tellin' about little Bob, with that old hat; and he had on a +swaller-tail coat and a lot o' fixin's, a-actin' like he was 'squire; +and he had him a great long beard made out o' corn-silks, and you +wouldn't a-knowed him ef it wasn't far his voice. Well, he was +a-p'tendin' he was a 'squire a-tryin' some kind o' law-suit, you see; +and John Wesley he was the defendunt, and Joney Wiles, I believe it +was, played like he was the plaintive. And they'd had a fallin' out +'bout some land, and was a-lawin' far p'session, you understand. Well, +Bob he made out it was a mighty bad case when John-Wes comes to +consult him about it, and tells _him_ ef a little p'int o' law was +left out he thought he could git the land far him. And then John-Wes +bribes him, you understand, to leave out the p'int o' law, and the +'squire says he'll do all he kin, and so John-Wes goes out a feelin' +purty good. Then _Wiles_ comes in to consult the 'squire don't you +see. And the 'squire tells _him_ the same tale he told _John Wesley_. +So _Wiles_ bribes him to leave out the p'int o' law in _his_ favor, +don't you know. So when the case is tried he decides in favor o' +John-Wes, a-tellin' Wiles some cock-and-bull story 'bout havin' to +manage it thataway so 's to git the case mixed so's he could git it +far him shore; and posts him to sue far change of venue er +somepin',--anyway, Wiles gits a new trial, and then the 'squire +decides in _his_ favor, and tells John-Wes another trial will fix it +in _his_ favor, and so on.--And so it goes on tel, anyway, he gits +holt o' the land hisse'f and all ther money besides, and leaves them +to hold the bag! Wellsir, it was purty well got up; and they said it +was John-Wes's doin's, and I 'low it was--he was a good hand at +anything o' that sort, and knowed how to make fun.--But I've be'n a +tellin' you purty much ever'thing but what I started out with, and +I'll try and hurry through, 'cause I know you're tired. + +'Long 'bout the beginin' o' summer, things had got back to purty much +the old way. The boys round was a-gittin' devilish, and o' nights +'specially ther' was a sight o' meanness a-goin' on. The mill-hands, +most of'em, was mixed up in it--Coke and Morris, and them 'at had +jined meetin' 'long in the winter, had all backslid, and was +a-drinkin' and carousin' 'round worse 'n ever. + +People perdicted 'at Bills would backslide, but he helt on faithful, +to all appearance; said he liked to see a feller when he made up his +mind to do right, he liked to see him do it, and not go back on his +word; and even went so far as to tell Ezry ef they didn't put a stop +to it he'd quit the neighberhood and go some'rs else. And Bills was +Ezry's head man then, and he couldn't a-got along 'thout him; and I +b'lieve ef Bills had a-said the word old Ezry would a-turned off ever' +hand he had. He got so he jist left ever'thing to Bills. Ben Carter +was turned off far somepin', and nobody ever knowed what. Bills and +him had never got along jist right sence the fight. + +Ben was with this set I was a-tellin' you 'bout, and they'd got him to +drinkin' and in trouble, o' course. I'd knowed Ben well enough to know +he wouldn't do nothin' onry ef he wasn't agged on, and ef he ever was +mixed up in anything o' the kind Wes Morris and John Coke was at the +bottom of it, and I take notice they wasn't turned off when Ben was. + +One night the crowd was out, and Ben amongst 'em, o' course.--Sence +he'd be'n turned off he'd be'n a-drinkin',--and I never blamed him +much; he was so good-hearted like and easy led off, and I allus +b'lieved it wasn't his own doin's. + +Well, this night they cut up awful, and ef ther was one fight ther was +a dozend; and when all the devilment was done they _could_ do, they +started on a stealin' expedition, and stold a lot o' chickens and tuck +'em to the mill to roast'em; and, to make a long story short, that +night the mill burnt clean to the ground. And the whole pack of 'em +cologued together aginst Carter to saddle it onto him; claimed 'at +they left Ben there at the mill 'bout twelve o'clock--which was a +fact, far he was dead drunk and couldn't git away. Steve stumbled over +him while the mill was a-burnin' and drug him out afore he knowed what +was a-goin' on, and it was all plain enough to Steve 'at Ben didn't +have no hand in the firm' of it. But I'll tell you he sobered up +mighty suddent when he seed what was a-goin' on, and heerd the +neighbors a-hollerin', and a-threatenin', and a-goin' on!--far it +seemed to be the ginerl idee 'at the buildin' was fired a-purpose. And +says Ben to Steve, says he, "I expect I'll have to say good-bye to +you, far they've got me in a ticklish place! I kin see through it all +now, when it's too late!" And jist then Wesley Morris hollers out, +"Where's Ben Carter?" and started to'rds where me and Ben and Steve +was a-standin'; and Ben says, wild like, "Don't you two fellers ever +think it was my doin's," and whispers "Good-bye," and started off, and +when we turned, Wesley Morris was a-layin' flat of his back, and we +heerd Carter yell to the crowd 'at "that man"--meanin' Morris--" +needed lookin' after worse than _he_ did," and another minute he +plunged into the river and swum acrost; and we all stood and watched +him in the flickerin' light tel he clum out on t'other bank; and 'at +was last anybody ever seed o' Ben Carter! + +It must a-be'n about three o'clock in the mornin' by this time, and +the mill then was jist a-smoulderin' to ashes--far it was as dry as +tinder and burnt like a flash--and jist as a party was a-talkin' o' +organizin' and follerin' Carter, we heerd a yell 'at I'll never fergit +ef I'd live tel another flood. Old Ezry, it was, as white as a corpse, +and with the blood a-streamin' out of a gash in his forehead, and his +clothes half on, come a-rushin' into the crowd and a-hollerin' fire +and murder ever' jump. "My house is a-burnin', and my folks is all +a-bein' murdered while you 're a-standin' here! And Bills done it! +Bills done it!" he hollered, as he headed the crowd and started back +far home. "Bills done it! I caught him at it; and he would a-murdered +me in cold blood ef it had n't a-be'n far his woman. He knocked me +down, and had me tied to a bed-post in the kitchen afore I come to. +And his woman cut me loose and told me to run far he'p; and says I, +'Where's Bills?' and she says, 'He's after me by this time.' And jist +then we heerd Bills holler, and we looked, and he was a-standin' out +in the clearin' in front o' the house, with little Annie in his arms; +and he hollered wouldn't she like to kiss the baby good-bye." + +"And she hollered My God! far me to save little Annie, and fainted +clean dead away. And I heerd the roof a-crackin', and grabbed her up +and packed her out jist in time. And when I looked up, Bills hollered +out agin, and says, 'Ezry,' he says, 'You kin begin to kind a' git an +idee o' what a good feller I am! And ef you hadn't a-caught me you 'd +a-never a-knowed it, and 'Brother Williams' wouldn't a-be'n called +away to another app'intment like he is.' And says he, 'Now, ef you +foller me I'll finish you shore!--You're safe now, far I hain't got +time to waste on you furder.' And jist then his woman kind o' come to +her senses agin and hollered far little Annie, and the child heerd her +and helt out its little arms to go to her, and hollered 'Mother! +Mother!' And Bills says, Dam your mother! ef it hadn't a-be'n far +_her_ I'd a-be'n all right. And dam you too!' he says to me,--'This'll +pay you far that lick you struck me; and far you a-startin' reports +when I first come 'at more 'n likely I'd done somepin' mean over east +and come out west to reform! And I wonder ef I _didn't_ do somepin' +mean afore I come here?' he went on; 'kill somebody er somepin'? And I +wonder ef I ain't reformed enough to go back? Good-bye, Annie!' he +hollered; 'and you needn't fret about your baby, I 'll be the same +indulgent father to it I 've allus be'n!' And the baby was a-cryin' +and a-reachin' out its little arms to'rds its mother, when Bills he +turned and struck oft' in the dark to'rds the river." + +This was about the tale 'at Ezry told us, as nigh as I can ricollect, +and by the time he finished, I never want to see jist sich another +crowd o' men as was a-swarmin' there. Ain't it awful when sich a crowd +gits together? I tell you it makes my flesh creep to think about it! + +As Bills had gone in the direction of the river, we wasn't long in +makin' our minds up 'at he'd have to cross it, and ef he done _that_ +he'd have to use the boat 'at was down below the mill, er wade it at +the ford, a mild er more down. So we divided in three sections, +like--one to go and look after the folks at the house, and another to +the boat, and another to the ford. And Steve and me and Ezry was in +the crowd 'at struck far the boat, and we made time a-gittin' there! +It was awful dark, and the sky was a-cloudin'up like a storm; but we +wasn't long a-gittin' to the p'int where the boat was allus tied; but +ther' wasn't no boat there! Steve kind o' tuck the lead, and we all +talked in whispers. And Steve said to kind o' lay low and maybe we +could hear somepin', and some feller said he thought he heerd somepin' +strange like, but the wind was kind o' raisin' and kep' up sich a +moanin' through the trees along the bank 't we couldn't make out +nothin'. "Listen!" says Steve, suddent like, "I hear somepin!" We was +all still again--and we all heerd a moanin' 'at was sadder 'n the +wind--sounded mournfuller to me 'cause I knowed it in a minute, and I +whispered, "Little Annie." And 'way out acrost the river we could hear +the little thing a-sobbin', and we all was still 's death; and we +heerd a voice we knowd was Bills's say, "Dam ye! Keep still, or I'll +drownd ye!" And the wind kind o' moaned agin and we could hear the +trees a-screechin' together in the dark, and the leaves a-rustlin'; +and when it kind o' lulled agin, we heerd Bills make a kind o' splash +with the oars; and jist then Steve whispered far to lay low and be +ready--he was a-goin' to riconnitre; and he tuck his coat and shoes +off, and slid over the bank and down into the worter as slick as a' +eel. Then ever'thing was still agin, 'cept the moanin' o' the child, +which kep' a-gittin' louder and louder; and then a voice whispered to +us, "He's a-comin' back; the crowd below has sent scouts up, and +they're on t' other side. Now watch clos't, and he's our meat." We +could hear Bills, by the moanin' o' the baby, a-comin' nearder and +nearder, tel suddently he made a sort o' miss-lick with the oar, I +reckon, and must a splashed the baby, far she set up a loud cryin; and +jist then old Ezry, who was a-leanin' over the bank, kind o' lost his +grip some way o' nuther, and fell kersplash in the worter like a' old +chunk. "Hello!" says Bills, through the dark, "you're there, too, air +ye?" as old Ezry splashed up the bank agin. And "Cuss you!" he says +then, to the baby--"ef it hadn't be'n far your infernal squawkin' I'd +a-be'n all right; but you've brought the whole neighberhood out, and, +dam you, I'll jist let you swim out to 'em!" And we heerd a splash, +then a kind o' gurglin', and then Steve's voice a-hollerin', "Close in +on him, boys; I've got the baby!" And about a dozend of us bobbed off +the bank like so many bull-frogs, and I'll tell you the worter b'iled! +We could jist make out the shape o' the boat, and Bills a-standin' +with a' oar drawed back to smash the first head 'at come in range. It +was a mean place to git at him. We knowed he was despert, and far a +minute we kind o' helt back. Fifteen foot o' worter 's a mighty +onhandy place to git hit over the head in! And Bills says, "You hain't +afeard, I reckon--twenty men agin one!" "You'd better give your se'f +up!" hollered Ezry from the shore. "No, Brother Sturgiss," says Bills, +"I can't say 'at I'm at all anxious 'bout bein' borned agin, jist yit +awhile," he says; "I see you kind o' 'pear to go in far babtism; guess +you'd better go home and git some dry clothes on; and, speakin' o' +home, you'd ort 'o be there by all means--your house might catch afire +and burn up while you're gone!" And jist then the boat give a suddent +shove under him--some feller'd div under and tilted it--and far a +minute it throwed him off his guard and the boys closed in. Still he +had the advantage, bein' in the boat, and as fast as a feller would +climb in he'd git a whack o' the oar, tel finally they got to pilin' +in a little too fast far him to manage, and he hollered then 'at we'd +have to come to the bottom ef we got him, and with that he div out o' +the end o' the boat, and we lost sight of him; and I'll be blame ef he +didn't give us the slip after all. + +Wellsir, we watched far him, and some o' the boys swum on down stream, +expectin' he'd raise, but couldn't find hide ner hair of him; so we +left the boat a-driftin' off down stream and swum ashore, a-thinkin' +he'd jist drownded hisse'f a-purpose. But ther' was more su'prise +waitin' far us yit,--for lo-and-behold-you, when we got ashore ther' +wasn't no trace o' Steve er the baby to be found. Ezry said he seed +Steve when he fetched little Annie ashore, and she was all right on'y +she was purt nigh past cryin'; and he said Steve had lapped his coat +around her and give her to him to take charge of, and he got so +excited over the fight he laid her down betwixt a couple o' logs and +kind o' forget about her tel the thing was over, and he went to look +far her, and she was gone. Couldn't a-be'n 'at she'd a-wundered off +her-own-se'f; and it couldn't a-be'n 'at Steve'd take her, 'thout +a-lettin us know it. It was a mighty aggervatin' conclusion to come +to, but we had to do it, and that was, Bills must a got ashore +unbeknownst to us and packed her off. Sich a thing wasn't hardly +probable, yit it was a thing 'at might be; and after a-talkin' it over +we had to admit 'at it must a-be'n the way of it. But where was Steve? +W'y, we argied, he'd discivvered she was gone, and had put out on +track of her 'thout losin' time to stop and explain the thing. The +next question was, what did Bills want with her agin? He'd tried to +drownd her onc't. We could ast questions enough, but c'rect answers +was mighty skearce, and we jist concluded 'at the best thing to do was +to put out far the ford, far that was the nighdest place Bills could +cross 'thout a boat, and ef it was him tuck the child he was still on +our side o' the river, o' course. So we struck out far the ford, +a-leav-in' a couple o' men to search up the river. A drizzlin' sort o' +rain had set in by this time, and with that and the darkness and the +moanin' of the wind, it made 'bout as lonesome a prospect as a feller +ever wants to go through agin. + +It was jist a-gittin' a little gray-like in the mornin' by the time we +reached the ford, but you couldn't hardly see two rods afore you far +the mist and the fog 'at had settled along the river. We looked far +tracks, but couldn't make out nuthin'. Thereckly old Ezry punched me +and p'inted out acrost the river. "What's that?" he whispers. Jist +'bout half way acrost was somepin' white-like in the worter--couldn't +make out what--perfeckly still it was. And I whispered back and told +him I guess it wasn't nothin' but a sycamore snag. "Listen!" says he; +"Sycamore snags don't make no noise like that!" And, shore enough, it +was the same moanin' noise we'd heerd the baby makin' when we first +got on the track. Sobbin' she was, as though nigh about dead. "Well, +ef that's Bills," says I--"and I reckon ther' hain't no doubt but it +is--what in the name o' all that's good and bad's the feller +a-standin' there far?" And a-creep-in' clos'ter, we could make him out +plainer and plainer. It was him; and there he stood breast-high in the +worter, a-holdin' the baby on his shoulder like, and a lookin' up +stream, and a-waitin'. + +"What do you make out of it?" says Ezry. "What's he waitin' far?" + +And a strainin' my eyes in the direction he was a-lookin' I seed +somepin' a-movin' down the river, and a minute later I'd made out the +old boat a-driftin' down stream; and then of course ever'thing was +plain enough: He was waitin' far the boat, and ef he got _that_ he'd +have the same advantage on us he had afore. + +"Boys," says I, "he mustn't git that boat agin! Foller me, and don't +let him git to the shore alive." And in we plunged. He seed us, but he +never budged, on'y to grab the baby by its little legs, and swing it +out at arms-len'th. "Stop, there," he hollered. "Stop jist where you +air! Move another inch and I'll drownd this dam young-un afore your +eyes!" he says.--And he 'd a done it. "Boys," says I, "he's got us. +Don't move! This thing'll have to rest with a higher power 'n our 'n! +Ef any of you kin pray," says I, "now's a good time to do it!" + +Jist then the boat swung up, and Bills grabbed it and rech 'round and +set the baby in it, never a-takin' his eye off o' us, though, far a +minute. "Now," says he, with a sort o' snarlin' laugh, "I've on'y got +a little while to stay with you, and I want to say a few words afore I +go. I want to tell you fellers, in the first place, 'at you've be'n +_fooled_ in me: I _hain't_ a good feller, now, honest! And ef you're a +little the worse far findin' it out so late in the day, you hain't +none the worse far losin' me so soon--far I'm a-goin' away now, and +any interference with my arrangements 'll on'y give you more trouble; +so it's better all around to let me go peaceable and jist while I'm in +the notion. I expect it'll be a disapp'intment to some o' you that my +name hain't 'Williams,' but it hain't. And maybe you won't think nigh +as much o' me when I tell you furder 'at I was obleeged to 'dopt the +name o' 'Williams' onc't to keep from bein' strung up to a lamp-post, +but sich is the facts. I was so extremely unfortunit onc't as to kill +a p'ticular friend o' mine, and he forgive me with his dyin' breath, +and told me to run while I could, and be a better man. But he'd +spotted me with a' ugly mark 'at made it kind o' onhandy to git away, +but I did at last; and jist as I was a-gittin' reformed-like, you +fellers had to kick in the traces, and I've made up my mind to hunt +out a more moraler community, where they don't make sich a fuss about +trifles. And havin' nothin' more to say, on'y to send Annie word 'at +I'll still be a father to her youngun here, I'll bid you all +good-bye." And with that he turned and clum in the boat--or ruther +fell in,--far somepin' black-like had riz up in it, with a' awful +lick--my--God!--and, a minute later, boat and baggage was a-gratin' on +the shore, and a crowd come thrashin' 'crost from tother side to jine +us, and 'peared like wasn't a _second_ longer tel a feller was +a-swingin' by his neck to the limb of a scrub-oak, his feet clean off +the ground, and his legs a-jerkin' up and down like a limber-jack's. + +And Steve it was a-layin' in the boat, and he'd rid a mild or more +'thout knowin' of it. Bills had struck and stunt him as he clum in +while the rumpus was a-goin' on, and he'd on'y come to in time to hear +Bills's farewell address to us there at the ford. + +Steve tuck charge o' little Annie agin, and ef she'd a-be'n his own +child he wouldn't a-went on more over her than he did; and said nobody +but her mother would git her out o' his hands agin. And he was as good +as his word; and ef you could a-seed him a half hour after that, when +he _did_ give her to her mother--all lapped up in his coat and as +drippin'-wet as a little drownded angel--it would a-made you wish't +you was him to see that little woman a caperin' round him, and +a-thankin' him, and a-cryin' and a-laughin', and almost a-huggin' him, +she was so tickled,--Well, I thought in my soul she'd die! And Steve +blushed like a girl to see her a-taking' on, and a-thankin' him, and +a-cryin', and a-kissin' little Annie, and a-goin' on. And when she +inquired 'bout Bills, which she did all suddent like, with a burst o' +tears, we jist didn't have the heart to tell her--on'y we said he'd +crossed the river and got away. And he had! + +And now comes a part o' this thing 'at 'll more 'n like tax you to +believe it: Williams and her wasn't man and wife--and you needn't look +su'prised, nuther, and I'll tell you far why--They was own brother and +sister; and that brings me to _her_ part of the story, which you'll +have to admit beats anything 'at you ever read about in books. + + * * * * * + +Her and Williams--that _wasn't_ his name, like he acknowledged, +hisse'f, you ricollect--ner she didn't want to tell his right name; +and we forgive her far that. Her and 'Williams' was own brother and +sister, and the'r parents lived in Ohio some'ers. The'r mother had +be'n dead five year' and better--grieved to death over her onnachurl +brother's recklessness, which Annie hinted had broke her father up in +some way, in tryin' to shield him from the law. And the secret of her +bein' with him was this: She had married a man o' the name of Curtis +or Custer, I don't mind which, adzackly--but no matter; she'd married +a well-to-do young feller 'at her brother helt a' old grudge agin, she +never knowed what; and sence her marriage her brother had went on from +bad to worse tel finally her father jist give him up and told him to +go it his own way--he'd killed his mother and ruined him, and he'd +jist give up all hopes. But Annie--you know how a sister is--she still +clung to him and done ever'thing far him, tel finally, one night about +three years after she was married she got word some way that he was in +trouble agin, and sent her husband to he'p him; and a half hour after +he'd gone, her brother come in, all excited and bloody, and told her +to git the baby and come with him, 'at her husband had got in a +quarrel with a friend o' his and was bad hurt. And she went with him, +of course, and he tuck her in a buggy, and lit out with her as tight +as he could go all night; and then told her 'at _he_ was the feller +'at had quarreled with her husband, and the officers was after him and +he was obleeged to leave the country, and far fear he hadn't made +shore work o' him, he was a-takin' her along to make shore of his +gittin' his revenge; and he swore he'd kill her and the baby too ef +she dared to whimper. And so it was, through a hunderd hardships he'd +made his way at last to our section o' the country, givin' out 'at +they was man and wife, and keepin' her from denyin' of it by threats, +and promises of the time a-comin' when he'd send her home to her man +agin in case he hadn't killed him. And so it run on tel you'd a-cried +to hear her tell it, and still see her sister's love far the feller +a-breakin' out by a-declarin' how kind he was to her _at times_, and +how he wasn't railly bad at heart, on'y far his ungov'nable temper. +But I couldn't he'p but notice, when she was a tellin' of her hist'ry, +what a quiet sort o' look o' satisfaction settled on the face o' Steve +and the rest of 'em, don't you understand. + +And now ther' was on'y one thing she wanted to ast, she said; and that +was, could she still make her home with us tel she could git word to +her friends?--and there she broke down agin, not knowin', of course, +whether _they_ was dead er alive; far time and time agin she said +somepin' told her she'd never see her husband agin on this airth; and +then the women-folks would cry with her and console her, and the boys +would speak hopeful--all but Steve; some way o' nuther Steve was never +like hisse'f from that time on. + +And so things went far a month and better. Ever'thing had quieted +down, and Ezry and a lot o' hands, and me and Steve amongst 'em, was +a-workin' on the frame-work of another mill. It was purty weather, and +we was all in good sperits, and it 'peared like the whole neighberhood +was interested--and they _-was_, too--women-folks and ever'body. And +that day Ezry's woman and amongst 'em was a-gittin' up a big dinner to +fetch down to us from the house; and along about noon a spruce-lookin' +young feller, with a pale face and a black beard, like, come a-ridin' +by and hitched his hoss, and comin' into the crowd, said "Howdy," +pleasant like, and we all stopped work as he went on to say 'at he was +on the track of a feller o' the name o' 'Williams,' and wanted to know +ef we could give him any infermation 'bout sich a man. Told him +maybe,--'at a feller bearin' that name desappeared kind o' myster'ous +from our neighberhood 'bout five weeks afore that. "My God!" says he, +a-turnin' paler'n ever, "am I too late? Where did he go, and was his +sister and her baby with him?" Jist then I ketched sight o' the +women-folks a-comin' with the baskets, and Annie with 'em, with a jug +o' worter in her hand; so I spoke up quick to the stranger, and says +I, "I guess 'his sister and baby' wasn't along," says I, "but his +_wife_ and _baby's_ some'eres here in the neighberhood yit." And then +a-watchin' him clos't, I says, suddent, a-pin'tin' over his shoulder, +"There his woman is now--that one with the jug, there." Well, Annie +had jist stooped to lift up one o' the little girls, when the feller +turned, and the'r eyes met, "Annie! My wife!" he says; and Annie she +kind o' give a little yelp like and come a-flutterin' down in his +arms; and the jug o' worter rolled clean acrost the road, and turned a +somerset and knocked the cob out of its mouth and jist laid back and +hollered "Good--good--good--good--good!" like as ef it knowed what was +up and was jist as glad and tickled as the rest of us. + + + + +SWEET-KNOT AND GALAMUS + + + + +AN OLD SWEETHEART. + + + + As one who cons at evening o'er an album all alone, + And muses on the faces of the friends that he has known, + So I turn the leaves of fancy till, in shadowy design, + I find the smiling features of an old sweetheart of mine. + + The lamplight seems to glimmer with a flicker of surprise, + As I turn it low to rest me of the dazzle in my eyes, + And light my pipe in silence, save a sigh that seems to yoke + Its fate with my tobacco and to vanish with the smoke. + + 'Tis a fragrant retrospection--for the loving thoughts that start + Into being are like perfumes from the blossom of the heart; + And to dream the old dreams over is a luxury divine-- + When my truant fancy wanders with that old sweeheart of mine. + + Though I hear, beneath my study, like a fluttering of wings, + The voices of my children, and the mother as she sings, + I feel no twinge of conscience to deny me any theme + When care has cast her anchor in the harbor of a dream + + In fact, to speak in earnest, I believe it adds a charm + To spice the good a trifle with a little dust of harm-- + For I find an extra flavor in Memory's mellow wine + That makes me drink the deeper to that old sweetheart of mine. + + A face of lily-beauty, with a form of airy grace, + Floats out of my tobacco as the genii from the vase; + And I thrill beneath the glances of a pair of azure eyes + As glowing as the summer and as tender as the skies. + + I can see the pink sunbonnet and the little checkered dress + She wore when first I kissed her and she answered the caress + With the written declaration that, "as surely as the vine + Grew 'round the stump," she loved me--that old sweetheart of mine. + + And again I feel the pressure of her slender little hand, + As we used to talk together of the future we had planned-- + When I should be a poet, and with nothing else to do + But write the tender verses that she set the music to: + + When we should live together in a cozy little cot + Hid in a nest of roses, with a fairy garden-spot, + Where the vines were ever fruited, and the weather ever fine, + And the birds were ever singing for that old sweetheart of mine: + + When I should be her lover forever and a day, + And she my faithful sweetheart till the golden hair was gray; + And we should be so happy that when either's lips were dumb + They would not smile in Heaven till the other's kiss had come. + + * * * * * + + But, ah! my dream is broken by a step upon the stair, + And the door is softly opened, and--my wife is standing there; + Yet with eagerness and rapture all my visions I resign + To greet the living presence of that old sweetheart of mine. + + + + +MARTHY ELLEN. + + + + They's nothin' in the name to strike + A feller more'n common like! + 'Taint liable to git no praise + Ner nothin' like it nowadays; + An' yit that name o' her'n is jest + As purty as the purtiest-- + And more 'n that, I'm here to say + I'll live a-thinkin' thataway + And die far Marthy Ellen! + + It may be I was prejudust + In favor of it from the fust-- + 'Cause I kin ricollect jest how + We met, and hear her mother now + A-callin' of her down the road-- + And, aggervatin' little toad!-- + I see her now, jes' sort o' half- + Way disapp'inted, turn and laugh + And mock her--"Marthy Ellen!" + + Our people never had no fuss, + And yit they never tuck to us; + We neighbered back and foreds some; + Until they see she liked to come + To our house--and me and her + Were jest together ever'whur + And all the time--and when they'd see + That I liked her and she liked me, + They'd holler "Marthy Ellen!" + + When we growed up, and they shet down + On me and her a-runnin' roun' + Together, and her father said + He'd never leave her nary red, + So he'p him, ef she married me, + And so on--and her mother she + Jest agged the gyrl, and said she 'lowed + She'd ruther see her in her shroud, + I _writ_ to Marthy Ellen-- + + That is, I kindo' tuck my pen + In hand, and stated whur and when + The undersigned would be that night, + With two good hosses saddled right + Far lively travelin' in case + Her folks 'ud like to jine the race. + She sent the same note back, and writ + "The rose is red!" right under it-- + "Your 'n allus, Marthy Ellen." + + That's all, I reckon--Nothin' more + To tell but what you've heerd afore-- + The same old story, sweeter though + Far all the trouble, don't you know. + Old-fashioned name! and yit it's jest + As purty as the purtiest; + And more 'n that, I'm here to say + I'll live a-thinking thataway, + And die far Marthy Ellen! + + + + +MOON-DROWNED. + + + + 'Twas the height of the fete when we quitted the riot, + And quietly stole to the terrace alone, + Where, pale as the lovers that ever swear by it, + The moon it <gazed down as a god from his throne. + We stood there enchanted.--And O the delight of + The sight of the stars and the moon and the sea, + And the infinite skies of that opulent night of + Purple and gold and ivory! + + The lisp of the lip of the ripple just under-- + The half-awake nightingale's dream in the yews-- + Came up from the water, and down from the wonder + Of shadowy foliage, drowsed with the dews,-- + Unsteady the firefly's taper--unsteady + The poise of the stars, and their light in the tide, + As it struggled and writhed in caress of the eddy, + As love in the billowy breast of a bride. + + The far-away lilt of the waltz rippled to us, + And through us the exquisite thrill of the air: + Like the scent of bruised bloom was her breath, and its dew was + Not honier-sweet than her warm kisses were. + We stood there enchanted.--And O the delight of + The sight of the stars and the moon and the sea, + And the infinite skies of that opulent night of + Purple and gold and ivory! + + + + +LONG AFORE HE KNOWED WHO SANTY-CLAUS WUZ. + + + + Jes' a little bit o' feller--I remember still,-- + Ust to almost _cry_ far Christmas, like a youngster will. + Fourth o' July's nothin' to it!--New-Year's ain't a smell: + Easter-Sunday--Circus-day--jes' all dead in the shell! + Lordy, though! at night, you know, to set around and hear + The old folks work the story off about the sledge and deer, + And "Santy" skootin' round the roof, all wrapped in fur and fuzz-- + Long afore + I knowed who + "Santy-Claus" wuz! + + Ust to wait, and set up late, a week er two ahead: + Couldn't hardly keep awake, ner wouldn't go to bed: + Kittle stewin' on the fire, and Mother settin' here + Darnin' socks, and rockin' in the skreeky rockin'-cheer; + Pap gap', and wunder where it wuz the money went, + And quar'l with his frosted heels, and spill his liniment: + And me a-dreamin' sleigh-bells when the clock 'ud whir and buzz, + Long afore + I knowed who + "Santy-Claus" wuz! + + Size the fire-place up, and figger how "Old Santy" could + Manage to come down the chimbly, like they said he would: + Wisht that I could hide and see him--wundered what he 'd say + Ef he ketched a feller layin' far him thataway! + But I _bet_ on him, and _liked_ him, same as ef he had + Turned to pat me on the back and _say_, "Look here, my lad, + Here's my pack,--jes' he'p yourse'f, like all good boys does!" + Long afore + I knowed who + "Santy-Claus" wuz! + + Wisht that yarn was _true_ about him, as it 'peared to be-- + Truth made out o' lies like that-un's good enough far me!-- + Wisht I still wuz so confidin' I could jes' go wild + Over hangin' up my stockin's, like the little child + Climbin' in my lap to-night, and beggin' me to tell + 'Bout them reindeers, and "Old Santy" that she loves so well + I'm half sorry far this little-girl-sweetheart of his-- + Long afore + She knows who + "Santy-Claus" is! + + + + +DEAR HANDS. + + + + The touches of her hands are like the fall + Of velvet snowflakes; like the touch of down + The peach just brushes 'gainst the garden wall; + The flossy fondlings of the thistle-wisp + Caught in the crinkle of a leaf of brown + The blighting frost hath turned from green to crisp. + + Soft as the falling of the dusk at night, + The touches of her hands, and the delight-- + The touches of her hands! + The touches of her hands are like the dew + That falls so softly down no one e'er knew + The touch thereof save lovers like to one + Astray in lights where ranged Endymion. + + O rarely soft, the touches of her hands, + As drowsy zephyrs in enchanted lands; + Or pulse of dying fay; or fairy sighs, + Or--in between the midnight and the dawn, + When long unrest and tears and fears are gone-- + Sleep, smoothing down the lids of weary eyes. + + + + +THIS MAN JONES. + + + + This man Jones was what you'd call + A feller 'at had no sand at all; + Kind o' consumpted, and undersize, + And sailor-complected, with big sad eyes, + And a kind-of-a sort-of-a hang-dog style, + And a sneakin' sort-of-a half-way smile + 'At kind o' give him away to us + As a preacher, maybe, er somepin' wuss. + + Didn't take with the gang--well, no-- + But still we managed to use him, though,-- + Coddin' the gilly along the rout', + And drivin' the stakes 'at he pulled out-- + Far I was one of the bosses then, + And of course stood in with the canvasmen; + And the way we put up jobs, you know, + On this man Jones jes' beat the show! + + Ust to rattle him scandalous, + And keep the feller a-dodgin' us, + And a-shyin' round half skeered to death, + And afeerd to whimper above his breath; + Give him a cussin', and then a kick, + And then a kind-of-a back-hand lick-- + Jes' far the fun of seem' him climb + Around with a head on most the time. + + But what was the curioust thing to me, + Was along o' the party--let me see,-- + Who was our "Lion Queen" last year?-- + Mamzelle Zanty, or De La Pierre?-- + Well, no matter--a stunnin' mash, + With a red-ripe lip, and a long eye-lash, + And a figger sich as the angels owns-- + And one too many far this man Jones. + + He'd allus wake in the afternoon, + As the band waltzed in on the lion-tune, + And there, from the time 'at she'd go in + Till she'd back out of the cage agin, + He'd stand, shaky and limber-kneed-- + 'Specially when she come to "feed + The beasts raw meat with her naked hand"-- + And all that business, you understand. + + And it _was_ resky in that den-- + Far I think she juggled three cubs then, + And a big "green" lion 'at used to smash + Collar-bones far old Frank Nash; + And I reckon now she hain't fergot + The afternoon old "Nero" sot + His paws on _her_!--but as far me, + It's a sort-of-a mixed-up mystery:-- + + Kind o' remember an awful roar, + And see her back far the bolted door-- + See the cage rock--heerd her call + "God have mercy!" and that was all-- + Far they ain't no livin' man can tell + _What_ it's like when a thousand yell + In female tones, and a thousand more + Howl in bass till their throats is sore! + + But the keeper said 'at dragged her out, + They heerd some feller laugh and shout-- + "Save her! Quick! I've got the cuss!" + And yit she waked and smiled on _us!_ + And we daren't flinch, far the doctor said, + Seein' as this man Jones was dead, + Better to jes' not let her know + Nothin' o' that far a week er so. + + + + +TO MY GOOD MASTER. + + + + In fancy, always, at thy desk, thrown wide, + Thy most betreasured books ranged neighborly-- + The rarest rhymes of every land and sea + And curious tongue--thine old face glorified,-- + Thou haltest thy glib quill, and, laughing-eyed, + Givest hale welcome even unto me, + Profaning thus thine attic's sanctity, + To briefly visit, yet to still abide + Enthralled there of thy sorcery of wit, + And thy songs' most exceeding dear conceits. + O lips, cleft to the ripe core of all sweets, + With poems, like nectar, issuing therefrom, + Thy gentle utterances do overcome + My listening heart and all the love of it! + + + + +WHEN THE GREEN GITS BACK IN THE TREES. + + + + In spring, when the green gits back in the trees, + And the sun comes out and stays, + And yer boots pulls on with a good tight squeeze, + And you think of yer barefoot days; + When you ort to work and you want to not, + And you and yer wife agrees + It's time to spade up the garden lot, + When the green gits back in the trees-- + Well! work is the least o' _my_ idees + When the green, you know, gits back in the trees! + + When the green gits back in the trees, and bees + Is a-buzzin' aroun' agin, + In that kind of a lazy go-as-you-please + Old gait they bum roun' in; + When the groun's all bald where the hay-rick stood, + And the crick 's riz, and the breeze + Coaxes the bloom in the old dogwood, + And the green gits back in the trees,-- + I like, as I say, in sich scenes as these, + The time when the green gits back in the trees! + + When the whole tail-feathers o' wintertime + Is all pulled out and gone! + And the sap it thaws and begins to climb, + And the sweat it starts out on + A feller's forred, a-gittin' down + At the old spring on his knees-- + I kind o' like jes' a-loaferin' roun' + When the green gits back in the trees-- + Jes' a-potterin' roun' as I--durn--please-- + When the green, you know, gits back in the trees! + + + + +AT BROAD RIPPLE. + + + + Ah, Luxury! Beyond the heat + And dust of town, with dangling feet, + Astride the rock below the dam, + In the cool shadows where the calm + Rests on the stream again, and all + Is silent save the waterfall,-- + bait my hook and cast my line, + And feel the best of life is mine. + + No high ambition may I claim-- + angle not for lordly game + Of trout, or bass, or wary bream-- + black perch reaches the extreme + Of my desires; and "goggle-eyes" + Are not a thing that I despise; + A sunfish, or a "chub," or "cat"-- + A "silver-side"--yea, even that! + + In eloquent tranquility + The waters lisp and talk to me. + Sometimes, far out, the surface breaks, + As some proud bass an instant shakes + His glittering armor in the sun, + And romping ripples, one by one, + Come dallying across the space + Where undulates my smiling face. + + The river's story flowing by, + Forever sweet to ear and eye, + Forever tenderly begun-- + Forever new and never done. + Thus lulled and sheltered in a shade + Where never feverish cares invade, + I bait my hook and cast my line, + And feel the best of life is mine. + + + + +WHEN OLD JACK DIED. + + + +I. + + When old Jack died, we staid from school (they said, + At home, we needn't go that day), and none + Of us ate any breakfast--only one, + And that was Papa--and his eyes were red + When he came round where we were, by the shed + Where Jack was lying, half way in the sun + And half way in the shade. When we begun + To cry out loud, Pa turned and dropped his head + And went away; and Mamma, she went back + Into the kitchen. Then, for a long while, + All to ourselves, like, we stood there and cried. + We thought so many good things of Old Jack, + And funny things--although we didn't smile--We + couldn't only cry when Old Jack died. + + + +II. + + When Old Jack died, it seemed a human friend + Had suddenly gone from us; that some face + That we had loved to fondle and embrace + From babyhood, no more would condescend + To smile on us forever. We might bend + With tearful eyes above him, interlace + Our chubby fingers o'er him, romp and race, + Plead with him, call and coax--aye, we might send + The old halloo up for him, whistle, hist, + (If sobs had let us) or, as wildly vain, + Snapped thumbs, called "speak," and he had not replied; + We might have gone down on our knees and kissed + The tousled ears, and yet they must remain + Deaf, motionless, we knew--when Old Jack died. + + + +III. + + When Old Jack died, it seemed to us, some way, + That all the other dogs in town were pained + With our bereavement, and some that were chained, + Even, unslipped their collars on that day + To visit Jack in state, as though to pay + A last, sad tribute there, while neighbors craned + Their heads above the high board fence, and deigned + To sigh "Poor dog!" remembering how they + Had cuffed him, when alive, perchance, because, + For love of them he leaped to lick their hands-- + Now, that he could not, were they satisfied? + We children thought that, as we crossed his paws, + And o'er his grave, 'way down the bottom-lands, + Wrote "Our First Love Lies Here," when Old Jack died. + + + + +DOC SIFERS. + + + + Of all the doctors I could cite you to in this-'ere town + Doc Sifers is my favorite, jes' take him up and down! + Count in the Bethel Neighberhood, and Rollins, and Big Bear, + And Sifers' standin's jes' as good as ary doctor's there! + + There's old Doc Wick, and Glenn, and Hall, and Wurgler, and McVeigh, + But I'll buck Sifers 'ginst 'em all and down 'em any day! + Most old Wick ever knowed, I s'pose, was _whisky!_ Wurgler--well, + He et morphine--ef actions shows, and facts' reliable! + + But Sifers--though he ain't no sot, he's got his faults; and yit + When you _git_ Sifers one't, you've got _a doctor_, don't fergit! + He ain't much at his office, er his house, er anywhere + You'd natchurly think certain far to ketch the feller there.-- + + But don't blame Doc: he's got all sorts o' cur'ous notions--as + The feller says; his odd-come-shorts, like smart men mostly has. + He'll more'n like be potter'n 'round the Blacksmith Shop; er in + Some back lot, spadin' up the ground, er gradin' it agin. + + Er at the workbench, planin' things; er buildin' little traps + To ketch birds; galvenizin' rings; er graftin' plums, perhaps. + Make anything! good as the best!--a gunstock--er a flute; + He whittled out a set o' chesstmen one't o' laurel root, + + Durin' the Army--got his trade o' surgeon there--I own + To-day a finger-ring Doc made out of a Sesesh bone! + An' glued a fiddle one't far me--jes' all so busted you + 'D a throwed the thing away, but he fixed her as good as new! + + And take Doc, now, in _ager_, say, er _biles_, er _rheumatiz_, + And all afflictions thataway, and he's the best they is! + Er janders--milksick--I don't keer--k-yore anything he tries-- + A abscess; getherin' in yer yeer; er granilated eyes! + + There was the Widder Daubenspeck they all give up far dead; + A blame cowbuncle on her neck, and clean out of her head! + First had this doctor, what's-his-name, from "Puddlesburg," and then + This little red-head, "Burnin' Shame" they call him--Dr. Glenn. + + And they "consulted" on the case, and claimed she'd haf to die,-- + I jes' was joggin' by the place, and heerd her dorter cry, + And stops and calls her to the fence; and I-says-I, "Let me + Send Sifers--bet you fifteen cents he'll k-yore her!" "Well," says + she, + + "Light out!" she says: And, lipp-tee-cut! I loped in town, and rid + 'Bout two hours more to find him, but I kussed him when I did! + He was down at the Gunsmith Shop a-stuffin' birds! Says he, + "My sulky's broke." Says I, "You hop right on and ride with me!" + + I got him there.--"Well, Aunty, ten days k-yores you," Sifers said, + "But what's yer idy livin' when yer jes' as good as dead?" + And there's Dave Banks--jes' back from war without a scratch--one + day + Got ketched up in a sickle-bar, a reaper runaway.-- + + His shoulders, arms, and hands and legs jes' sawed in strips! And + Jake + Dunn starts far Sifers--feller begs to shoot him far God-sake. + Doc, 'course, was gone, but he had penned the notice, "At Big Bear-- + Be back to-morry; Gone to 'tend the Bee Convention there." + + But Jake, he tracked him--rid and rode the whole endurin' night! + And 'bout the time the roosters crowed they both hove into sight. + Doc had to ampitate, but 'greed to save Dave's arms, and swore + He could a-saved his legs ef he'd ben there the day before. + + Like when his wife's own mother died 'fore Sifers could be found, + And all the neighbors far and wide a' all jes' chasin' round; + Tel finally--I had to laugh--it's jes' like Doc, you know,-- + Was learnin' far to telegraph, down at the old deepo. + + But all they're faultin' Sifers far, there's none of 'em kin say + He's biggoty, er keerless, er not posted anyway; + He ain't built on the common plan of doctors now-a-days, + He's jes' a great, big, brainy man--that's where the trouble lays! + + + + +AT NOON--AND MIDNIGHT. + + + + Far in the night, and yet no rest for him! The pillow next his own + The wife's sweet face in slumber pressed--yet he awake--alone! + alone! + In vain he courted sleep;--one thought would ever in his heart + arise,-- + The harsh words that at noon had brought the teardrops to her eyes. + + Slowly on lifted arm he raised and listened. All was still as death; + He touched her forehead as he gazed, and listened yet, with bated + breath: + Still silently, as though he prayed, his lips moved lightly as she + slept-- + For God was with him, and he laid his face with hers and wept. + + + + +A WILD IRISHMAN. + + + +Not very many years ago the writer was for some months stationed at +South Bend, a thriving little city of northern Indiana, its main +population on the one side of the St. Joseph river, but quite a +respectable fraction thereof taking its industrial way to the opposite +shore, and there gaining an audience and a hearing in the rather +imposing growth and hurly-burly of its big manufactories, and the +consequent rapid appearance of multitudinous neat cottages, tenement +houses and business blocks. A stranger, entering South Bend proper on +any ordinary day, will be at some loss to account for its prosperous +appearance--its flagged and bowldered streets--its handsome mercantile +blocks, banks, and business houses generally. Reasoning from cause to +effect, and seeing but a meager sprinkling of people on the streets +throughout the day, and these seeming, for the most part, merely +idlers, and in no wise accessory to the evident thrift and opulence of +their surroundings, the observant stranger will be puzzled at the +situation. But when evening comes, and the outlying foundries, +sewing-machine, wagon, plow, and other "works," together with the +paper-mills and all the nameless industries--when the operations of +all these are suspended for the day, and the workmen and workwomen +loosed from labor--then, as this vast army suddenly invades and +overflows bridge, roadway, street and lane, the startled stranger will +fully comprehend the why and wherefore of the city's high prosperity. +And, once acquainted with the people there, the fortunate sojourner +will find no ordinary culture and intelligence, and, as certainly, he +will meet with a social spirit and a wholesouled heartiness that will +make the place a lasting memory. The town, too, is the home of many +world-known notables, and a host of local celebrities, the chief of +which latter class I found, during my stay there, in the person of +Tommy Stafford, or "The Wild Irishman" as everybody called him. + +"Talk of odd fellows and eccentric characters," said Major Blowney, my +employer, one afternoon, "you must see our 'Wild Irishman' here before +you say you've yet found the queerest, brightest, cleverest chap in +all your travels. What d'ye say, Stockford?" And the Major paused in +his work of charging cartridges for his new breech-loading shotgun and +turned to await his partner's response. + +Stockford, thus addressed, paused above the shield-sign he was +lettering, slowly smiling as he dipped and trailed his pencil through +the ivory black upon a bit of broken glass and said, in his +deliberate, half-absent-minded way,--"Is it Tommy you're telling him +about?" and then, with a gradual broadening of the smile, he went on, +"Well, I should say so. Tommy! What's come of the fellow, anyway? I +haven't seen him since his last bout with the mayor, on his trial for +shakin' up that fast-horse man." + +"The fast-horse man got just exactly what he needed, too," said the +genial Major, laughing, and mopping his perspiring brow. "The fellow +was barkin' up the wrong stump when he tackled Tommy! Got beat in the +trade, at his own game, you know, and wound up by an insult that no +Irishman would take; and Tommy just naturally wore out the hall carpet +of the old hotel with him!" + +"And then collared and led him to the mayor's office himself, they +say!" + +"Oh, he did!" said the Major, with a dash of pride in the +confirmation; "that's Tommy all over!" + +"Funny trial, wasn't it?" continued the ruminating Stockford. + +"Wasn't it though?" laughed the Major. + +"The porter's testimony: You see, he was for Tommy, of course, and on +examination testified that the horse-man struck Tommy first. And there +Tommy broke in with: 'He's a-meanin' well, yer Honor, but he's lyin' +to ye--he's lyin' to ye. No livin' man iver struck me first--nor last, +nayther, for the matter o' that!' And I +thought--the--court--would--die!" concluded the Major, in a like +imminent state of merriment. + +"Yes, and he said if he struck him first," supplemented Stockford, +"he'd like to know why the horseman was 'wearin' all the black eyes, +and the blood, and the boomps on the head of um!' And it's that talk +of his that got him off with so light a fine!" + +"As it always does," said the Major, coming to himself abruptly and +looking at his watch. "Stock', you say you're not going along with our +duck-shooting party this time? The old Kankakee is just lousy with 'em +this season!" + +"Can't go possibly," said Stockford, "not on account of the work at +all, but the folks at home ain't just as well as I'd like to see them, +and I'll stay here till they're better. Next time I'll try and be +ready for you. Going to take Tommy, of course?" + +"Of course! Got to have 'The Wild Irishman' with us! I'm going around +to find him now." Then turning to me the Major continued, "Suppose you +get on your coat and hat and come along? It's the best chance you'll +ever have to meet Tommy. It's late anyhow, and Stockford'll get along +without you. Come on." + +"Certainly," said Stockford; "go ahead. And you can take him ducking, +too, if he wants to go." + +"But he doesn't want to go--and won't go," replied the Major with a +commiserative glance at me. "Says he doesn't know a duck from a +poll-parrot--nor how to load a shotgun--and couldn't hit a house if he +were inside of it and the door shut. Admits that he nearly killed his +uncle once, on the other side of a tree, with a squirrel runnin' down +it. Don't want him along!" + +Reaching the street with the genial Major, he gave me this advice: +"Now, when you meet Tommy, you mustn't take all he says for dead +earnest, and you mustn't believe, because he talks loud, and in +italics every other word, that he wants to do all the talking and +won't be interfered with. That's the way he's apt to strike folks at +first--but it's their mistake, not his. Talk back to him--controvert +him whenever he's aggressive in the utterance of his opinions, and if +you're only honest in the announcement of your own ideas and beliefs, +he'll like you all the better for standing by them. He's +quick-tempered, and perhaps a trifle sensitive, so share your greater +patience with him, and he'll pay you back by fighting for you at the +drop of the hat. In short, he's as nearly typical of his gallant +country's brave, impetuous, fun-loving individuality as such a +likeness can exist." + +"But is he quarrelsome?" I asked. + +"Not at all. There's the trouble. If he'd only quarrel there'd be no +harm done. Quarreling's cheap, and Tommy's extravagant. A big +blacksmith here, the other day, kicked some boy out of his shop, and +Tommy, on his cart, happened to be passing at the time; and he just +jumped off without a word, and went in and worked on that fellow for +about three minutes, with such disastrous results that they couldn't +tell his shop from a slaughter-house; paid an assault and battery +fine, and gave the boy a dollar beside, and the whole thing was a +positive luxury to him. But I guess we'd better drop the subject, for +here's his cart, and here's Tommy. Hi! there, you Far-down 'Irish +Mick!" called the Major, in affected antipathy, "been out raiding the +honest farmers' hen-roosts again, have you?" + +We had halted at a corner grocery and produce store, as I took it, and +the smooth-faced, shave-headed man in woolen shirt, short vest, and +suspenderless trousers so boisterously addressed by the Major, was +just lifting from the back of his cart a coop of cackling chickens. + +"Arrah! ye blasted Kerryonian!" replied the handsome fellow, +depositing the coop on the curb and straightening his tall, slender +figure; "I were jist thinking of yez and the ducks, and here ye come +quackin' into the prisence of r'yalty, wid yer canvas-back suit upon +ye and the shwim-skins bechuxt yer toes! How air yez, anyhow--and air +we startin' for the Kankakee by the nixt post?" + +"We're to start just as soon as we get the boys together," said the +Major, shaking hands. "The crowd's to be at Andrews' by 4, and it's +fully that now; so come on at once. We'll go 'round by Munson's and +have Hi send a boy to look after your horse. Come; and I want to +introduce my friend here to you, and we'll all want to smoke and +jabber a little in appropriate seclusion. Come on." And the impatient +Major had linked arms with his hesitating ally and myself, and was +turning the corner of the street. + +"It's an hour's work I have yet wid the squawkers," mildly protested +Tommy, still hanging back and stepping a trifle high; "but, as one +Irishman would say til another, 'Ye're wrong, but I'm wid ye!'" + +And five minutes later the three of us had joined a very jolly party +in a snug back room, with + + "The chamber walls depicted all around + With portraitures of huntsman, hawk, and hound, + And the hurt deer," + +and where, as well, drifted over the olfactory intelligence a certain +subtle, warm-breathed aroma, that genially combatted the chill and +darkness of the day without, and, resurrecting long-dead Christmases, +brimmed the grateful memory with all comfortable cheer. + +A dozen hearty voices greeted the appearance of Tommy and the Major, +the latter adroitly pushing the jovial Irishman to the front, with a +mock-heroic introduction to the general company, at the conclusion of +which Tommy, with his hat tucked under the left elbow, stood bowing +with a grace of pose and presence Lord Chesterfield might have +applauded. + +"Gintlemen," said Tommy, settling back upon his heels and admiringly +contemplating the group; "Gintlemen, I congratu-late yez wid a pride +that shoves the thumbs o' me into the arrum-holes of me weshkit! At +the inshtigation of the bowld O'Blowney--axin' the gintleman's +pardon--I am here wid no silver tongue of illoquence to para-lyze yez, +but I am prisent, as has been ripresinted, to jine wid yez in a +stupendeous waste of gun-powder, and duck-shot, and 'high-wines,' and +ham sand-witches, upon the silvonian banks of the ragin' Kankakee, +where the 'di-dipper' tips ye good-bye wid his tail, and the wild loon +skoots like a sky-rocket for his exiled home in the alien dunes of the +wild morass--or, as Tommy Moore so illegantly describes the blashted +birrud,-- + + 'Away to the dizhmal shwamp he shpeeds-- + His path is rugged and sore, + Through tangled juniper, beds of reeds, + And many a fen where the serpent feeds, + _And birrud niver flew before-- + And niver will fly any more_ + +if iver he arrives back safe into civilization again--and I've been in +the poultry business long enough to know the private opinion and +personal integrity of ivery fowl that flies the air or roosts on +poles. But, changin' the subject of my few small remarks here, and +thankin yez wid an overflowin' heart but a dhry tongue, I have the +honor to propose, gintlemen, long life and health to ivery mother's o' +yez, and success to the 'Duck-hunters of Kankakee.'" + +"The duck-hunters of the Kankakee!" chorussed the elated party in such +musical uproar that for a full minute the voice of the enthusiastic +Major--who was trying to say something--could not be heard. Then he +said: + +"I want to propose that theme--'The Duck-hunters of the Kankakee', for +one of Tommy's improvizations. I move we have a song now from Tommy on +the 'Duck-hunters of the Kankakee.'" + +"Hurra! Hurra! A song from Tommy," cried the crowd. "Make us up a +song, and put us all into it! A song from Tommy! A song! A song!" + +There was a queer light in the eye of the Irishman. I observed him +narrowly--expectantly. Often I had read of this phenomenal art of +improvised ballad-singing, but had always remained a little skeptical +in regard to the possibility of such a feat. Even in the notable +instances of this gift as displayed by the very clever Theodore Hook, +I had always half suspected some prior preparation--some adroit +forecasting of the sequence that seemed the instant inspiration of his +witty verses. + +Here was evidently to be a test example, and I was all alert to mark +its minutest detail. + +The clamor had subsided, and Tommy had drawn a chair near to and +directly fronting the Major's. His right hand was extended, closely +grasping the right hand of his friend which he scarce perceptibly, +though measuredly, lifted and let fall throughout the length of all +the curious performance. The voice was not unmusical, nor was the +quaint old ballad-air adopted by the singer unlovely in the least; +simply a monotony was evident that accorded with the levity and +chance-finish of the improvisation--and that the song was improvised +on the instant I am certain--though in no wise remarkable, for other +reasons, in rhythmic worth or finish. And while his smiling auditors +all drew nearer, and leant, with parted lips to catch every syllable, +the words of the strange melody trailed unhesitatingly into the lines +literally as here subjoined: + + "One gloomy day in the airly Fall, + Whin the sunshine had no chance at all-- + No chance at all for to gleam and shine + And lighten up this heart of mine: + + "'Twas in South Bend, that famous town, + Whilst I were a-strollin' round and round, + I met some friends and they says to me: + 'It's a hunt we'll take on the Kankakee!'" + +"Hurra for the Kankakee! Give it to us, Tommy!" cried an enthused +voice between verses. "Now give it to the Major!" And the song went +on:-- + + "There's Major Blowney leads the van, + As crack a shot as an Irishman,-- + For its the duck is a tin decoy + That his owld shotgun can't destroy!" + +And a half a dozen jubilant palms patted the Major's shoulders, and +his ruddy, good-natured face beamed with delight. "Now give it to the +rest of 'em, Tommy!" chuckled the Major. And the song continued:-- + + "And along wid 'Hank' is Mick Maharr, + And Barney Pince, at 'The Shamrock' bar-- + There's Barney Pinch, wid his heart so true; + And the Andrews Brothers they'll go too." + +"Hold on, Tommy!" chipped in one of the Andrews; "you must give 'the +Andrews Brothers' a better advertisement than that! Turn us on a full +verse, can't you?" + +"Make 'em pay for it if you do!" said the Major, in an undertone. And +Tommy promptly amended:-- + + "O, the Andrews Brothers, they'll be there, + Wid good se-gyars and wine to shpare,-- + They'll treat us here on fine champagne, + And whin we're there they 'll treat us again." + +The applause here was vociferous, and only discontinued when a box of +Havanas stood open on the table. During the momentary lull thus +occasioned, I caught the Major's twinkling eyes glancing evasively +toward me, as he leant whispering some further instructions to Tommy, +who again took up his desultory ballad, while I turned and fled for +the street, catching, however, as I went, and high above the laughter +of the crowd, the satire of this quatrain to its latest line-- + + "But R-R-Riley he 'll not go, I guess, + Lest he'd get lost in the wil-der-ness, + And so in the city he will shtop + For to curl his hair in the barber shop." + +It was after six when I reached the hotel, but I had my hair trimmed +before I went in to supper. The style of trimming adopted then I still +rigidly adhere to, and call it "the Tommy Stafford stubble-crop." + +Ten days passed before I again saw the Major. Immediately upon his +return--it was late afternoon when I heard of it--I determined to take +my evening walk out the long street toward his pleasant home and call +upon him there. This I did, and found him in a wholesome state of +fatigue, slippers and easy chair, enjoying his pipe on the piazza. Of +course, he was overflowing with happy reminiscences of the hunt--the +wood-and-water-craft--boats--ambushes--decoys, and tramp, and camp, +and so on, without end;--but I wanted to hear him talk of "The Wild +Irishman"--Tommy; and I think, too, now, that the sagacious Major +secretly read my desires all the time. To be utterly frank with the +reader I will admit that I not only think the Major divined my +interest in Tommy, but I know he did; for at last, as though reading +my very thoughts, he abruptly said, after a long pause, in which he +knocked the ashes from his pipe and refilled and lighted it:--"Well, +all I know of 'The Wild Irishman' I can tell you in a very few +words--that is, if you care at all to listen?" And the crafty old +Major seemed to hesitate. + +"Go on--go on!" I said, eagerly. + +"About forty years ago," resumed the Major, placidly, "in the little, +old, unheard-of town Karnteel, County Tyrone, Province Ulster, +Ireland, Tommy Stafford--in spite of the contrary opinion of his +wretchedly poor parents--was fortunate enough to be born. And here, +again, as I advised you the other day, you must be prepared for +constant surprises in the study of Tommy's character." + +"Go on," I said; "I'm prepared for anything." + +The Major smiled profoundly and continued:-- + +"Fifteen years ago, when he came to America--and the Lord only knows +how he got the passage-money--he brought his widowed mother with him +here, and has supported, and is still supporting her. Besides," went +on the still secretly smiling Major, "the fellow has actually found +time, through all his adversities, to pick up quite a smattering of +education, here and there--" + +"Poor fellow!" I broke in, sympathizingly, "what a pity it is that he +couldn't have had such advantages earlier in life," and as I recalled +the broad brogue of the fellow, together with his careless dress, +recognizing beneath it all the native talent and brilliancy of a mind +of most uncommon worth, I could not restrain a deep sigh of compassion +and regret. + +The Major was leaning forward in the gathering dusk, and evidently +studying my own face, the expression of which, at that moment, was +very grave and solemn, I am sure. He suddenly threw himself backward +in his chair, in an uncontrollable burst of laughter. "Oh, I just +can't keep it up any longer," he exclaimed. + +"Keep what up?" I queried, in a perfect maze of bewilderment and +surprise. "Keep what up?" I repeated. + +"Why, all this twaddle, farce, travesty and by-play regarding Tommy! +You know I warned you, over and over, and you mustn't blame me for the +deception. I never thought you'd take it so in earnest!" and here the +jovial Major again went into convulsions of laughter. + +"But I don't understand a word of it all," I cried, half frenzied with +the gnarl and tangle of the whole affair. "What 'twaddle, farce and +by-play,' is it anyhow?" And in my vexation, I found myself on my feet +and striding nervously up and down the paved walk that joined the +street with the piazza, pausing at last and confronting the Major +almost petulantly. "Please explain," I said, controlling my vexation +with an effort. + +The Major arose. "Your striding up and down there reminds me that a +little stroll on the street might do us both good," he said. "Will you +wait until I get a coat and hat?" + +He rejoined me a moment later, and we passed through the open gate; +and saying, "Let's go down this way," he took my arm and turned into a +street, where, cooling as the dusk was, the thick maples lining the +walk, seemed to throw a special shade of tranquility upon us. + +"What I meant was"--began the Major, in low, serious voice,--"What I +meant was--simply this: Our friend Tommy, though the truest Irishman +in the world, is a man quite the opposite everyway of the character he +has appeared to you. All that rich brogue of his is assumed. Though +he's poor, as I told you, when he came here, his native quickness, and +his marvelous resources, tact, judgment, business qualities--all have +helped him to the equivalent of a liberal education. His love of the +humorous and the ridiculous is unbounded; but he has serious moments, +as well, and at such times is as dignified and refined in speech and +manner as any man you'd find in a thousand. He is a good speaker, can +stir a political convention to fomentation when he gets fired up; and +can write an article for the press that goes spang to the spot. He +gets into a great many personal encounters of a rather undignified +character; but they are almost invariably bred of his innate interest +in the 'under dog,' and the fire and tow of his impetuous nature." + +My companion had paused here, and was looking through some printed +slips in his pocket-book. "I wanted you to see some of the fellow's +articles in print, but I have nothing of importance here--only some of +his 'doggerel,' as he calls it, and you've had a sample of that. But +here's a bit of the upper spirit of the man--and still another that +you should hear him recite. You can keep them both if you care to. The +boys all fell in love with that last one, particularly, hearing his +rendition of it. So we had a lot printed, and I have two or three +left. Put these two in your pocket and read at your leisure." + +But I read them there and then, as eagerly, too, as I append them here +and now. The first is called-- + + + +SAYS HE. + + + + "Whatever the weather may be," says he-- + "Whatever the weather may be, + It's plaze, if ye will, an' I'll say me say,-- + Supposin' to-day was the winterest day, + Wud the weather be changing because ye cried, + Or the snow be grass were ye crucified? + The best is to make your own summer," says he, + "Whatever the weather may be," says he-- + "Whatever the weather may be! + + "Whatever the weather may be," says he-- + "Whatever the weather may be, + It's the songs ye sing, an' the smiles ye wear, + That's a-makin' the sunshine everywhere, + An' the world of gloom is a world of glee, + Wid the bird in the bush, an' the bud in the tree, + An' the fruit on the stim of the bough," says he, + "Whatever the weather may be," says he-- + "Whatever the weather may be! + + "Whatever the weather may be," says he-- + "Whatever the weather may be, + Ye can bring the Spring, wid its green an' gold, + An' the grass in the grove where the snow lies cold, + An' ye'll warm yer back, wid a smiling face, + As ye sit at yer heart like an owld fire-place, + An' toast the toes o' yer soul," says he, + "Whatever the weather may be," says he-- + "Whatever the weather may be!" + +"Now" said the Major, peering eagerly +above my shoulder, "go on with the next. +To my liking, it is even better than the first. +A type of character you'll recognize.--The +same 'broth of a boy,' only _Americanized_, +don't you know." + +And I read the scrap entitled-- + + + +CHAIRLEY BURKE. + + + + It's Chairley Burke's in town, b'ys! He's down til "Jamesy's Place," + Wid a bran' new shave upon 'um, an' the fhwhuskers aff his face; + He's quit the Section Gang last night, and yez can chalk it down, + There's goin' to be the divil's toime, sence Chairley Burke's in + town. + + It's treatin' iv'ry b'y he is, an' poundin' on the bar + Till iv'ry man he 's drinkin' wid must shmoke a foine cigar; + An' Missus Murphy's little Kate, that's comin' there for beer, + Can't pay wan cint the bucketful, the whilst that Chairley's here! + + He's joompin' oor the tops o' sthools, the both forninst an' back! + He'll lave yez pick the blessed flure, an' walk the straightest + crack! + He's liftin' barrels wid his teeth, and singin' "Garry Owen," + Till all the house be strikin' hands, sence Chairley Burke's in + town. + + The Road-Yaird hands comes dhroppin' in, an' niver goin' back; + An' there 's two freights upon the switch--the wan on aither track-- + An' Mr. Gearry, from The Shops, he's mad enough to swear, + An' durst n't spake a word but grin, the whilst that Chairley's + there! + + Oh! Chairley! Chairley! Chairley Burke! ye divil, wid yer ways + O' dhrivin' all the throubles aff, these dark an' gloomy days! + Ohone! that it's meself, wid all the griefs I have to drown, + Must lave me pick to resht a bit, sence Chairley Burke's in town! + +"Before we turn back, now," said the smiling Major, as I stood +lingering over the indefinable humor of the last refrain, "before we +turn back I want to show you something eminently characteristic. Come +this way a half dozen steps." + +As he spoke I looked up, to first observe that we had paused before a +handsome square brick residence, centering a beautiful smooth lawn, +its emerald only littered with the light gold of the earliest autumn +leaves. On either side of the trim walk that led up from the gate to +the carved stone ballusters of the broad piazza, with its empty easy +chairs, were graceful vases, frothing over with late blossoms, and +wreathed with laurel-looking vines; and, luxuriantly lacing the border +of the pave that turned the further corner of the house, blue, white +and crimson, pink and violet, went fading in perspective as my gaze +followed the gesture of the Major's. + +"Here, come a little further. Now do you see that man there?" + +Yes, I could make out a figure in the deepening dusk--the figure of a +man on the back stoop--a tired looking man, in his shirt-sleeves, who +sat upon a low chair--no, not a chair--an empty box. He was leaning +forward with his elbows on his knees, and the hands dropped limp. He +was smoking, too, I could barely see his pipe, and but for the odor of +very strong tobacco, would not have known he had a pipe. Why does the +master of the house permit his servants to so desecrate this beautiful +home? I thought. + +"Well, shall we go now?" said the Major. + +I turned silently and we retraced our steps. I think neither of us +spoke for the distance of a square. + +"Guess you didn't know the man there on the back porch?" said the +Major. + +"No; why?" I asked dubiously. + +"I hardly thought you would, and besides the poor fellow's tired, and +it was best not to disturb him," said the Major. + +"Why; who was it--some one I know?" + +"It was Tommy." + +"Oh," said I, inquiringly, "he's employed there in some capacity?" + +"Yes, as master of the house." + +"You don't mean it?" + +"I certainly do. He owns it, and made every cent of the money that +paid for it!" said the Major proudly. "That's why I wanted you +particularly to note that 'eminent characteristic' I spoke of. Tommy +could just as well be sitting, with a fine cigar, on the front piazza +in an easy chair, as, with his dhudeen, on the back porch, on an empty +box, where every night you'll find him. Its the unconscious dropping +back into the old ways of his father, and his father's father, and his +father's father's father. In brief, he sits there the poor lorn symbol +of the long oppression of his race." + + + + +RAGWEED AND FENNEL + + + + +WHEN MY DREAMS COME TRUE. + + + +I. + + When my dreams come true--when my dreams come true-- + Shall I lean from out my casement, in the starlight and the dew, + To listen--smile and listen to the tinkle of the strings + Of the sweet guitar my lover's fingers fondle, as he sings? + And as the nude moon slowly, slowly shoulders into view, + Shall I vanish from his vision--when my dreams come true? + + When my dreams come true--shall the simple gown I wear + Be changed to softest satin, and my maiden-braided hair + Be raveled into flossy mists of rarest, fairest gold, + To be minted into kisses, more than any heart can hold?-- + Or "the summer of my tresses" shall my lover liken to + "The fervor of his passion"--when my dreams come true? + + + +II. + + When my dreams come true--I shall bide among the sheaves + Of happy harvest meadows; and the grasses and the leaves + Shall lift and lean between me and the splendor of the sun, + Till the noon swoons into twilight, and the gleaners' work is done-- + Save that yet an arm shall bind me, even as the reapers do + The meanest sheaf of harvest--when my dreams come true. + + When my dreams come true! when my dreams come true! + True love in all simplicity is fresh and pure as dew;-- + The blossom in the blackest mold is kindlier to the eye + Than any lily born of pride that looms against the sky: + And so it is I know my heart will gladly welcome you, + My lowliest of lovers, when my dreams come true. + + + + +A DOS'T O' BLUES. + + + + I' got no patience with blues at all! + And I ust to kindo talk + Aginst 'em, and claim, 'tel along last Fall, + They was none in the fambly stock; + But a nephew of mine, from Eelinoy, + That visited us last year, + He kindo convinct me differunt + While he was a-stayin' here. + + Frum ever'-which way that blues is from, + They'd tackle him ever' ways; + They'd come to him in the night, and come + On Sundays, and rainy days; + They'd tackle him in corn-plantin' time, + And in harvest, and airly Fall, + But a dose 't of blues in the wintertime, + He 'lowed, was the worst of all! + + Said all diseases that ever he had-- + The mumps, er the rheumatiz-- + Er ever'-other-day-aigger's bad + Purt' nigh as anything is!-- + Er a cyarbuncle, say, on the back of his neck, + Er a felon on his thumb,-- + But you keep the blues away from him, + And all o' the rest could come! + + And he'd moan, "They's nary a leaf below! + Ner a spear o' grass in sight! + And the whole wood-pile's clean under snow! + And the days is dark as night! + You can't go out--ner you can't stay in-- + Lay down--stand up--ner set!" + And a tetch o' regular tyfoid-blues + Would double him jest clean shet! + + I writ his parents a postal-kyard, + He could stay 'tel Spring-time come; + And Aprile first, as I rickollect, + Was the day we shipped him home! + Most o' his relatives, sence then, + Has either give up, er quit, + Er jest died off; but I understand + He's the same old color yit! + + + + +THE BAT. + + + +I. + + Thou dread, uncanny thing, + With fuzzy breast and leathern wing, + In mad, zigzagging flight, + Notching the dusk, and buffeting + The black cheeks of the night, + With grim delight! + + + +II. + + What witch's hand unhasps + Thy keen claw-cornered wings + From under the barn roof, and flings + Thee forth, with chattering gasps, + To scud the air, + And nip the lady-bug, and tear + Her children's hearts out unaware? + + + +III. + + The glow-worm's glimmer, and the bright, + Sad pulsings of the fire-fly's light, + Are banquet lights to thee. + O less than bird, and worse than beast, + Thou Devil's self, or brat, at least, + Grate not thy teeth at me! + + + + +THE WAY IT WUZ. + + + + Las' July--an', I persume + 'Bout as hot + As the ole Gran'-Jury room + Where they sot!-- + Fight 'twixt Mike an' Dock McGriff-- + 'Pears to me jes' like as if + I'd a dremp' the whole blame thing-- + Allus ha'nts me roun' the gizzard + When they're nightmares on the wing, + An' a feller's blood's jes' friz! + Seed the row from a to izzard-- + 'Cause I wuz a-standin' as clost to 'em + As me an' you is! + + Tell you the way it wuz-- + An' I do n't want to see, + Like _some_ fellers does, + When they 're goern to be + Any kind o' fuss-- + On'y makes a rumpus wuss + Far to interfere + When their dander's riz-- + But I wuz a-standin' as clost to 'em + As me an' you is! + + I wuz kind o' strayin' + Past the blame saloon-- + Heerd some fiddler playin' + That "ole hee-cup tune!" + Sort o' stopped, you know, + Far a minit er so, + And wuz jes' about + + Settin' down, when--_Jeemses-whizz!_ + Whole durn winder-sash fell out! + An' there laid Doc McGriff, and Mike + A-straddlin' him, all bloody-like, + An' both a-gittin' down to biz!-- + An' I wuz a-standin' as clost to 'em + As me an' you is! + + I wuz the on'y man aroun'-- + (Durn old-fogy town! + 'Peared more like, to me, + _Sund'y_ 'an _Saturd'y!)_ + Dog come 'crost the road + An' tuck a smell + An' put right back; + Mishler driv by 'ith a load + O' cantalo'pes he couldn't sell-- + Too mad, 'y jack! + To even ast + What wuz up, as he went past! + Weather most outrageous hot!-- + Fairly hear it sizz + Roun' Dock an' Mike--till Dock he shot, + An' Mike he slacked that grip o' his + An' fell, all spraddled out. Dock riz + 'Bout half up, a-spittin' red, + An' shuck his head-- + An' I wuz a-standin' as clost to 'em + As me an' you is! + + An' Dock he says, + A-whisperin'-like,-- + "It hain't no use + A-tryin'!--Mike + He's jes' ripped my daylights loose!-- + Git that blame-don fiddler to + Let up, an' come out here--You + Got some burryin' to do,-- + Mike makes _one_, an' I expects + In ten seconds I'll make _two_!" + And he drapped back, where he riz, + 'Crost Mike's body, black and blue, + Like a great big letter X!-- + An' I wuz a-standin' as clost to 'em + As me an' you is! + + + + +THE DRUM. + + + + O the drum! + There is some + Intonation in thy grum + Monotony of utterance that strikes the spirit dumb, + As we hear + Through the clear + And unclouded atmosphere, + Thy palpitating syllables roll in upon the car! + + There's a part + Of the art + Of thy music-throbbing heart + That thrills a something in us that awakens with a start, + And in rhyme + With the chime + And exactitude of time, + Goes marching on to glory to thy melody sublime. + + And the guest + Of the breast + That thy rolling robs of rest + Is a patriotic spirit as a Continental dressed; + And he looms + From the glooms + Of a century of tombs, + And the blood he spilled at Lexington in living beauty blooms. + + And his eyes + Wear the guise + Of a purpose pure and wise, + As the love of them is lifted to a something in the skies + That is bright + Red and white, + With a blur of starry light, + As it laughs in silken ripples to the breezes day and night. + + There are deep + Hushes creep + O'er the pulses as they leap, + As thy tumult, fainter growing, on the silence falls asleep, + While the prayer + Rising there + Wills the sea and earth and air + As a heritage to Freedom's sons and daughters everywhere. + + Then, with sound + As profound + As the thunderings resound, + Come thy wild reverberations in a throe that shakes the ground, + And a cry + Flung on high, + Like the flag it flutters by, + Wings rapturously upward till it nestles in the sky. + + O the drum! + There is some + Intonation in thy grum + Monotony of utterance that strikes the spirit dumb, + As we hear + Through the clear + And unclouded atmosphere, + Thy palpitating syllables roll in upon the ear! + + + + +TOM JOHNSON'S QUIT. + + + + A passel o' the boys last night-- + An' me amongst 'em--kindo got + To talkin' Temper'nce left an' right, + An' workin' up "blue-ribbon," _hot_; + An' while we was a-countin' jes' + How many bed gone into hit + An' signed the pledge, some feller says,-- + "Tom Johnson's quit!" + + We laughed, of course--'cause Tom, you know, + _He's_ spiled more whisky, boy an' man, + And seed more trouble, high an' low, + Than any chap but Tom could stand: + And so, says I "_He's_ too nigh dead. + Far Temper'nce to benefit!" + The feller sighed agin, and said-- + "Tom Johnson's quit!" + + We all _liked_ Tom, an' that was why + We sorto simmered down agin, + And ast the feller ser'ously + Ef he wa'n't tryin' to draw us in: + He shuck his head--tuck off his hat-- + Helt up his hand an' opened hit, + An' says, says he, "I'll _swear_ to that-- + Tom Johnson's quit!" + + Well, we was stumpt, an' tickled too,-- + Because we knowed ef Tom _had_ signed + Ther wa'n't no man 'at wore the "blue" + 'At was more honester inclined: + An' then and there we kindo riz,-- + The hull dern gang of us 'at bit-- + An' th'owed our hats and let 'er whizz,-- + "_Tom Johnson's quit!_" + + I've heerd 'em holler when the balls + Was buzzin' 'round us wus 'n bees, + An' when the ole flag on the walls + Was flappin' o'er the enemy's, + I've heerd a-many a wild "hooray" + 'At made my heart git up an' git-- + But Lord!--to hear 'em shout that way!-- + "_Tom Johnson's quit!_" + + But when we saw the chap 'at fetched + The news wa'n't jinin' in the cheer, + But stood there solemn-like, an' reched + An' kindo wiped away a tear, + We someway sorto' stilled agin, + And listened--I kin hear him yit, + His voice a-wobblin' with his chin,-- + "Tom Johnson's quit-- + + "I hain't a-givin' you no game-- + I wisht I was!... An hour ago, + This operator--what's his name-- + The one 'at works at night, you know?-- + Went out to flag that Ten Express, + And sees a man in front of hit + Th'ow up his hands an' stagger--yes,-- + _Tom Johnson's quit_." + + + + +LULLABY. + + + + The maple strews the embers of its leaves + O'er the laggard swallows nestled 'neath the eaves; + And the moody cricket falters in his cry--Baby-bye!-- + And the lid of night is falling o'er the sky--Baby-bye!-- + The lid of night is falling o'er the sky! + + The rose is lying pallid, and the cup + Of the frosted calla-lily folded up; + And the breezes through the garden sob and sigh--Baby-bye!-- + O'er the sleeping blooms of summer where they lie--Baby-bye!-- + O'er the sleeping blooms of summer where they lie! + + Yet, Baby--O my Baby, for your sake + This heart of mine is ever wide awake, + And my love may never droop a drowsy eye--Baby-bye!-- + Till your own are wet above me when I die--Baby-bye!-- + Till your own are wet above me when I die. + + + + +IN THE SOUTH. + + + + There is a princess in the South + About whose beauty rumors hum + Like honey-bees about the mouth + Of roses dewdrops falter from; + And O her hair is like the fine + Clear amber of a jostled wine + In tropic revels; and her eyes + Are blue as rifts of Paradise. + + Such beauty as may none before + Kneel daringly, to kiss the tips + Of fingers such as knights of yore + Had died to lift against their lips: + Such eyes as might the eyes of gold + Of all the stars of night behold + With glittering envy, and so glare + In dazzling splendor of despair. + + So, were I but a minstrel, deft + At weaving, with the trembling strings + Of my glad harp, the warp and weft + Of rondels such as rapture sings,-- + I'd loop my lyre across my breast, + Nor stay me till my knee found rest + In midnight banks of bud and flower + Beneath my lady's lattice-bower. + + And there, drenched with the teary dews, + I'd woo her with such wondrous art + As well might stanch the songs that ooze + Out of the mockbird's breaking heart; + So light, so tender, and so sweet + Should be the words I would repeat, + Her casement, on my gradual sight, + Would blossom as a lily might. + + + + +THE OLD HOME BY THE MILL. + + + + This is "The old Home by the Mill"--far we still call it so, + Although the old mill, roof and sill, is all gone long ago. + The old home, though, and old folks, and the old spring, and a few + Old cat-tails, weeds and hartychokes, is left to welcome you! + + Here, Marg'et, fetch the man a tin to drink out of' Our spring + Keeps kindo-sorto cavin' in, but don't "taste" anything! + She's kindo agein', Marg'et is--"the old process," like me, + All ham-stringed up with rheumatiz, and on in seventy-three. + + Jes' me and Marg'et lives alone here--like in long ago; + The childern all put off and gone, and married, don't you know? + One's millin' way out West somewhere; two other miller-boys + In Minnyopolis they air; and one's in Illinoise. + + The oldest gyrl--the first that went--married and died right here; + The next lives in Winn's Settlement--for purt' nigh thirty year! + And youngest one--was allus far the old home here--but no!-- + Her man turns in and he packs her 'way off to Idyho! + + I don't miss them like _Marg'et_ does--'cause I got _her_, you see; + And when she pines for them--that's 'cause _she's_ only jes' got + _me_! + I laugh, and joke her 'bout it all.--But talkin' sense, I'll say, + When she was tuk so bad last Fall, I laughed the t'other way! + + I haint so favorble impressed 'bout dyin'; but ef I + Found I was only second-best when _us two_ come to die, + I'd 'dopt the "new process" in full, ef _Marg'et_ died, you see,-- + I'd jes' crawl in my grave and pull the green grass over me! + + + + +A LEAVE-TAKING. + + + + She will not smile; + She will not stir; + I marvel while + I look on her. + The lips are chilly + And will not speak; + The ghost of a lily + In either cheek. + + Her hair--ah me! + Her hair--her hair! + How helplessly + My hands go there! + But my caresses + Meet not hers, + O golden tresses + That thread my tears! + + I kiss the eyes + On either lid, + Where her love lies + Forever hid. + I cease my weeping + And smile and say: + I will be sleeping + Thus, some day! + + + + +WAIT FOR THE MORNING. + + + + Wait for the morning:--It will come, indeed, + As surely as the night hath given need. + The yearning eyes, at last, will strain their sight + No more unanswered by the morning light; + No longer will they vainly strive, through tears, + To pierce the darkness of thy doubts and fears, + But, bathed in balmy dews and rays of dawn, + Will smile with rapture o'er the darkness drawn. + + Wait for the morning, O thou smitten child, + Scorned, scourged and persecuted and reviled-- + Athirst and famishing, none pitying thee, + Crowned with the twisted thorns of agony-- + No faintest gleam of sunlight through the dense + Infinity of gloom to lead thee thence-- + Wait for the morning:--It will come, indeed, + As surely as the night hath given need. + + + + +WHEN JUNE IS HERE. + + + + When June is here--what art have we to sing + The whiteness of the lilies midst the green + Of noon-tranced lawns? Or flash of roses seen + Like redbirds' wings? Or earliest ripening + Prince-Harvest apples, where the cloyed bees cling + Round winey juices oozing down between + The peckings of the robin, while we lean + In under-grasses, lost in marveling. + Or the cool term of morning, and the stir + Of odorous breaths from wood and meadow walks, + The bobwhite's liquid yodel, and the whir + Of sudden flight; and, where the milkmaid talks + Across the bars, on tilted barley-stalks + The dewdrops' glint in webs of gossamer. + + + + +THE GILDED ROLL. + + + +Nosing around in an old box--packed away, and lost to memory for +years--an hour ago I found a musty package of gilt paper, or rather, a +roll it was, with the green-tarnished gold of the old sheet for the +outer wrapper. I picked it up mechanically to toss it into some +obscure corner, when, carelessly lifting it by one end, a child's tin +whistle dropped therefrom and fell tinkling on the attic floor. It +lies before me on my writing table now--and so, too, does the roll +entire, though now a roll no longer,--for my eager fingers have +unrolled the gilded covering, and all its precious contents are spread +out beneath my hungry eyes. + +Here is a scroll of ink-written music. I don't read music, but I know +the dash and swing of the pen that rained it on the page. Here is a +letter, with the self-same impulse and abandon in every syllable; and +its melody--however sweet the other--is far more sweet to me. And here +are other letters like it--three--five--and seven, at least. Bob wrote +them from the front, and Billy kept them for me when I went to join +him. Dear boy! Dear boy! + +Here are some cards of bristol-board. Ah! when Bob came to these there +were no blotches then. What faces--what expressions! The droll, +ridiculous, good-for-nothing genius, with his "sad mouth," as he +called it, "upside down," laughing always--at everything, at big +rallies, and mass-meetings and conventions, county fairs, and floral +halls, booths, watermelon-wagons, dancing-tents, the swing, +Daguerrean-car, the "lung-barometer," and the air-gun man. Oh! what a +gifted, good-for-nothing boy Bob was in those old days! And here 's a +picture of a girlish face--a very faded photograph--even fresh from +"the gallery," five and twenty years ago it was a faded thing. But the +living face--how bright and clear that was!--for "Doc," Bob's awful +name for her, was a pretty girl, and brilliant, clever, lovable every +way. No wonder Bob fancied her! And you could see some hint of her +jaunty loveliness in every fairy face he drew, and you could find her +happy ways and dainty tastes unconsciously assumed in all he did--the +books he read--the poems he admired, and those he wrote; and, ringing +clear and pure and jubilant, the vibrant beauty of her voice could +clearly be defined and traced through all his music. Now, there's the +happy pair of them--Bob and Doc. Make of them just whatever your good +fancy may dictate, but keep in mind the stern, relentless ways of +destiny. + +You are not at the beginning of a novel, only at the threshold of one +of a hundred experiences that lie buried in the past, and this +particular one most happily resurrected by these odds and ends found +in the gilded roll. + +You see, dating away back, the contents of this package, mainly, were +hastily gathered together after a week's visit out at the old Mills +farm; the gilt paper, and the whistle, and the pictures, they were +Billy's; the music pages, Bob's, or Doc's; the letters and some other +manuscripts were mine. + +The Mills girls were great friends of Doc's, and often came to visit +her in town; and so Doc often visited the Mills's. This is the way +that Bob first got out there, and won them all, and "shaped the thing" +for me, as he would put it; and lastly, we had lugged in Billy,--such +a handy boy, you know, to hold the horses on picnic excursions, and to +watch the carriage and the luncheon, and all that.--"Yes, and," Bob +would say, "such a serviceable boy in getting all the fishing tackle +in proper order, and digging bait, and promenading in our wake up and +down the creek all day, with the minnow-bucket hanging on his arm, +don't you know!" + +But jolly as the days were, I think jollier were the long evenings at +the farm. After the supper in the grove, where, when the weather +permitted, always stood the table, ankle-deep in the cool green plush +of the sward; and after the lounge upon the grass, and the cigars, and +the new fish stories, and the general invoice of the old ones, it was +delectable to get back to the girls again, and in the old "best room" +hear once more the lilt of the old songs and the stacattoed laughter +of the piano mingling with the alto and falsetto voices of the Mills +girls, and the gallant soprano of the dear girl Doc. + +This is the scene I want you to look in upon, as, in fancy, I do +now--and here are the materials for it all, husked from the gilded +roll: + +Bob, the master, leans at the piano now, and Doc is at the keys, her +glad face often thrown up sidewise toward his own. His face is +boyish--for there is yet but the ghost of a mustache upon his lip. His +eyes are dark and clear, of over-size when looking at you, but now +their lids are drooped above his violin, whose melody has, for the +time, almost smoothed away the upward kinkings of the corners of his +mouth. And wonderfully quiet now is every one, and the chords of the +piano, too, are low and faltering; and so, at last, the tune itself +swoons into the universal hush, and--Bob is rasping, in its stead, the +ridiculous, but marvelously perfect imitation of the "priming" of a +pump, while Billy's hands forget the "chiggers" on the bare backs of +his feet, as, with clapping palms, he dances round the room in +ungovernable spasms of delight. And then we all laugh; and Billy, +taking advantage of the general tumult, pulls Bob's head down and +whispers, "Git 'em to stay up 'way late to-night!" And Bob, perhaps +remembering that we go back home to-morrow, winks at the little fellow +and whispers, "You let me manage 'em! Stay up till broad daylight if +we take a notion--eh?" And Billy dances off again in newer glee, while +the inspired musician is plunking a banjo imitation on his enchanted +instrument, which is unceremoniously drowned out by a circus-tune from +Doc that is absolutely inspiring to everyone but the barefooted +brother, who drops back listlessly to his old position on the floor +and sullenly renews operations on his "chigger" claims. + +"Thought you was goin' to have pop-corn to-night all so fast!" he +says, doggedly, in the midst of a momentary lull that has fallen on a +game of whist. And then the oldest Mills girl, who thinks cards stupid +anyhow, says: "That's so, Billy; and we're going to have it, too; and +right away, for this game's just ending, and I shan't submit to being +bored with another. I say 'pop-corn' with Billy! And after that," she +continues, rising and addressing the party in general, "we must have +another literary and artistic tournament, and that's been in +contemplation and preparation long enough; so you gentlemen can be +pulling your wits together for the exercises, while us girls see to +the refreshments." + +"Have you done anything toward it!" queries Bob, when the girls are +gone, with the alert Billy in their wake. + +"Just an outline," I reply. "How with you?" + +"Clean forgot it--that is, the preparation; but I've got a little old +second-hand idea, if you'll all help me out with it, that'll amuse us +some, and tickle Billy I'm certain." + +So that's agreed upon; and while Bob produces his portfolio, drawing +paper, pencils and so on, I turn to my note-book in a dazed way and +begin counting my fingers in a depth of profound abstraction, from +which I am barely aroused by the reappearance of the girls and Billy. + +"Goody, goody, goody! Bob's goin' to make pictures!" cries Billy, in +additional transport to that the cake pop-corn has produced. + +"Now, you girls," says Bob, gently detaching the affectionate Billy +from one leg and moving a chair to the table, with a backward glance +of intelligence toward the boy,--"you girls are to help us all you +can, and we can all work; but, as I'll have all the illustrations to +do, I want you to do as many of the verses as you can--that'll be +easy, you know,--because the work entire is just to consist of a +series of fool-epigrams, such as, for instance.--Listen, Billy: + + Here lies a young man + Who in childhood began + To swear, and to smoke, and to drink,-- + In his twentieth year + He quit swearing and beer, + And yet is still smoking, I think." + +And the rest of his instructions are delivered in lower tones, that +the boy may not hear; and then, all matters seemingly arranged, he +turns to the boy with--"And now, Billy, no lookin' over shoulders, you +know, or swinging on my chair-back while I'm at work. When the +pictures are all finished, then you can take a squint at 'em, and not +before. Is that all hunky, now?" + +"Oh! who's a-goin' to look over your shoulder--only _Doc_." And as the +radiant Doc hastily quits that very post, and dives for the offending +brother, he scrambles under the piano and laughs derisively. + +And then a silence falls upon the group--a gracious quiet, only +intruded upon by the very juicy and exuberant munching of an apple +from a remote fastness of the room, and the occasional thumping of a +bare heel against the floor. + +At last I close my note-book with a half slam. + +"That means," says Bob, laying down his pencil, and addressing the +girls,--"That means he's concluded his poem, and that he's not pleased +with it in any manner, and that he intends declining to read it, for +that self-acknowledged reason, and that he expects us to believe every +affected word of his entire speech--" + +"Oh, don't!" I exclaim. + +"Then give us the wretched production, in all its hideous deformity!" + +And the girls all laugh so sympathetically, and Bob joins them so +gently, and yet with a tone, I know, that can be changed so quickly to +my further discomfiture, that I arise at once and read, without +apology or excuse, this primitive and very callow poem recovered here +to-day from the gilded roll: + + + + +A BACKWARD LOOK. + + + + As I sat smoking, alone, yesterday, + And lazily leaning back in my chair, + Enjoying myself in a general way-- + Allowing my thoughts a holiday + From weariness, toil and care,-- + My fancies--doubtless, for ventilation-- + Left ajar the gates of my mind,-- + And Memory, seeing the situation, + Slipped out in street of "Auld Lang Syne." + + Wandering ever with tireless feet + Through scenes of silence, and jubilee + Of long-hushed voices; and faces sweet + Were thronging the shadowy side of the street + As far as the eye could see; + Dreaming again, in anticipation, + The same old dreams of our boyhood's days + That never come true, from the vague sensation + Of walking asleep in the world's strange ways. + + Away to the house where I was born! + And there was the selfsame clock that ticked + From the close of dusk to the burst of morn, + When life-warm hands plucked the golden corn + And helped when the apples were picked. + And the "chany-dog" on the mantel-shelf, + With the gilded collar and yellow eyes, + Looked just as at first, when I hugged myself + Sound asleep with the dear surprise. + + And down to the swing in the locust tree, + Where the grass was worn from the trampled ground, + And where "Eck" Skinner, "Old" Carr, and three + Or four such other boys used to be + Doin' "sky-scrapers," or "whirlin' round:" + And again Bob climbed for the bluebird's nest, + And again "had shows" in the buggy-shed + Of Guymon's barn, where still, unguessed, + The old ghosts romp through the best days dead! + + And again I gazed from the old school-room + With a wistful look of a long June day, + When on my cheek was the hectic bloom + Caught of Mischief, as I presume-- + He had such a "partial" way, + It seemed, toward me.--And again I thought + Of a probable likelihood to be + Kept in after school--for a girl was caught + Catching a note from me. + + And down through the woods to the swimming-hole-- + Where the big, white, hollow, old sycamore grows,-- + And we never cared when the water was cold, + And always "ducked" the boy that told + On the fellow that tied the clothes.-- + When life went so like a dreamy rhyme, + That it seems to me now that then + The world was having a jollier time + Than it ever will have again. + +The crude production is received, I am glad to note, with some +expressions of favor from the company, though Bob, of course, must +heartlessly dissipate my weak delight by saying, "Well, it's certainly +bad enough; though," he goes on with an air of deepest critical +sagacity and fairness, "considered, as it should be, justly, as the +production of a jour-poet, why, it might be worse--that is, a little +worse." + +"Probably," I remember saying,--"Probably I might redeem myself by +reading you this little amateurish bit of verse, enclosed to me in a +letter by mistake, not very long ago." I here fish an envelope from my +pocket the address of which all recognize as in Bob's almost printed +writing. He smiles vacantly at it--then vividly colors. + +"What date?" he stoically asks. + +"The date," I suggestively answer, "of your last letter to our dear +Doc, at Boarding-School, two days exactly in advance of her coming +home--this veritable visit now." + +Both Bob and Doc rush at me--but too late. The letter and contents +have wholly vanished. The youngest Miss Mills quiets us--urgently +distracting us, in fact, by calling our attention to the immediate +completion of our joint production; "For now," she says, "with our new +reinforcement, we can, with becoming diligence, soon have it ready for +both printer and engraver, and then we'll wake up the boy (who has +been fortunately slumbering for the last quarter of an hour), and +present to him, as designed and intended, this matchless creation of +our united intellects." At the conclusion of this speech we all go +good-humoredly to work, and at the close of half an hour the tedious, +but most ridiculous, task is announced completed. + +As I arrange and place in proper form here on the table the separate +cards--twenty-seven in number--I sigh to think that I am unable to +transcribe for you the best part of the nonsensical work--the +illustrations. All I can give is the written copy of-- + + + +BILLY'S ALPHABETICAL ANIMAL SHOW. + + + + A was an elegant Ape + Who tied up his ears with red tape, + And wore a long veil + Half revealing his tail + Which was trimmed with jet bugles and crape. + + B was a boastful old Bear + Who used to say,--"Hoomh! I declare + I can eat--if you'll get me + The children, and let me-- + Ten babies, teeth, toenails and hair!" + + C was a Codfish who sighed + When snatched from the home of his pride, + But could he, embrined, + Guess this fragrance behind, + How glad he would be that he died! + + D was a dandified Dog + Who said,--"Though it's raining like fog + I wear no umbrellah, + Me boy, for a fellah + Might just as well travel incog!" + + E was an elderly Eel + Who would say,--"Well, I really feel-- + As my grandchildren wriggle + And shout 'I should giggle'-- + A trifle run down at the heel!" + + F was a Fowl who conceded + _Some_ hens might hatch more eggs than _she_ did,-- + But she'd children as plenty + As eighteen or twenty, + And that was quite all that she needed. + + G was a gluttonous Goat + Who, dining one day, _table-d'hote,_ + Ordered soup-bone, _au fait_, + And fish, _papier-mache_, + And a _filet_ of Spring overcoat. + + H was a high-cultured Hound + Who could clear forty feet at a bound, + And a coon once averred + That his howl could be heard + For five miles and three-quarters around. + + I was an Ibex ambitious + To dive over chasms auspicious; + He would leap down a peak + And not light for a week, + And swear that the jump was delicious. + + J was a Jackass who said + He had such a bad cold in his head, + If it wasn't for leaving + The rest of us grieving, + He'd really rather be dead. + + K was a profligate Kite + Who would haunt the saloons every night; + And often he ust + To reel back to his roost + Too full to set up on it right. + + L was a wary old Lynx + Who would say,--"Do you know wot I thinks?-- + I thinks ef you happen + To ketch me a-nappin' + I'm ready to set up the drinks!" + + M was a merry old Mole, + Who would snooze all the day in his hole, + Then--all night, a-rootin' + Around and galootin'-- + He'd sing "Johnny, Fill up the Bowl!" + + N was a caustical Nautilus + Who sneered, "I suppose, when they've _caught_ all us, + Like oysters they'll serve us, + And can us, preserve us, + And barrel, and pickle, and bottle us!" + + O was an autocrat Owl-- + Such a wise--such a wonderful fowl! + Why, for all the night through + He would hoot and hoo-hoo, + And hoot and hoo-hooter and howl! + + P was a Pelican pet, + Who gobbled up all he could get; + He could eat on until + He was full to the bill, + And there he had lodgings to let! + + Q was a querulous Quail, + Who said: "It will little avail + The efforts of those + Of my foes who propose + To attempt to put salt on my tail!" + + R was a ring-tailed Raccoon, + With eyes of the tinge of the moon, + And his nose a blue-black, + And the fur on his back + A sad sort of sallow maroon. + + S is a Sculpin--you'll wish + Very much to have one on your dish, + Since all his bones grow + On the outside, and so + He's a very desirable fish. + + T was a Turtle, of wealth, + Who went round with particular stealth,-- + "Why," said he, "I'm afraid + Of being waylaid + When I even walk out for my health!" + + U was a Unicorn curious, + With one horn, of a growth so _luxurious_, + He could level and stab it-- + If you didn't grab it-- + Clean through you, he was so blamed furious! + + V was a vagabond Vulture + Who said: "I don't want to insult yer, + But when you intrude + Where in lone solitude + I'm a-preyin', you're no man o' culture!" + + W was a wild _Wood_chuck, + And you can just bet that he _could_ "chuck" + He'd eat raw potatoes, + Green corn, and tomatoes, + And tree roots, and call it all "_good_ chuck!" + + X was a kind of X-cuse + Of a some-sort-o'-thing that got loose + Before we could name it, + And cage it, and tame it, + And bring it in general use. + + Y is the Yellowbird,--bright + As a petrified lump of star-light, + Or a handful of lightning- + Bugs, squeezed in the tight'ning + Pink fist of a boy, at night. + + Z is the Zebra, of course!-- + A kind of a clown-of-a-horse,-- + Each other despising, + Yet neither devising + A way to obtain a divorce! + + & here is the famous--what-is-it? + Walk up, Master Billy, and quiz it: + You've seen the _rest_ of 'em-- + Ain't this the _best_ of 'em, + Right at the end of your visit? + +At last Billy is sent off to bed. It is the prudent mandate of the old +folks: But so lothfully the poor child goes, Bob's heart goes, +too.--Yes, Bob himself, to keep the little fellow company awhile, and, +up there under the old rafters, in the pleasant gloom, lull him to +famous dreams with fairy tales. And it is during this brief absence +that the youngest Mills girl gives us a surprise. She will read a +poem, she says, written by a very dear friend of hers who, fortunately +for us, is not present to prevent her. We guard door and window as she +reads. Doc says she will not listen; but she does listen, and cries, +too--out of pure vexation, she asserts. The rest of us, however, cry +just because of the apparent honesty of the poem of-- + + + +BEAUTIFUL HANDS. + + + O your hands--they are strangely fair! + Fair--for the jewels that sparkle there,-- + Fair--for the witchery of the spell + That ivory keys alone can tell; + But when their delicate touches rest + Here in my own do I love them best, + As I clasp with eager acquisitive spans + My glorious treasure of beautiful hands! + + Marvelous--wonderful--beautiful hands! + They can coax roses to bloom in the strands + Of your brown tresses; and ribbons will twine, + Under mysterious touches of thine, + Into such knots as entangle the soul, + And fetter the heart under such a control + As only the strength of my love understands-- + My passionate love for your beautiful hands. + + As I remember the first fair touch + Of those beautiful hands that I love so much, + I seem to thrill as I then was thrilled, + Kissing the glove that I found unfilled-- + When I met your gaze, and the queenly bow, + As you said to me, laughingly, "Keep it now!" + And dazed and alone in a dream I stand + Kissing this ghost of your beautiful hand. + + When first I loved, in the long ago, + And held your hand as I told you so-- + Pressed and caressed it and gave it a kiss, + And said "I could die fora hand like this!" + Little I dreamed love's fulness yet + Had to ripen when eyes were wet, + And prayers were vain in their wild demands + For one warm touch of your beautiful hands. + + Beautiful Hands! O Beautiful Hands! + Could you reach out of the alien lands + Where you are lingering, and give me, to-night, + Only a touch--were it ever so light-- + My heart were soothed, and my weary brain + Would lull itself into rest again; + For there is no solace the world commands + Like the caress of your beautiful hands. + + * * * * * + +Violently winking at the mist that blurs my sight, I regretfully +awaken to the here and now. And is it possible, I sorrowfully muse, +that all this glory can have fled away?--that more than twenty long, +long years are spread between me and that happy night? And is it +possible that all the dear old faces--O, quit it! quit it! Gather the +old scraps up and wad 'em back into oblivion, where they belong! + +Yes, but be calm--be calm! Think of cheerful things. You are not all +alone. _Billy_'s living yet. + +I know--and six feet high--and sag-shouldered--and owns a tin and +stove-store, and can't hear thunder! _Billy!_ + +And the youngest Mills girl--she's alive, too. + +S'pose I don't know that? I married her! + +And Doc.-- + +_Bob_ married her. Been in California for more than fifteen years--on +some blasted cattle-ranch, or something,--and he's worth a half a +million! And am I less prosperous with this gilded roll? + + + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Pipes O'Pan at Zekesbury, by James Whitcomb Riley + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 13908 *** diff --git a/13908-h/13908-h.htm b/13908-h/13908-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1a0dd37 --- /dev/null +++ b/13908-h/13908-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,6423 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="UTF-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> + <head> + <meta content="pg2html (binary v0.17)" name="linkgenerator" /> + <title> + Pipes O' Pan at Zekesbury, by James Whitcomb Riley + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + body { margin:15%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .75em; margin-bottom: .75em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 5%; text-align: justify; font-size: 80%; font-style: italic;} + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + .xx-small {font-size: 60%;} + .x-small {font-size: 75%;} + .small {font-size: 85%;} + .large {font-size: 115%;} + .x-large {font-size: 130%;} + .indent5 { margin-left: 5%;} + .indent10 { margin-left: 10%;} + .indent15 { margin-left: 15%;} + .indent20 { margin-left: 20%;} + .indent25 { margin-left: 25%;} + .indent30 { margin-left: 30%;} + .indent35 { margin-left: 35%;} + .indent40 { margin-left: 40%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {position: absolute; right: 1%; font-size: 0.6em; + font-variant: normal; font-style: normal; + text-align: right; background-color: #FFFACD; + border: 1px solid; padding: 0.3em;text-indent: 0em;} + .side { float: left; font-size: 75%; width: 15%; padding-left: 0.8em; + border-left: dashed thin; text-align: left; + text-indent: 0; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; + font-weight: bold; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: solid 1px;} + .head { float: left; font-size: 90%; width: 98%; padding-left: 0.8em; + border-left: dashed thin; text-align: center; + text-indent: 0; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; + font-weight: bold; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: solid 1px;} + p.pfirst, p.noindent {text-indent: 0} + span.dropcap { float: left; margin: 0 0.1em 0 0; line-height: 0.8 } + pre { font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 100%; margin-left: 10%;} +</style> + </head> + <body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 13908 ***</div> + <div style="height: 8em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + PIPES O' PAN AT ZEKESBURY + </h1> + <h2> + By James Whitcomb Riley + </h2> + <h4> + Indianapolis + </h4> + <h4> + Bowen-Merrill Co., Publishers + </h4> + <h3> + 1895 + </h3> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h3> + <i>TO MY BROTHER JOHN A. RILEY WITH MANY MEMORIES OF THE OLD HOME</i> + </h3> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <p> + <b>CONTENTS</b> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> <b>PIPES O' PAN AT ZEKESBURY</b> </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> <b>AT ZEKESBURY.</b> </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> <b>DOWN AROUND THE RIVER POEMS</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> DOWN AROUND THE RIVER. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> KNEELING WITH HERRICK. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> ROMANCIN'. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> HAS SHE FORGOTTEN. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> A' OLD PLAYED-OUT SONG. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> THE LOST PATH. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> THE LITTLE TINY KICKSHAW. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> HIS MOTHER. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0012"> KISSING THE ROD. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0013"> HOW IT HAPPENED. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0014"> BABYHOOD. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0015"> THE DAYS GONE BY. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0016"> MRS. MILLER </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0017"> <b>RHYMES OF RAINY DAYS</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0018"> THE TREE-TOAD. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0019"> A WORN-OUT PENCIL. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0020"> THE STEPMOTHER. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0021"> THE RAIN. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0022"> THE LEGEND GLORIFIED. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0023"> WANT TO BE WHUR MOTHER IS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0024"> OLD MAN'S NURSERY RHYME. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0025"> THREE DEAD FRIENDS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0026"> IN BOHEMIA. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0027"> IN THE DARK. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0028"> WET WEATHER TALK. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0029"> WHERE SHALL WE LAND. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0030"> AN OLD SETTLER'S STORY </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0031"> <b>SWEET-KNOT AND GALAMUS</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0032"> AN OLD SWEETHEART. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0033"> MARTHY ELLEN. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0034"> MOON-DROWNED. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0035"> LONG AFORE HE KNOWED WHO SANTY-CLAUS WUZ. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0036"> DEAR HANDS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0037"> THIS MAN JONES. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0038"> TO MY GOOD MASTER. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0039"> WHEN THE GREEN GITS BACK IN THE TREES. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0040"> AT BROAD RIPPLE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0041"> WHEN OLD JACK DIED. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0042"> DOC SIFERS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0043"> AT NOON—AND MIDNIGHT. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0044"> A WILD IRISHMAN. </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0045"> <b>RAGWEED AND FENNEL</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0046"> WHEN MY DREAMS COME TRUE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0047"> A DOS'T O' BLUES. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0048"> THE BAT. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0049"> THE WAY IT WUZ. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0050"> THE DRUM. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0051"> TOM JOHNSON'S QUIT. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0052"> LULLABY. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0053"> IN THE SOUTH. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0054"> THE OLD HOME BY THE MILL. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0055"> A LEAVE-TAKING. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0056"> WAIT FOR THE MORNING. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0057"> WHEN JUNE IS HERE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0058"> THE GILDED ROLL. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0059"> A BACKWARD LOOK. </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PIPES O' PAN AT ZEKESBURY + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The pipes of Pan! Not idler now are they + Than when their cunning fashioner first blew + The pith of music from them: Yet for you + And me their notes are blown in many a way + Lost in our murmurings for that old day + That fared so well, without us.—Waken to + The pipings here at hand:—The clear halloo + Of truant-voices, and the roundelay + The waters warble in the solitude + Of blooming thickets, where the robin's breast + Sends up such ecstacy o'er dale and dell, + Each tree top answers, till in all the wood + There lingers not one squirrel in his nest + Whetting his hunger on an empty shell. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + AT ZEKESBURY. + </h2> + <p> + The little town, as I recall it, was of just enough dignity and dearth of + the same to be an ordinary county seat in Indiana—"The Grand Old + Hoosier State," as it was used to being howlingly referred to by the + forensic stump orator from the old stand in the courthouse yard—a + political campaign being the wildest delight that Zekesbury might ever + hope to call its own. + </p> + <p> + Through years the fitful happenings of the town and its vicinity went on + the same—the same! Annually about one circus ventured in, and + vanished, and was gone, even as a passing trumpet-blast; the usual + rainy-season swelled the "Crick," the driftage choking at "the covered + bridge," and backing water till the old road looked amphibious; and crowds + of curious townsfolk straggled down to look upon the watery wonder, and + lean awe-struck above it, and spit in it, and turn mutely home again. + </p> + <p> + The usual formula of incidents peculiar to an uneventful town and its + vicinity: The countryman from "Jessup's Crossing," with the cornstalk + coffin-measure, loped into town, his steaming little gray-and-red-flecked + "roadster" gurgitating, as it were, with that mysterious utterance that + ever has commanded and ever must evoke the wonder and bewilderment of + every boy. The small-pox rumor became prevalent betimes, and the subtle + aroma of the assafoetida-bag permeated the graded schools "from turret to + foundation-stone;" the still recurring exposé of the poor-house + management; the farm-hand, with the scythe across his shoulder, struck + dead by lightning; the long-drawn quarrel between the rival editors + culminating in one of them assaulting the other with a "sidestick," and + the other kicking the one down stairs and thenceward <i>ad libitum;</i> + the tramp, suppositiously stealing a ride, found dead on the railroad; the + grand jury returning a sensational indictment against a bar-tender <i>non + est</i>; the Temperance outbreak; the "Revival;" the Church Festival; and + the "Free Lectures on Phrenology, and Marvels of Mesmerism," at the town + hall. It was during the time of the last-mentioned sensation, and directly + through this scientific investigation, that I came upon two of the town's + most remarkable characters. And however meager my outline of them may + prove, my material for the sketch is most accurate in every detail, and no + deviation from the cold facts of the case shall influence any line of my + report. + </p> + <p> + For some years prior to this odd experience I had been connected with a + daily paper at the state capitol; and latterly a prolonged session of the + legislature, where I specially reported, having told threateningly upon my + health, I took both the advantage of a brief vacation, and the invitation + of a young bachelor Senator, to get out of the city for awhile, and bask + my respiratory organs in the revivifying rural air of Zekesbury—the + home of my new friend. + </p> + <p> + "It'll pay you to get out here," he said, cordially, meeting me at the + little station, "and I'm glad you've come, for you'll find no end of odd + characters to amuse you." And under the very pleasant sponsorship of my + senatorial friend, I was placed at once on genial terms with half the + citizens of the little town—from the shirt-sleeved nabob of the + county office to the droll wag of the favorite loafing-place—the + rules and by-laws of which resort, by the way, being rudely charcoaled on + the wall above the cutter's bench, and somewhat artistically culminating + in an original dialectic legend which ran thus: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + F'rinstance, now whar <i>some</i> folks gits + To relyin' on their wits. + Ten to one they git too smart, + And spile it all right at the start!— + Feller wants to jest go slow + And do his <i>thinkin'</i> first, you know:—— + <i>Ef I can't think up somepin' good,</i> + <i>I set still and chaw my cood!</i> +</pre> + <p> + And it was at this inviting rendezvous, two or three evenings following my + arrival, that the general crowd, acting upon the random proposition of one + of the boys, rose as a man and wended its hilarious way to the town hall. + </p> + <p> + "Phrenology," said the little, old, bald-headed lecturer and mesmerist, + thumbing the egg-shaped head of a young man I remembered to have met that + afternoon in some law office; "Phrenology," repeated the professor—"or + rather the <i>term</i> phrenology—is derived from two Greek words + signifying <i>mind</i> and <i>discourse</i>; hence we find embodied in + phrenology-proper, the science of intellectual measurement, together with + the capacity of intelligent communication of the varying mental forces and + their flexibilities, etc., &c. The study, then, of phrenology is, to + wholly simplify it—is, I say, the general contemplation of the + workings of the mind as made manifest through the certain corresponding + depressions and protuberances of the human skull, when, of course, in a + healthy state of action and development, as we here find the conditions + exemplified in the subject before us." + </p> + <p> + Here the "subject" vaguely smiled. + </p> + <p> + "You recognize that mug, don't you?" whispered my friend. "It's that + coruscating young ass, you know, Hedrick—in Cummings' office—trying + to study law and literature at the same time, and tampering with 'The + Monster that Annually,' don't you know?—where we found the two young + students scuffling round the office, and smelling of peppermint?—Hedrick, + you know, and Sweeney. Sweeney, the slim chap, with the pallid face, and + frog-eyes, and clammy hands! You remember I told you 'there was a pair of + 'em?' Well, they're up to something here to-night. Hedrick, there on the + stage in front; and Sweeney—don't you see?—with the gang on + the rear seats." + </p> + <p> + "Phrenology—again," continued the lecturer, "is, we may say, a + species of mental geography, as it were; which—by a study of the + skull—leads also to a study of the brain within, even as geology + naturally follows the initial contemplation of the earth's surface. The + brain, thurfur, or intellectual retort, as we may say, natively exerts a + molding influence on the skull contour; thurfur is the expert in + phrenology most readily enabled to accurately locate the multitudinous + intellectual forces, and most exactingly estimate, as well, the sequent + character of each subject submitted to his scrutiny. As, in the example + before us—a young man, doubtless well known in your midst, though, I + may say, an entire stranger to myself—I venture to disclose some + characteristic trends and tendencies, as indicated by this phrenological + depression and development of the skull-proper, as later we will show, + through the mesmeric condition, the accuracy of our mental diagnosis." + </p> + <p> + Throughout the latter part of this speech my friend nudged me + spasmodically, whispering something which was jostled out of intelligent + utterance by some inward spasm of laughter. + </p> + <p> + "In this head," said the Professor, straddling his malleable fingers + across the young man's bumpy brow—"In this head we find Ideality + large—abnormally large, in fact; thurby indicating—taken in + conjunction with a like development of the perceptive qualities—language + following, as well, in the prominent eye—thurby indicating, I say, + our subject as especially endowed with a love for the beautiful—the + sublime—the elevating—the refined and delicate—the lofty + and superb—in nature, and in all the sublimated attributes of the + human heart and beatific soul. In fact, we find this young man possessed + of such natural gifts as would befit him for the exalted career of the + sculptor, the actor, the artist, or the poet—any ideal calling; in + fact, any calling but a practical, matter-of-fact vocation; though in + poetry he would seem to best succeed." + </p> + <p> + "Well," said my friend, seriously, "he's <i>feeling</i> for the boy!" Then + laughingly: "Hedrick <i>has</i> written some rhymes for the county papers, + and Sweeney once introduced him, at an Old Settlers' Meeting, as 'The Best + Poet in Center Township,' and never cracked a smile! Always after each + other that way, but the best friends in the world. <i>Sweeney's</i> strong + suit is elocution. He has a native ability that way by no means ordinary, + but even that gift he abuses and distorts simply to produce grotesque, and + oftentimes ridiculous effects. For instance, nothing more delights him + than to 'lothfully' consent to answer a request, at The Mite Society, some + evening, for 'an appropriate selection,' and then, with an elaborate + introduction of the same, and an exalted tribute to the refined genius of + the author, proceed with a most gruesome rendition of 'Alonzo The Brave + and The Fair Imogene,' in a way to coagulate the blood and curl the hair + of his fair listeners with abject terror. Pale as a corpse, you know, and + with that cadaverous face, lit with those malignant-looking eyes, his + slender figure, and his long, thin legs and arms and hands, and his whole + diabolical talent and adroitness brought into play—why, I want to + say to you, it's enough to scare 'em to death! Never a smile from him, + though, till he and Hedrick are safe out into the night again—then, + of course, they hug each other and howl over it like Modocs! But pardon; + I'm interrupting the lecture. Listen." + </p> + <p> + "A lack of continuity, however," continued the Professor, "and an undue + love of approbation, would, measurably, at least, tend to retard the young + man's progress toward the consummation of any loftier ambition, I fear; + yet as we have intimated, if the subject were appropriately educated to + the need's demand, he could doubtless produce a high order of both prose + and poetry—especially the latter—though he could very illy + bear being laughed at for his pains." + </p> + <p> + "He's dead wrong there," said my friend; "Hedrick enjoys being laughed at; + he 's used to it—gets fat on it!" + </p> + <p> + "He is fond of his friends," continued the Professor "and the heartier + they are the better; might even be convivially inclined—if so + tempted—but prudent—in a degree," loiteringly concluded the + speaker, as though unable to find the exact bump with which to bolster up + the last named attribute. + </p> + <p> + The subject blushed vividly—my friend's right eyelid dropped, and + there was a noticeable, though elusive sensation throughout the audience. + </p> + <p> + "<i>But!</i>" said the Professor, explosively, "selecting a directly + opposite subject, in conjunction with the study of the one before us + [turning to the group at the rear of the stage and beckoning], we may find + a newer interest in the practical comparison of these subjects side by + side." And the Professor pushed a very pale young man into position. + </p> + <p> + "Sweeney!" whispered my friend, delightedly; "now look out!" + </p> + <p> + "In <i>this</i> subject," said the Professor, "we find the practical + business head. Square—though small—a trifle light at the base, + in fact; but well balanced at the important points at least; thoughtful + eyes—wide-awake—crafty—quick—restless—a + policy eye, though not denoting language—unless, perhaps, mere + business forms and direct statements." + </p> + <p> + "Fooled again!" whispered my friend; "and I'm afraid the old man will fail + to nest out the fact also that Sweeney is the cold-bloodedest guyer on the + face of the earth, and with more diabolical resources than a prosecuting + attorney; the Professor ought to know this, too, by this time—for + these same two chaps have been visiting the old man in his room at the + hotel;—that's what I was trying to tell you awhile ago. The old + sharp thinks he's 'playing' the boys, is my idea; but it's the other way, + or I lose my guess." + </p> + <p> + "Now, under the mesmeric influence—if the two subjects will consent + to its administration," said the Professor, after some further tedious + preamble, "we may at once determine the fact of my assertions, as will be + proved by their action while in this peculiar state." Here some apparent + remonstrance was met with from both subjects, though amicably overcome by + the Professor first manipulating the stolid brow and pallid front of the + imperturbable Sweeney—after which the same mysterious ordeal was + lothfully submitted to by Hedrick—though a noticeably longer time + was consumed in securing his final loss of self-control. At last, however, + this curious phenomenon was presented, and there before us stood the two + swaying figures, the heads dropped back, the lifted hands, with thumb and + finger-tips pressed lightly together, the eyelids languid and half closed, + and the features, in appearance, wan and humid. + </p> + <p> + "Now, sir!" said the Professor, leading the limp Sweeney forward, and + addressing him in a quick, sharp tone of voice.—"Now, sir, you are a + great contractor—own large factories, and with untold business + interests. Just look out there! [pointing out across the expectant + audience] look there, and see the countless minions toiling servilely at + your dread mandates. And yet—ha! ha! See! see!—They recognize + the avaricious greed that would thus grind them in the very dust; they + see, alas! they see themselves half-clothed—half-fed, that you may + glut your coffers. Half-starved, they listen to the wail of wife and babe, + and, with eyes upraised in prayer, they see <i>you</i> rolling by in + gilded coach, and swathed in silk attire. But—ha! again! Look—look! + they are rising in revolt against you! Speak to them before too late! + Appeal to them—quell them with the promise of the just advance of + wages they demand!" + </p> + <p> + The limp figure of Sweeney took on something of a stately and majestic + air. With a graceful and commanding gesture of the hand, he advanced a + step or two; then, after a pause of some seconds duration, in which the + lifted face grew paler, as it seemed, and the eyes a denser black, he + said: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "But yesterday + I looked away + O'er happy lands, where sunshine lay + In golden blots, + Inlaid with spots + Of shade and wild forget-me-nots." +</pre> + <p> + The voice was low, but clear, and ever musical. The Professor started at + the strange utterance, looked extremely confused, and, as the boisterous + crowd cried "Hear, hear!" he motioned the subject to continue, with some + gasping comment interjected, which, if audible, would have run thus: "My + God! It's an inspirational poem!" + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "My head was fair + With flaxen hair—" +</pre> + <p> + resumed the subject. + </p> + <p> + "Yoop-ee!" yelled an irreverent auditor. + </p> + <p> + "Silence! silence!" commanded the excited Professor in a hoarse whisper; + then, turning enthusiastically to the subject—"Go on, young man! Go + on!—'<i>Thy head-was fair-with flaxen hair</i>—'" + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "My head was fair + With flaxen hair, + And fragrant breezes, faint and rare, + And warm with drouth + From out the south, + Blew all my curls across my mouth." +</pre> + <p> + The speaker's voice, exquisitely modulated, yet resonant as the twang of a + harp, now seemed of itself to draw and hold each listener; while a certain + extravagance of gesticulation—a fantastic movement of both form and + feature—seemed very near akin to fascination. And so flowed on the + curious utterance: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "And, cool and sweet, + My naked feet + Found dewy pathways through the wheat; + And out again + Where, down the lane, + The dust was dimpled with the rain." +</pre> + <p> + In the pause following there was a breathlessness almost painful. The poem + went on: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "But yesterday + I heard the lay + Of summer birds, when I, as they + With breast and wing, + All quivering + With life and love, could only sing. + + "My head was leant, + Where, with it, blent + A maiden's, o'er her instrument; + While all the night, + From vale to height, + Was filled with echoes of delight. + + "And all our dreams + Were lit with gleams + Of that lost land of reedy streams, + Along whose brim + Forever swim + Pan's lilies, laughing up at him." +</pre> + <p> + And still the inspired singer held rapt sway. + </p> + <p> + "It is wonderful!" I whispered, under breath. + </p> + <p> + "Of course it is!" answered my friend. "But listen; there is more:" + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "But yesterday!... + O blooms of May, + And summer roses—Where-away? + O stars above; + And lips of love, + And all the honeyed sweets thereof! + + "O lad and lass. + And orchard-pass, + And briared lane, and daisied grass! + O gleam and gloom, + And woodland bloom, + And breezy breaths of all perfume!— + + "No more for me + Or mine shall be + Thy raptures—save in memory,— + No more—no more— + Till through the Door + Of Glory gleam the days of yore." +</pre> + <p> + This was the evident conclusion of the remarkable utterance, and the + Professor was impetuously fluttering his hands about the subject's + upward-staring eyes, stroking his temples, and snapping his fingers in his + face. + </p> + <p> + "Well," said Sweeney, as he stood suddenly awakened, and grinning in an + idiotic way, "how did the old thing work?" And it was in the consequent + hilarity and loud and long applause, perhaps, that the Professor was + relieved from the explanation of this rather astounding phenomenon of the + idealistic workings of a purely practical brain—or, as my impious + friend scoffed the incongruity later, in a particularly withering + allusion, as the "blank-blanked fallacy, don't you know, of staying the + hunger of a howling mob by feeding 'em on Spring poetry!" + </p> + <p> + The tumult of the audience did not cease even with the retirement of + Sweeney, and cries of "Hedrick! Hedrick!" only subsided with the + Professor's high-keyed announcement that the subject was even then + endeavoring to make himself heard, but could not until utter quiet was + restored, adding the further appeal that the young man had already been a + long time under the mesmeric spell, and ought not be so detained for an + unnecessary period. "See," he concluded, with an assuring wave of the hand + toward the subject, "see; he is about to address you. Now, quiet!—utter + quiet, if you please!" + </p> + <p> + "Great heavens!" exclaimed my friend, stiflingly; "Just look at the boy! + Get onto that position for a poet! Even Sweeney has fled from the sight of + him!" + </p> + <p> + And truly, too, it was a grotesque pose the young man had assumed; not + wholly ridiculous either, since the dwarfed position he had settled into + seemed more a genuine physical condition than an affected one. The head, + back-tilted, and sunk between the shoulders, looked abnormally large, + while the features of the face appeared peculiarly child-like—especially + the eyes—wakeful and wide apart, and very bright, yet very mild and + very artless; and the drawn and cramped outline of the legs and feet, and + of the arms and hands, even to the shrunken, slender-looking fingers, all + combined to most strikingly convey to the pained senses the fragile frame + and pixey figure of some pitiably afflicted child, unconscious altogether + of the pathos of its own deformity. + </p> + <p> + "Now, mark the kuss, Horatio!" gasped my friend. + </p> + <p> + At first the speaker's voice came very low, and somewhat piping, too, and + broken—an eerie sort of voice it was, of brittle and erratic <i>timbre</i> + and undulant inflection. Yet it was beautiful. It had the ring of + childhood in it, though the ring was not pure golden, and at times fell + echoless. The <i>spirit</i> of its utterance was always clear and pure and + crisp and cheery as the twitter of a bird, and yet forever ran an + undercadence through it like a low-pleading prayer. Half garrulously, and + like a shallow brook might brawl across a shelvy bottom, the rhythmic + little changeling thus began: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "I'm thist a little crippled boy, an' never goin' to grow + An' git a great big man at all!—'cause Aunty told me so. + When I was thist a baby one't I falled out of the bed + An' got 'The Curv'ture of the Spine'—'at's what the Doctor said. + I never had no Mother nen—far my Pa run away + An' dassn't come back here no more—'cause he was drunk one day + An' stobbed a man in thish-ere town, an' couldn't pay his fine! + An' nen my Ma she died—an' I got 'Curv'ture of the Spine!'" +</pre> + <p> + A few titterings from the younger people in the audience marked the + opening stanza, while a certain restlessness, and a changing to more + attentive positions seemed the general tendency. The old Professor, in the + meantime, had sunk into one of the empty chairs. The speaker went on with + more gaiety: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "I'm nine years old! An' you can't guess how much I weigh, I bet!— + Last birthday I weighed thirty-three!—An' I weigh thirty yet! + I'm awful little far my size—I'm purt' nigh littler 'an + Some babies is!—an' neighbors all calls me 'The Little Man!' + An' Doc one time he laughed an' said: 'I 'spect, first thing you + know, + You'll have a little spike-tail coat an' travel with a show!' + An' nen I laughed—till I looked round an' Aunty was a-cryin'— + Sometimes she acts like that, 'cause I got 'Curv'ture of the + Spine!'" +</pre> + <p> + Just in front of me a great broad-shouldered countryman, with a rainy + smell in his cumbrous overcoat, cleared his throat vehemently, looked + startled at the sound, and again settled forward, his weedy chin resting + on the knuckles of his hands as they tightly clutched the seat before him. + And it was like being taken into a childish confidence as the quaint + speech continued: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "I set—while Aunty's washin'—on my little long-leg stool, + An' watch the little boys an' girls 'a-skippin' by to school; + An' I peck on the winder, an' holler out an' say: + 'Who wants to fight The Little Man 'at dares you all to-day?' + An' nen the boys climbs on the fence, an' little girls peeks + through, + An' they all says: 'Cause you're so big, you think we're 'feared o' + you!' + An' nen they yell, an' shake their fist at me, like I shake mine— + They're thist in fun, you know, 'cause I got 'Curv'ture of the + Spine!'" +</pre> + <p> + "Well," whispered my friend, with rather odd irrelevance, I thought, "of + course you see through the scheme of the fellows by this time, don't you?" + </p> + <p> + "I see nothing," said I, most earnestly, "but a poor little wisp of a + child that makes me love him so I dare not think of his dying soon, as he + surely must! There; listen!" And the plaintive gaiety of the homely poem + ran on: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "At evening, when the ironin's done, an' Aunty's fixed the fire, + An' filled an' lit the lamp, an' trimmed the wick an' turned it + higher, + An' fetched the wood all in far night, an' locked the kitchen door, + An' stuffed the ole crack where the wind blows in up through the + floor— + She sets the kittle on the coals, an' biles an' makes the tea, + An' fries the liver an' the mush, an' cooks a egg far me; + An' sometimes—when I cough so hard—her elderberry wine + Don't go so bad far little boys with 'Curv'ture of the Spine!'" +</pre> + <p> + "Look!" whispered my friend, touching me with his elbow. "Look at the + Professor!" + </p> + <p> + "Look at everybody!" said I. And the artless little voice went on again + half quaveringly: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "But Aunty's all so childish-like on my account, you see, + I'm 'most afeared she'll be took down—an' 'at's what bothers + <i>me!</i>— + 'Cause ef my good ole Aunty ever would git sick an' die, + I don't know what she'd do in Heaven—till <i>I</i> come, by an' by:— + Far she's so ust to all my ways, an' ever'thing, you know, + An' no one there like me, to nurse, an' worry over so!— + 'Cause all the little childerns there's so straight an' strong an' + fine, + They's nary angel 'bout the place with 'Curv'ture of the Spine!'" +</pre> + <p> + The old Professor's face was in his handkerchief; so was my friend's in + his; and so was mine in mine, as even now my pen drops and I reach for it + again. + </p> + <p> + I half regret joining the mad party that had gathered an hour later in the + old law-office where these two graceless characters held almost nightly + revel, the instigators and conniving hosts of a reputed banquet whose <i>menu's</i> + range confined itself to herrings, or "blind robins," dried beef, and + cheese, with crackers, gingerbread, and sometimes pie; the whole washed + down with anything but + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "——Wines that heaven knows when + Had sucked the fire of some forgotten sun, + And kept it through a hundred years of gloom + Still glowing in a heart of ruby." +</pre> + <p> + But the affair was memorable. The old Professor was himself lured into it, + and loudest in his praise of Hedrick's realistic art; and I yet recall him + at the orgie's height, excitedly repulsing the continued slurs and + insinuations of the clammy-handed Sweeney, who, still contending against + the old man's fulsome praise of his more fortunate rival, at last openly + declared that Hedrick was <i>not</i> a poet, <i>not</i> a genius, and in + no way worthy to be classed in the same breath with <i>himself</i>—"the + gifted but unfortunate <i>Sweeney</i>, sir—the unacknowledged + author, sir—'y gad, sir!—of the two poems that held you + spell-bound to-night!" + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + DOWN AROUND THE RIVER POEMS + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + DOWN AROUND THE RIVER. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Noon-time and June-time, down around the river! + Have to furse with 'Lizey Ann—but lawzy! I fergive her! + Drives me off the place, and says 'at all 'at she's a-wishin', + Land o' gracious! time'll come I'll git enough o' fishin'! + Little Dave, a-choppin' wood, never 'pears to notice; + Don't know where she's hid his hat, er keerin' where his coat is,— + Specalatin', more 'n like, he haint a-goin' to mind me, + And guessin' where, say twelve o'clock, a feller'd likely find me. + + Noon-time and June-time, down around the river! + Clean out o' sight o' home, and skulkin' under kivver + Of the sycamores, jack-oaks, and swamp-ash and ellum— + Idies all so jumbled up, you kin hardly tell 'em!— + <i>Tired</i>, you know, but <i>lovin'</i> it, and smilin' jest to think 'at + Any sweeter tiredness you'd fairly want to <i>drink</i> it. + Tired o' fishin'—tired o' fun—line out slack and slacker— + All you want in all the world's a little more tobacker! + + Hungry, but <i>a-hidin'</i> it, er jes' a-not a-keerin':- + Kingfisher gittin' up and skootin' out o' hearin'; + Snipes on the t'other side, where the County Ditch is, + Wadin' up and down the aidge like they'd rolled their britches! + Old turkle on the root kindo-sorto drappin' + Intoo th' worter like he don't know how it happen! + Worter, shade and all so mixed, don't know which you'd orter + Say, th' <i>worter</i> in the shadder—<i>shadder</i> in the <i>worter!</i> + + Somebody hollerin'—'way around the bend in + Upper Fork—where yer eye kin jes' ketch the endin' + Of the shiney wedge o' wake some muss-rat's a-makin' + With that pesky nose o' his! Then a sniff o' bacon, + Corn-bread and 'dock-greens—and little Dave a-shinnin' + 'Crost the rocks and mussel-shells, a-limpin' and a-grinnin', + With yer dinner far ye, and a blessin' from the giver. + Noon-time and June-time down around the river! +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + KNEELING WITH HERRICK. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Dear Lord, to Thee my knee is bent.— + Give me content— + Full-pleasured with what comes to me, + What e'er it be: + An humble roof—a frugal board, + And simple hoard; + The wintry fagot piled beside + The chimney wide, + While the enwreathing flames up-sprout + And twine about + The brazen dogs that guard my hearth + And household worth: + Tinge with the ember's ruddy glow + The rafters low; + And let the sparks snap with delight, + As ringers might + That mark deft measures of some tune + The children croon: + Then, with good friends, the rarest few + Thou holdest true, + Ranged round about the blaze, to share + My comfort there,— + Give me to claim the service meet + That makes each seat + A place of honor, and each guest + Loved as the rest. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ROMANCIN'. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I' b'en a-kindo musin', as the feller says, and I'm + About o' the conclusion that they ain't no better time, + When you come to cipher on it, than the times we used to know + When we swore our first "dog-gone-it" sorto solem'-like and low! + + You git my idy, do you?—<i>Little</i> tads, you understand— + Jes' a wishin' thue and thue you that you on'y was a <i>man</i>.— + Yit here I am, this minute, even forty, to a day, + And fergittin' all that's in it, wishin' jes' the other way! + + I hain't no hand to lectur' on the times, er dimonstrate + Whur the trouble is, er hector and domineer with Fate,— + But when I git so flurried, and so pestered-like and blue, + And so rail owdacious worried, let me tell you what I do!— + + I jes' gee-haw the hosses, and unhook the swingle-tree, + Whur the hazel-bushes tosses down their shadders over me, + And I draw my plug o' navy, and I climb the fence, and set + Jes' a-thinkin' here, 'y gravy! till my eyes is wringin'-wet! + + Tho' I still kin see the trouble o' the <i>present</i>, I kin see— + Kindo like my sight was double—all the things that <i>used to be</i>; + And the flutter o' the robin, and the teeter o' the wren + Sets the willer branches bobbin "howdy-do" thum Now to Then! + + The deadnin' and the thicket's jes' a bilin' full of June, + Thum the rattle o' the cricket, to the yallar-hammer's tune; + And the catbird in the bottom, and the sap-suck on the snag, + Seems ef they cain't—od-rot'em!—jes' do nothin' else but brag! + + They's music in the twitter of the bluebird and the jay, + And that sassy little critter jes' a-peckin' all the day; + They's music in the "flicker," and they's music in the thrush, + And they's music in the snicker o' the chipmunk in the brush! + + They's music <i>all around</i> me!—And I go back, in a dream— + Sweeter yit than ever found me fast asleep—and in the stream + That used to split the medder whur the dandylions growed, + I stand knee-deep, and redder than the sunset down the road. + + Then's when I' b'en a-fishin'!—and they's other fellers, too, + With their hickry poles a-swishin' out behind 'em; and a few + Little "shiners" on our stringers, with their tails tiptoein' bloom, + As we dance 'em in our fingers all the happy journey home. + + I kin see us, true to Natur', thum the time we started out + With a biscuit and a 'tater in our little "roundabout!" + I kin see our lines a-tanglin', and our elbows in a jam, + And our naked legs a-danglin' thum the apern of the dam. + + I kin see the honeysuckle climbin' up around the mill; + And kin hear the worter chuckle, and the wheel a-growlin' still; + And thum the bank below it I kin steal the old canoe, + And jes' git in and row it like the miller used to do. + + W'y, I git my fancy focussed on the past so mortal plain + I kin even smell the locus'-blossoms bloomin' in the lane; + And I hear the cow-bells clinkin' sweeter tunes 'n "money musk" + Far the lightnin'-bugs a-blinkin'and a-dancin'in the dusk. + + And so I keep on musin', as the feller says, till I'm + Firm-fixed in the conclusion that they hain't no better time, + When you come to cipher on it, than the <i>old</i> times,—and, I swear, + I kin wake and say "dog-gone-it!" jes' as soft as any prayer! +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + HAS SHE FORGOTTEN. + </h2> + <h3> + I. + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Has she forgotten? On this very May + We were to meet here, with the birds and bees, + As on that Sabbath, underneath the trees + We strayed among the tombs, and stripped away + The vines from these old granites, cold and gray— + And yet, indeed, not grim enough were they + To stay our kisses, smiles and ecstacies, + Or closer voice-lost vows and rhapsodies. + Has she forgotten—that the May has won + Its promise?—that the bird-songs from the tree + Are sprayed above the grasses as the sun + Might jar the dazzling dew down showeringly? + Has she forgotten life—love—everyone— + Has she forgotten me—forgotten me? +</pre> + <h3> + II. + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Low, low down in the violets I press + My lips and whisper to her. Does she hear, + And yet hold silence, though I call her dear, + Just as of old, save for the tearfulness + Of the clenched eyes, and the soul's vast distress? + Has she forgotten thus the old caress + That made our breath a quickened atmosphere + That failed nigh unto swooning with the sheer + Delight? Mine arms clutch now this earthen heap + Sodden with tears that flow on ceaselessly + As autumn rains the long, long, long nights weep + In memory of days that used to be,— + Has she forgotten these? And, in her sleep, + Has she forgotten me—forgotten me? +</pre> + <h3> + III. + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + To-night, against my pillow, with shut eyes, + I mean to weld our faces—through the dense + Incalculable darkness make pretense + That she has risen from her reveries + To mate her dreams with mine in marriages + Of mellow palms, smooth faces, and tense ease + Of every longing nerve of indolence,— + Lift from the grave her quiet lips, and stun + My senses with her kisses—drawl the glee + Of her glad mouth, full blithe and tenderly, + Across mine own, forgetful if is done + The old love's awful dawn-time when said we, + "To-day is ours!".... Ah, Heaven! can it be + She has forgotten me—forgotten me! +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A' OLD PLAYED-OUT SONG. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + It's the curiousest thing in creation, + Whenever I hear that old song, + "Do They Miss Me at Home?" I'm so bothered, + My life seems as short as it's long!— + Far ever'thing 'pears like adzackly + It 'peared, in the years past and gone,— + When I started out sparkin', at twenty, + And had my first neckercher on! + + Though I'm wrinkelder, older and grayer + Right now than my parents was then, + You strike up that song, "Do They Miss Me?" + And I'm jest a youngster again!— + I'm a-standin' back there in the furries + A-wishin' far evening to come, + And a-whisperin' over and over + Them words, "Do They Miss Me at Home?" + + You see, Marthy Ellen she sung it + The first time I heerd it; and so, + As she was my very first sweetheart, + It reminds of her, don't you know,— + How her face ust to look, in the twilight, + As I tuck her to spellin'; and she + Kep' a-hummin' that song 'tel I ast her, + Pine-blank, ef she ever missed me! + + I can shet my eyes now, as you sing it, + And hear her low answerin' words, + And then the glad chirp of the crickets + As clear as the twitter of birds; + And the dust in the road is like velvet, + And the ragweed, and fennel, and grass + Is as sweet as the scent of the lilies + Of Eden of old, as we pass. + + "Do They Miss Me at Home?" Sing it lower— + And softer—and sweet as the breeze + That powdered our path with the snowy + White bloom of the old locus'-trees! + Let the whippoorwills he'p you to sing it, + And the echoes 'way over the hill, + 'Tel the moon boolges out, in a chorus + Of stars, and our voices is still. + + But, oh! "They's a chord in the music + That's missed when <i>her</i> voice is away!" + Though I listen from midnight 'tel morning, + And dawn, 'tel the dusk of the day; + And I grope through the dark, lookin' up'ards + And on through the heavenly dome, + With my longin' soul singin' and sobbin' + The words, "Do They Miss Me at Home?" +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE LOST PATH. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Alone they walked—their fingers knit together, + And swaying listlessly as might a swing + Wherein Dan Cupid dangled in the weather + Of some sun-flooded afternoon of Spring. + + Within the clover-fields the tickled cricket + Laughed lightly as they loitered down the lane, + And from the covert of the hazel-thicket + The squirrel peeped and laughed at them again. + + The bumble-bee that tipped the lily-vases + Along the road-side in the shadows dim, + Went following the blossoms of their faces + As though their sweets must needs be shared with him. + + Between the pasture bars the wondering cattle + Stared wistfully, and from their mellow bells + Shook out a welcoming whose dreamy rattle + Fell swooningly away in faint farewells. + + And though at last the gloom of night fell o'er them, + And folded all the landscape from their eyes, + They only know the dusky path before them + Was leading safely on to Paradise. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE LITTLE TINY KICKSHAW. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "—<i>And any little tiny kickshaws</i>."—Shakespeare. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + O the little tiny kickshaw that Mither sent tae me, + 'Tis sweeter than the sugar-plum that reepens on the tree, + Wi' denty flavorin's o' spice an' musky rosemarie, + The little tiny kickshaw that Mither sent tae me. + + 'Tis luscious wi' the stalen tang o' fruits frae ower the sea, + An' e'en its fragrance gars we laugh wi' langin' lip an' ee, + Till a' its frazen sheen o' white maun melten hinnie be— + Sae weel I luve the kickshaw that Mither sent tae me. + + O I luve the tiny kickshaw, an' I smack my lips wi' glee, + Aye mickle do I luve the taste o' sic a luxourie, + But maist I luve the luvein' han's that could the giftie gie + O' the little tiny kickshaw that Mither sent tae me. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + HIS MOTHER. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + DEAD! my wayward boy—<i>my own</i>— + Not <i>the Law's!</i> but <i>mine</i>—the good + God's free gift to me alone, + Sanctified by motherhood. + + "Bad," you say: Well, who is not? + "Brutal"—"with a heart of stone"— + And "red-handed."—Ah! the hot + Blood upon your own! + + I come not, with downward eyes, + To plead for him shamedly,— + God did not apologize + When He gave the boy to me. + + Simply, I make ready now + For <i>His</i> verdict.—<i>You</i> prepare— + You have killed us both—and how + Will you face us There! +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0012" id="link2H_4_0012"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + KISSING THE ROD. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + O heart of mine, we shouldn't + Worry so! + What we've missed of calm we couldn't + Have, you know! + What we've met of stormy pain, + And of sorrow's driving rain, + We can better meet again, + If it blow! + + We have erred in that dark hour + We have known, + When our tears fell with the shower, + All alone!— + Were not shine and shadow blent + As the gracious Master meant?— + Let us temper our content + With His own. + + For, we know, not every morrow + Can be sad; + So, forgetting all the sorrow + We have had, + Let us fold away our fears, + And put by our foolish tears, + And through all the coming years + Just be glad. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0013" id="link2H_4_0013"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + HOW IT HAPPENED. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I got to thinkin' of her—both her parents dead and gone— + And all her sisters married off, and none but her and John + A-livin' all alone there in that lonesome sort o' way, + And him a blame old bachelor, confirmder ev'ry day! + I'd knowed 'em all from childern, and their daddy from the time + He settled in the neighborhood, and had n't ary a dime + Er dollar, when he married, far to start housekeepin' on!— + So I got to thinkin' of her—both her parents dead and gone! + + I got to thinkin' of her; and a-wundern what she done + That all her sisters kep' a gittin' married, one by one, + And her without no chances—and the best girl of the pack— + An old maid, with her hands, you might say, tied behind her back! + And Mother, too, afore she died, she ust to jes' take on, + When none of 'em was left, you know, but Evaline and John, + And jes' declare to goodness 'at the young men must be bline + To not see what a wife they 'd git if they got Evaline! + + I got to thinkin' of her; in my great affliction she + Was sich a comfert to us, and so kind and neighberly,— + She 'd come, and leave her housework, far to be'p out little Jane, + And talk of <i>her own</i> mother 'at she 'd never see again— + Maybe sometimes cry together—though, far the most part she + Would have the child so riconciled and happy-like 'at we + Felt lonesomer 'n ever when she 'd put her bonnet on + And say she 'd railly haf to be a-gittin' back to John! + + I got to thinkin' of her, as I say,—and more and more + I'd think of her dependence, and the burdens 'at she bore,— + Her parents both a-bein' dead, and all her sisters gone + And married off, and her a-livin' there alone with John— + You might say jes' a-toilin' and a-slavin' out her life + Far a man 'at hadn't pride enough to git hisse'f a wife— + 'Less some one married <i>Evaline</i>, and packed her off some day!— + So I got to thinkin' of her—and it happened thataway. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0014" id="link2H_4_0014"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BABYHOOD. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Heigh-ho! Babyhood! Tell me where you linger: + Let's toddle home again, for we have gone astray; + Take this eager hand of mine and lead me by the finger + Back to the Lotus lands of the far-away. + + Turn back the leaves of life; don't read the story,— + Let's find the <i>pictures</i>, and fancy all the rest:— + We can fill the written pages with a brighter glory + Than Old Time, the story-teller, at his very best! + + Turn to the brook, where the honeysuckle, tipping + O'er its vase of perfume spills it on the breeze, + And the bee and humming-bird in ecstacy are sipping + From the fairy flagons of the blooming locust trees. + + Turn to the lane, where we used to "teeter-totter," + Printing little foot-palms in the mellow mold, + Laughing at the lazy cattle wading in the water + Where the ripples dimple round the buttercups of gold: + + Where the dusky turtle lies basking on the gravel + Of the sunny sandbar in the middle-tide, + And the ghostly dragonfly pauses in his travel + To rest like a blossom where the water-lily died. + + Heigh-ho! Babyhood! Tell me where you linger: + Let's toddle home again, for we have gone astray; + Take this eager hand of mine and lead me by the finger + Back to the Lotus lands of the far-away. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0015" id="link2H_4_0015"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE DAYS GONE BY. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + O the days gone by! O the days gone by! + The apples in the orchard, and the pathway through the rye; + The chirrup of the robin, and the whistle of the quail + As he piped across the meadows sweet as any nightingale; + When the bloom was on the clover, and the blue was in the sky, + And my happy heart brimmed over in the days gone by. + + In the days gone by, when my naked feet were tripped + By the honey-suckle's tangles where the water-lilies dipped, + And the ripples of the river lipped the moss along the brink + Where the placid-eyed and lazy-footed cattle came to drink, + And the tilting snipe stood fearless of the truant's wayward cry + And the splashing of the swimmer, in the days gone by. + + O the days gone by! O the days gone by! + The music of the laughing lip, the luster of the eye; + The childish faith in fairies, and Aladdin's magic ring— + The simple, soul-reposing, glad belief in everything,— + When life was like a story, holding neither sob nor sigh, + In the golden olden glory of the days gone by. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0016" id="link2H_4_0016"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + MRS. MILLER + </h2> + <p> + John B. McKinney, Attorney and Counselor at Law, as his sign read, was, + for many reasons, a fortunate man. For many other reasons he was not. He + was chiefly fortunate in being, as certain opponents often strove to + witheringly designate him, "the son of his father," since that sound old + gentleman was the wealthiest farmer in that section, with but one son and + heir to, in time, supplant him in the role of "county god," and haply + perpetuate the prouder title of "the biggest tax-payer on the assessment + list." And this fact, too, fortunate as it would seem, was doubtless the + indirect occasion of a liberal percentage of all John's misfortunes. From + his earliest school-days in the little town, up to his tardy graduation + from a distant college, the influence of his father's wealth invited his + procrastination, humored its results, encouraged the laxity of his + ambition, "and even now," as John used, in bitter irony, to put it, "it is + aiding and abetting me in the ostensible practice of my chosen profession, + a listless, aimless undetermined man of forty, and a confirmed bachelor at + that!" At the utterance of this self-depreciating statement, John + generally jerked his legs down from the top of his desk; and, rising and + kicking his chair back to the wall, he would stump around his littered + office till the manilla carpet steamed with dust. Then he would wildly + break away, seeking refuge either in the open street, or in his room at + the old-time tavern, The Eagle House, "where," he would say, "I have + lodged and boarded, I do solemnly asseverate, for a long, unbroken, + middle-aged eternity of ten years, and can yet assert, in the words of the + more fortunately-dying Webster, that 'I still live!'" + </p> + <p> + Extravagantly satirical as he was at times, John had always an indefinable + drollery about him that made him agreeable company to his friends, at + least; and such an admiring friend he had constantly at hand in the person + of Bert Haines. Both were Bohemians in natural tendency, and, though John + was far in Bert's advance in point of age, he found the young man "just + the kind of a fellow to have around;" while Bert, in turn, held his senior + in profound esteem—looked up to him, in fact, and in even his + eccentricities strove to pattern after him. And so it was, when summer + days were dull and tedious, these two could muse and doze the hours away + together; and when the nights were long, and dark, and deep, and + beautiful, they could drift out in the noon-light of the stars, and with + "the soft complaining flute" and "warbling lute," "lay the pipes," as John + would say, for their enduring popularity with the girls! And it was + immediately subsequent to one of these romantic excursions, when the + belated pair, at two o'clock in the morning, had skulked up a side + stairway of the old hotel, and gained John's room, with nothing more + serious happening than Bert falling over a trunk and smashing his guitar,—just + after such a night of romance and adventure it was that, in the seclusion + of John's room, Bert had something of especial import to communicate. + </p> + <p> + "Mack," he said, as that worthy anathematized a spiteful match, and then + sucked his finger. + </p> + <p> + "Blast the all-fired old torch!" said John, wrestling with the lamp-flue, + and turning on a welcome flame at last. "Well, you said 'Mack!' Why don't + you go on? And don't bawl at the top of your lungs, either. You've already + succeeded in waking every boarder in the house with that guitar, and you + want to make amends now by letting them go to sleep again!" + </p> + <p> + "But my dear fellow," said Bert, with forced calmness, "you're the fellow + that's making all the noise—and—" + </p> + <p> + "Why, you howling dervish!" interrupted John, with a feigned air of + pleased surprise and admiration. "But let's drop controversy. Throw the + fragments of your guitar in the wood-box there, and proceed with the + opening proposition." + </p> + <p> + "What I was going to say was this," said Bert, with a half-desperate + enunciation; "I'm getting tired of this way of living—clean, + dead-tired, and fagged out, and sick of the whole artificial business!" + </p> + <p> + "Oh, yes!" exclaimed John, with a towering disdain, "you needn't go any + further! I know just what malady is throttling you. It's reform—reform! + You're going to 'turn over a new leaf,' and all that, and sign the pledge, + and quit cigars, and go to work, and pay your debts, and gravitate back + into Sunday-School, where you can make love to the preacher's daughter + under the guise of religion, and desecrate the sanctity of the innermost + pale of the church by confessions at Class of your 'thorough conversion!' + Oh, you're going to—" + </p> + <p> + "No, but I'm going to do nothing of the sort," interrupted Bert, + resentfully. "What I mean—if you'll let me finish—is, I'm + getting too old to be eternally undignifying myself with this 'singing of + midnight strains under Bonnybell's window panes,' and too old to be + keeping myself in constant humiliation and expense by the borrowing and + stringing up of old guitars, together with the breakage of the same, and + the general wear-and-tear on a constitution that is slowly being sapped to + its foundations by exposure in the night-air and the dew." "And while you + receive no further compensation in return," said John, "than, perhaps, the + coy turning up of a lamp at an upper casement where the jasmine climbs; or + an exasperating patter of invisible palms; or a huge dank wedge of + fruit-cake shoved at you by the old man, through a crack in the door." + </p> + <p> + "Yes, and I'm going to have my just reward, is what I mean," said Bert, + "and exchange the lover's life for the benedict's. Going to hunt out a + good, sensible girl and marry her." And as the young man concluded this + desperate avowal he jerked the bow of his cravat into a hard knot, kicked + his hat under the bed, and threw himself on the sofa like an old suit. + </p> + <p> + John stared at him with absolute compassion. "Poor devil," he said, half + musingly, "I know just how he feels— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'Ring in the wind his wedding chimes, + Smile, villagers, at every door; + Old church-yards stuffed with buried crimes, + Be clad in sunshine o'er and o'er.—'" +</pre> + <p> + "Oh, here!" exclaimed the wretched Bert, jumping to his feet; "let up on + that dismal recitative. It would make a dog howl to hear that!" + </p> + <p> + "Then you 'let up' on that suicidal talk of marrying," replied John, "and + all that harangue of incoherency about your growing old. Why, my dear + fellow, you're at least a dozen years my junior, and look at me!" and John + glanced at himself in the glass with a feeble pride, noting the gray + sparseness of his side-hair, and its plaintive dearth on top. "Of course + I've got to admit," he continued, "that my hair is gradually evaporating; + but for all that, I'm 'still in the ring,' don't you know; as young in + society, for the matter of that, as yourself! And this is just the reason + why I don't want you to blight every prospect in your life by marrying at + your age—especially a woman—I mean the kind of woman you'd be + sure to fancy at your age." + </p> + <p> + "Didn't I say 'a good, sensible girl' was the kind I had selected?" Bert + remonstrated. + </p> + <p> + "Oh!" exclaimed John, "you've selected her, then?—and without one + word to me!" he ended, rebukingly. + </p> + <p> + "Well, hang it all!" said Bert, impatiently; "I knew how <i>you</i> were, + and just how you'd talk me out of it; and I made up my mind that for once, + at least, I'd follow the dictations of a heart that—however + capricious in youthful frivolties—should beat, in manhood, loyal to + itself and loyal to its own affinity." + </p> + <p> + "Go it! Fire away! Farewell, vain world!" exclaimed the excited John.—"Trade + your soul off for a pair of ear-bobs and a button-hook—a hank of + jute hair and a box of lily-white! I've buried not less than ten old chums + this way, and here's another nominated for the tomb." + </p> + <p> + "But you've got no <i>reason</i> about you," began Bert,—"I want to"— + </p> + <p> + "And so do <i>I</i> 'want to,'" broke in John, finally,—"I want to + get some sleep.—So 'register' and come to bed.—And lie up on + edge, too, when you <i>do</i> come—'cause this old + catafalque-of-a-bed is just about as narrow as your views of single + blessedness! Peace! Not another word! Pile in! Pile in! I'm three-parts + sick, anyhow, and I want rest!" And very truly he spoke. + </p> + <p> + It was a bright morning when the slothful John was aroused by a long, + vociferous pounding on the door. He started up in bed to find himself + alone—the victim of his wrathful irony having evidently risen and + fled away while his pitiless tormentor slept—"Doubtless to at once + accomplish that nefarious intent as set forth by his unblushing confession + of last night," mused the miserable John. And he ground his fingers in the + corners of his swollen eyes, and leered grimly in the glass at the + feverish orbs, blood-shotten, blurred and aching. + </p> + <p> + The pounding on the door continued. John looked at his watch; it was only + 8 o'clock. + </p> + <p> + "Hi, there!" he called viciously. "What do you mean, anyhow?" he went on, + elevating his voice again; "shaking a man out of bed when he's just + dropping into his first sleep?" + </p> + <p> + "I mean that you're going to get up; that's what!" replied a firm female + voice. "It's 8 o'clock, and I want to put your room in order; and I'm not + going to wait all day about it, either! Get up and go down to your + breakfast, and let me have the room!" And the clamor at the door was + industriously renewed. + </p> + <p> + "Say!" called John, querulously, hurrying on his clothes, "Say! you!" + </p> + <p> + "There's no 'say' about it!" responded the determined voice: "I've heard + about you and your ways around this house, and I'm not going to put up + with it! You'll not lie in bed till high noon when I've got to keep your + room in proper order!" + </p> + <p> + "Oh ho!" bawled John, intelligently: "reckon you're the new invasion here? + Doubtless you're the girl that's been hanging up the new window-blinds + that won't roll, and disguising the pillows with clean slips, and 'hennin' + round among my books and papers on the table here, and ageing me generally + till I don't know my own handwriting by the time I find it! Oh, yes! + you're going to revolutionize things here; you're going to introduce + promptness, and system, and order. See you've even filled the wash-pitcher + and tucked two starched towels through the handle. Haven't got any tin + towels, have you? I rather like this new soap, too! So solid and durable, + you know; warranted not to raise a lather. Might as well wash one's hands + with a door-knob!" And as John's voice grumbled away into the sullen + silence again, the determined voice without responded: "Oh, you can growl + away to your heart's content, Mr. McKinney, but I want you to distinctly + understand that I'm not going to humor you in any of your old bachelor, + sluggardly, slovenly ways, and whims and notions. And I want you to + understand, too, that I'm not hired help in this house, nor a chambermaid, + nor anything of the kind. I'm the landlady here; and I'll give you just + ten minutes more to get down to your breakfast, or you'll not get any—that's + all!" And as the reversed cuff John was in the act of buttoning slid from + his wrist and rolled under the dresser, he heard a stiff rustling of + starched muslin flouncing past the door, and the quick italicized patter + of determined gaiters down the hall. + </p> + <p> + "Look here," said John to the bright-faced boy in the hotel office, a half + hour later. "It seems the house here's been changing hands again." + </p> + <p> + "Yes, sir," said the boy, closing the cigar case, and handing him a + lighted match. "Well, the new landlord, whoever he is," continued John, + patronizingly, "is a good one. Leastwise, he knows what's good to eat, and + how to serve it." + </p> + <p> + The boy laughed timidly,—"It aint a landlord,' though—it's a + landlady; it's my mother." + </p> + <p> + "Ah," said John, dallying with the change the boy had pushed toward him. + "Your mother, eh?" And where's your father?" + </p> + <p> + "He's dead," said the boy. + </p> + <p> + "And what's this for?" abruptly asked John, examining his change. + </p> + <p> + "That's your change," said the boy: "You got three for a quarter, and gave + me a half." + </p> + <p> + "Well, <i>you</i> just keep it," said John, sliding back the change. "It's + for good luck, you know, my boy. Same as drinking your long life and + prosperity. And, Oh yes, by the way, you may tell your mother I'll have a + friend to dinner with me to-day." + </p> + <p> + "Yes, sir, and thank you, sir," said the beaming boy. + </p> + <p> + "Handsome boy!" mused John, as he walked down street. "Takes that from his + father, though, I'll wager my existence!" + </p> + <p> + Upon his office desk John found a hastily written note. It was addressed + in the well-known hand of his old chum. He eyed the missive + apprehensively, and there was a positive pathos in his voice as he said + aloud, "It's our divorce. I feel it!" The note, headed, "At the Office, 4 + in Morning," ran like this: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "Dear Mack—I left you slumbering so soundly that, by noon, + when you waken, I hope, in your refreshed state, you will + look more tolerantly on my intentions as partially confided + to you this night. I will not see you here again to say + good-bye. I wanted to, but was afraid to 'rouse the sleeping + lion.' I will not close my eyes to-night—fact is, I haven't + time. Our serenade at Josie's was a pre-arranged signal by + which she is to be ready and at the station for the 5 + morning train. You may remember the lighting of three + consecutive matches at her window before the igniting of her + lamp. That meant, 'Thrice dearest one, I'll meet thee at the + depot at 4:30 sharp.' So, my dear Mack, this is to inform + you that, even as you read, Josie and I have eloped. It is + all the old man's fault, yet I forgive him. Hope he'll + return the favor. Josie predicts he will, inside of a + week—or two weeks, anyhow. Good-bye, Mack, old boy; and let + a fellow down as easy as you can. + + Affectionately, + + BERT." +</pre> + <p> + "Heavens!" exclaimed John, stifling the note in his hand and stalking + tragically around the room. "Can it be possible that I have nursed a + frozen viper? An ingrate? A wolf in sheep's clothing? An orang-outang in + gent's furnishings?" + </p> + <p> + "Was you callin' me, sir?" asked a voice at the door. It was the janitor. + </p> + <p> + "No!" thundered John; "Quit my sight! get out of my way! No, no, Thompson, + I don't mean that," he called after him. "Here's a half dollar for you, + and I want you to lock up the office, and tell anybody that wants to see + me that I've been set upon, and sacked and assassinated in cold blood; and + I've fled to my father's in the country, and am lying there in the + convulsions of dissolution, babbling of green fields and running brooks, + and thirsting for the life of every woman that comes in gunshot!" And + then, more like a confirmed invalid than a man in the strength and pride + of his prime, he crept down into the street again, and thence back to his + hotel. + </p> + <p> + Dejectedly and painfully climbing to his room, he encountered, on the + landing above, a little woman in a jaunty dusting-cap and a trim habit of + crisp muslin. He tried to evade her, but in vain. She looked him squarely + in the face—occasioning him the dubious impression of either needing + shaving very badly, or having egg-stains on his chin. + </p> + <p> + "You're the gentleman in No. 11, I believe?" she said. + </p> + <p> + He nodded confusedly. + </p> + <p> + "Mr. McKinney is your name, I think?" she queried, with a pretty elevation + of the eyebrows. + </p> + <p> + "Yes, ma'am," said John, rather abjectly. "You see, ma'am—But I beg + pardon," he went on stammeringly, and with a very awkward bow—"I beg + pardon, but I am addressing—ah—the—ah—the—" + </p> + <p> + "You are addressing the new landlady," she interpolated, pleasantly. "Mrs. + Miller is my name. I think we should be friends, Mr. McKinney, since I + hear that you are one of the oldest patrons of the house." + </p> + <p> + "Thank you—thank you!" said John, completely embarrassed. "Yes, + indeed!—ha, ha. Oh, yes—yes—really, we must be quite old + friends, I assure you, Mrs.—Mrs.—" + </p> + <p> + "Mrs. Miller," smilingly prompted the little woman. + </p> + <p> + "Yes, ah, yes,—Mrs. Miller. Lovely morning, Mrs. Miller," said John, + edging past her and backing toward his room. + </p> + <p> + But as Mrs. Miller was laughing outright, for some mysterious reason, and + gave no affirmation in response to his proposition as to the quality of + the weather, John, utterly abashed and nonplussed, darted into his room + and closed the door. "Deucedly extraordinary woman!" he thought; "wonder + what's her idea!" + </p> + <p> + He remained locked in his room till the dinner-hour; and, when he promptly + emerged for that occasion, there was a very noticeable improvement in his + personal appearance, in point of dress, at least, though there still + lingered about his smoothly-shaven features a certain haggard, care-worn, + anxious look that would not out. + </p> + <p> + Next his own place at the table he found a chair tilted forward, as though + in reservation for some honored guest. What did it mean? Oh, he remembered + now. Told the boy to tell his mother he would have a friend to dine with + him. Bert—and, blast the fellow! he was, doubtless, dining then with + a far preferable companion—his wife—in a palace-car on the P., + C. & St. L., a hundred miles away. The thought was maddening. Of + course, now, the landlady would have material for a new assault. And how + could he avert it? A despairing film blurred his sight for the moment—then + the eyes flashed daringly. "I will meet it like a man!" he said, mentally—"like + a State's Attorney,—I will invite it! Let her do her worst!" + </p> + <p> + He called a servant, directing some message in an undertone. + </p> + <p> + "Yes, sir," said the agreeable servant, "I'll go right away, sir," and + left the room. + </p> + <p> + Five minutes elapsed, and then a voice at his shoulder startled him: + </p> + <p> + "Did you send for me, Mr. McKinney? What is it I can do?" + </p> + <p> + "You are very kind, Mrs.—Mrs.—" + </p> + <p> + "Mrs. Miller," said the lady, with a smile that he remembered. + </p> + <p> + "Now, please spare me even the mildest of rebukes. I deserve your censure, + but I can't stand it—I can't positively!" and there was a pleading + look in John's lifted eyes that changed the little woman's smile to an + expression of real solicitude. "I have sent for you," continued John, "to + ask of you three great favors. Please be seated while I enumerate them. + First—I want you to forgive and forget that ill-natured, + uncalled-for grumbling of mine this morning when you wakened me." + </p> + <p> + "Why, certainly," said the landlady, again smiling, though quite + seriously. + </p> + <p> + "I thank you," said John, with dignity. "And, second," he continued—"I + want your assurance that my extreme confusion and awkwardness on the + occasion of our meeting later were rightly interpreted." + </p> + <p> + "Certainly—certainly," said the landlady, with the kindliest + sympathy. + </p> + <p> + "I am grateful—utterly," said John, with newer dignity. "And then," + he went on,—after informing you that it is impossible for the best + friend I have in the world to be with me at this hour, as intended, I want + you to do me the very great honor of dining with me. Will you?" + </p> + <p> + "Why, certainly," said the charming little landlady—"and a thousand + thanks beside! But tell me something of your friend," she continued, as + they were being served. "What is he like—and what is his name—and + where is he?" + </p> + <p> + "Well," said John, warily,—"he's like all young fellows of his age. + He's quite young, you know—not over thirty, I should say—a + mere boy, in fact, but clever—talented—versatile." + </p> + <p> + "—Unmarried, of course," said the chatty little woman. + </p> + <p> + "Oh, yes!" said John, in a matter-of-course tone—but he caught + himself abruptly—then stared intently at his napkin—glanced + evasively at the side-face of his questioner, and said,—"Oh yes! + Yes, indeed! He's unmarried.—Old bachelor like myself, you know. Ha! + Ha!" + </p> + <p> + "So he's not like the young man here that distinguished himself last + night?" said the little woman, archly. + </p> + <p> + The fork in John's hand, half-lifted to his lips, faltered and fell back + toward his plate. + </p> + <p> + "Why, what's that?" said John, in a strange voice; "I hadn't heard + anything about it—I mean I haven't heard anything about any young + man. What was it?" + </p> + <p> + "Haven't heard anything about the elopement?" exclaimed the little woman, + in astonishment.—"Why, it's been the talk of the town all morning. + Elopement in high life—son of a grain-dealer, name of Hines, or + Himes, or something, and a preacher's daughter—Josie somebody—didn't + catch her last name. Wonder if you don't know the parties—Why, Mr. + McKinney, are you ill?" + </p> + <p> + "Oh, no—not at all!" said John: "Don't mention it. Ha—ha! Just + eating too rapidly, that's all. Go on with—you were saying that Bert + and Josie had really eloped." + </p> + <p> + "What 'Bert'?" asked the little woman quickly. + </p> + <p> + "Why, did I say Bert?" said John, with a guilty look. "I meant Haines, of + course, you know—Haines and Josie.—And did they really elope?" + </p> + <p> + "That's the report," answered the little woman, as though deliberating + some important evidence; "and they say, too, that the plot of the runaway + was quite ingenious. It seems the young lovers were assisted in their + flight by some old fellow—friend of the young man's—Why, Mr. + McKinney, you <i>are</i> ill, surely?" + </p> + <p> + John's face was ashen. + </p> + <p> + "No—no!" he gasped, painfully: "Go on—go on! Tell me more + about the—the—the old fellow—the old reprobate! And is + he still at large?" + </p> + <p> + "Yes," said the little womon, anxiously regarding the strange demeanor of + her companion. "They say, though, that the law can do nothing with him, + and that this fact only intensifies the agony of the broken-hearted + parents—for it seems they have, till now, regarded him both as a + gentleman and family friend in whom"— + </p> + <p> + "I really am ill," moaned John, waveringly rising to his feet; "but I beg + you not to be alarmed. Tell your little boy to come to my room, where I + will retire at once, if you'll excuse me, and send for my physician. It is + simply a nervous attack. I am often troubled so; and only perfect quiet + and seclusion restores me. You have done me a great honor, Mrs."—("Mrs.—Miller," + sighed the sympathetic little woman)—"Mrs. Miller,—and I thank + you more than I have words to express." He bowed limply, turned through a + side door opening on a stair, and tottered to his room. + </p> + <p> + During the three weeks' illness through which he passed, John had every + attention—much more, indeed, than he had consciousness to + appreciate. For the most part his mind wandered, and he talked of curious + things, and laughed hysterically, and serenaded mermaids that dwelt in + grassy seas of dew, and were bald-headed like himself. He played upon a + fourteen-jointed flute of solid gold, with diamond holes, and keys carved + out of thawless ice. His old father came at first to take him home; but he + could not be moved, the doctor said. + </p> + <p> + Two weeks of John's illness had worn away, when a very serious looking + young man, in a traveling duster, and a high hat, came up the stairs to + see him. A handsome young lady was clinging to his arm. It was Bert and + Josie. She had guessed the very date of their forgiveness. John wakened + even clearer in mind than usual that afternoon. He recognized his old chum + at a glance, and Josie—now Bert's wife. Yes, he comprehended that. + He was holding a hand of each when another figure entered. His thin, white + fingers loosened their clasp, and he held a hand toward the new comer. + "Here," he said, "is my best friend in the world—Bert, you and Josie + will love her, I know; for this is Mrs.—Mrs."—"Mrs. Miller," + said the radiant little woman.—"Yes,—Mrs. Miller," said John, + very proudly. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0017" id="link2H_4_0017"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + RHYMES OF RAINY DAYS + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0018" id="link2H_4_0018"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE TREE-TOAD. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "'Scurious-like," said the tree-toad, + "I've twittered far rain all day; + And I got up soon, + And I hollered till noon— + But the sun, hit blazed away, + Till I jest clumb down in a crawfish-hole, + Weary at heart, and sick at soul! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"Dozed away far an hour, + And I tackled the thing agin; + And I sung, and sung, + Till I knowed my lung + Was jest about give in; + And then, thinks I, ef hit don't rain now. + There're nothin' in singin', anyhow! + + "Once in awhile some + Would come a drivin' past; + And he'd hear my cry, + And stop and sigh— + Till I jest laid back, at last, + And I hollered rain till I thought my th'oat + Would bust right open at ever' note! + + "But <i>I fetched</i> her! O <i>I fetched</i> her!— + 'Cause a little while ago, + As I kindo' set, + With one eye shet, + And a-singin' soft and low, + A voice drapped down on my fevered brain, + Sayin',—' Ef you'll jest hush I'll rain!'" +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0019" id="link2H_4_0019"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A WORN-OUT PENCIL. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Welladay! + Here I lay + You at rest—all worn away, + O my pencil, to the tip + Of our old companionship! + + Memory + Sighs to see + What you are, and used to be, + Looking backward to the time + When you wrote your earliest rhyme!— + + When I sat + Filing at + Your first point, and dreaming that + Your initial song should be + Worthy of posterity. + + With regret + I forget + If the song be living yet, + Yet remember, vaguely now, + It was honest, anyhow. + + You have brought + Me a thought— + Truer yet was never taught,— + That the silent song is best, + And the unsung worthiest. + + So if I, + When I die, + May as uncomplainingly + Drop aside as now you do, + Write of me, as I of you:— + + Here lies one + Who begun + Life a-singing, heard of none; + And he died, satisfied, + With his dead songs by his side. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0020" id="link2H_4_0020"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE STEPMOTHER. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + First she come to our house, + Tommy run and hid; + And Emily and Bob and me + We cried jus' like we did + When Mother died,—and we all said + 'At we all wisht 'at we was dead! + + And Nurse she couldn't stop us, + And Pa he tried and tried,— + We sobbed and shook and wouldn't look, + But only cried and cried; + And nen someone—we couldn't jus' + Tell who—was cryin' same as us! + + Our Stepmother! Yes, it was her, + Her arms around us all— + 'Cause Tom slid down the bannister + And peeked in from the hall.— + And we all love her, too, because + She's purt nigh good as Mother was! +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0021" id="link2H_4_0021"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE RAIN. + </h2> + <h3> + I. + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The rain! the rain! the rain! + It gushed from the skies and streamed + Like awful tears; and the sick man thought + How pitiful it seemed! + And he turned his face away, + And stared at the wall again, + His hopes nigh dead and his heart worn out. + O the rain! the rain! the rain! +</pre> + <h3> + II. + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The rain! the rain! the rain! + And the broad stream brimmed the shores; + And ever the river crept over the reeds + And the roots of the sycamores: + A corpse swirled by in a drift + Where the boat had snapt its chain— + And a hoarse-voiced mother shrieked and raved. + O the rain! the rain! the rain! +</pre> + <h3> + III. + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The rain! the rain! the rain!— + Pouring, with never a pause, + Over the fields and the green byways— + How beautiful it was! + And the new-made man and wife + Stood at the window-pane + Like two glad children kept from school.— + O the rain! the rain! the rain! +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0022" id="link2H_4_0022"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE LEGEND GLORIFIED. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "I deem that God is not disquieted"— + This in a mighty poet's rhymes I read; + And blazoned so forever doth abide + Within my soul the legend glorified. + + Though awful tempests thunder overhead, + I deem that God is not disquieted,— + The faith that trembles somewhat yet is sure + Through storm and darkness of a way secure. + + Bleak winters, when the naked spirit hears + The break of hearts, through stinging sleet of tears, + I deem that God is not disquieted; + Against all stresses am I clothed and fed. + + Nay, even with fixed eyes and broken breath, + My feet dip down into the tides of death, + Nor any friend be left, nor prayer be said, + I deem that God is not disquieted. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0023" id="link2H_4_0023"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + WANT TO BE WHUR MOTHER IS. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "Want to be whur mother is! Want to be whur mother is!" + Jeemses Rivers! won't some one ever shet that howl o' his? + That-air yellin' drives me wild! + Cain't none of ye stop the child? + Want jer Daddy? "Naw." Gee whizz! + "Want to be whur mother is!" + + "Want to be whur mother is! Want to be whur mother is!" + Coax him, Sairy! Mary, sing somepin far him! Lift him, Liz— + Bang the clock-bell with the key— + Er the <i>meat-ax!</i> Gee-mun-nee! + Listen to them lungs o' his! + "Want to be whur mother is!" + + "Want to be whur mother is! Want to be whur mother is!" + Preacher guess'll pound all night on that old pulpit o' his; + 'Pears to me some wimmin jest + Shows religious interest + Mostly 'fore their fambly's riz! + "Want to be whur mother is!" + +</pre> + <hr /> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "Want to be whur mother is! Want to be whur mother is!" + Nights like these and whipperwills allus brings that voice of his! + Sairy; Mary; 'Lizabeth; + Don't set there and ketch yer death + In the dew—er rheumatiz— + Want to be whur mother is? +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0024" id="link2H_4_0024"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + OLD MAN'S NURSERY RHYME. + </h2> + <h3> + I. + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + In the jolly winters + Of the long-ago, + It was not so cold as now— + O! No! No! + Then, as I remember, + Snowballs, to eat, + Were as good as apples now, + And every bit as sweet! +</pre> + <h3> + II. + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + In the jolly winters + Of the dead-and-gone, + Bub was warm as summer, + With his red mitts on,— + Just in his little waist- + And-pants all together, + Who ever heard him growl + About cold weather? +</pre> + <h3> + III. + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + In the jolly winters of the long-ago— + Was it <i>half</i> so cold as now? + O! No! No! + Who caught his death o' cold, + Making prints of men + Flat-backed in snow that now's + Twice as cold again? +</pre> + <h3> + IV. + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + In the jolly winters + Of the dead-and-gone, + Startin' out rabbit-hunting + Early as the dawn,— + Who ever froze his fingers, + Ears, heels, or toes,— + Or'd a cared if he had? + Nobody knows! +</pre> + <h3> + V. + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Nights by the kitchen-stove, + Shelling white and red + Corn in the skillet, and + Sleepin' four abed! + Ah! the jolly winters + Of the long-ago! + We were not so old as now— + O! No! No! +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0025" id="link2H_4_0025"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THREE DEAD FRIENDS. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Always suddenly they are gone— + The friends we trusted and held secure— + Suddenly we are gazing on, + Not a <i>smiling</i> face, but the marble-pure + Dead mask of a face that nevermore + To a smile of ours will make reply— + The lips close-locked as the eyelids are— + Gone—swift as the flash of the molten ore + A meteor pours through a midnight sky, + Leaving it blind of a single star. + + Tell us, O Death, Remorseless Might! + What is this old, unescapable ire + You wreak on us?—from the birth of light + Till the world be charred to a core of fire! + We do no evil thing to you— + We seek to evade you—that is all— + That is your will—you will not be known + Of men. What, then, would you have us do?— + Cringe, and wait till your vengeance fall, + And your graves be fed, and the trumpet blown? + + You desire no friends; but <i>we</i>—O we + Need them so, as we falter here, + Fumbling through each new vacancy, + As each is stricken that we hold dear. + One you struck but a year ago; + And one not a month ago; and one— + (God's vast pity!)—and one lies now + Where the widow wails, in her nameless woe, + And the soldiers pace, with the sword and gun, + Where the comrade sleeps, with the laureled brow. + + And what did the first?—that wayward soul, + Clothed of sorrow, yet nude of sin, + And with all hearts bowed in the strange control + Of the heavenly voice of his violin. + Why, it was music the way he <i>stood</i>, + So grand was the poise of the head and so + Full was the figure of majesty!— + One heard with the eyes, as a deaf man would, + And with all sense brimmed to the overflow + With tears of anguish and ecstasy. + + And what did the girl, with the great warm light + Of genius sunning her eyes of blue, + With her heart so pure, and her soul so white— + What, O Death, did she do to you? + Through field and wood as a child she strayed, + As Nature, the dear sweet mother led; + While from her canvas, mirrored back, + Glimmered the stream through the everglade + Where the grapevine trailed from the trees to wed + Its likeness of emerald, blue and black. + + And what did he, who, the last of these, + Faced you, with never a fear, O Death? + Did you hate <i>him</i> that he loved the breeze, + And the morning dews, and the rose's breath? + Did you hate him that he answered not + Your hate again—but turned, instead, + His only hate on his country's wrongs? + Well—you possess him, dead!—but what + Of the good he wrought? With laureled head + He bides with us in his deeds and songs. + + Laureled, first, that he bravely fought, + And forged a way to our flag's release; + Laureled, next—for the harp he taught + To wake glad songs in the days of peace— + Songs of the woodland haunts he held + As close in his love as they held their bloom + In their inmost bosoms of leaf and vine— + Songs that echoed, and pulsed and welled + Through the town's pent streets, and the sick child's room, + Pure as a shower in soft sunshine. + + Claim them, Death; yet their fame endures, + What friend next will you rend from us + In that cold, pitiless way of yours, + And leave us a grief more dolorous? + Speak to us!—tell us, O Dreadful Power!— + Are we to have not a lone friend left?— + Since, frozen, sodden, or green the sod,— + In every second of every hour, + <i>Some one</i>, Death, you have left thus bereft, + Half inaudibly shrieks to God. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0026" id="link2H_4_0026"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IN BOHEMIA. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Ha! My dear! I'm back again— + Vendor of Bohemia's wares! + Lordy! How it pants a man + Climbing up those awful stairs! + Well, I've made the dealer say + Your sketch <i>might</i> sell, anyway! + And I've made a publisher + Hear my poem, Kate, my dear. + + In Bohemia, Kate, my dear— + Lodgers in a musty flat + On the top floor—living here + Neighborless, and used to that,— + Like a nest beneath the eaves, + So our little home receives + Only guests of chirping cheer— + We'll be happy, Kate, my dear! + + Under your north-light there, you + At your easel, with a stain + On your nose of Prussian blue, + Paint your bits of shine and rain; + With my feet thrown up at will + O'er my littered window-sill, + I write rhymes that ring as clear + As your laughter, Kate, my dear. + + Puff my pipe, and stroke my hair— + Bite my pencil-tip and gaze + At you, mutely mooning there + O'er your "Aprils" and your "Mays!" + Equal inspiration in + Dimples of your cheek and chin, + And the golden atmosphere + Of your paintings, Kate, my dear! + + <i>Trying</i>! Yes, at times it is, + To clink happy rhymes, and fling + On the canvas scenes of bliss, + When we are half famishing!— + When your "jersey" rips in spots, + And your hat's "forget-me-nots" + Have grown tousled, old and sere— + It is trying, Kate, my dear! + + But—as sure—<i>some</i> picture sells, + And—sometimes—the poetry— + Bless us! How the parrot yells + His acclaims at you and me! + How we revel then in scenes + Of high banqueting!—sardines— + Salads—olives—and a sheer + Pint of sherry, Kate, my dear! + + Even now I cross your palm, + With this great round world of gold!— + "Talking wild?" Perhaps I am— + Then, this little five-year-old!— + Call it anything you will, + So it lifts your face until + I may kiss away that tear + Ere it drowns me, Kate, my dear. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0027" id="link2H_4_0027"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IN THE DARK. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + O in the depths of midnight + What fancies haunt the brain! + When even the sigh of the sleeper + Sounds like a sob of pain. + + A sense of awe and of wonder + I may never well define,— + For the thoughts that come in the shadows + Never come in the shine. + + The old clock down in the parlor + Like a sleepless mourner grieves, + And the seconds drip in the silence + As the rain drips from the eaves. + + And I think of the hands that signal + The hours there in the gloom, + And wonder what angel watchers + Wait in the darkened room. + + And I think of the smiling faces + That used to watch and wait, + Till the click of the clock was answered + By the click of the opening gate.— + + They are not there now in the evening— + Morning or noon—not there; + Yet I know that they keep their vigil, + And wait for me Somewhere. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0028" id="link2H_4_0028"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + WET WEATHER TALK. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + It ain't no use to grumble and complain; + It's jest as cheap and easy to rejoice: + When God sorts out the weather and sends rain, + W'y, rain's my choice. + + Men giner'ly, to all intents— + Although they're ap' to grumble some— + Puts most their trust in Providence, + And takes things as they come;— + That is, the commonality + Of men that's lived as long as me, + Has watched the world enough to learn + They're not the boss of the concern. + + With <i>some</i>, of course, it's different— + I've seed <i>young</i> men that knowed it all, + And didn't like the way things went + On this terrestial ball! + But, all the same, the rain some way + Rained jest as hard on picnic-day; + Er when they railly wanted it, + It maybe wouldn't rain a bit! + + In this existence, dry and wet + Will overtake the best of men— + Some little skift o' clouds'll shet + The sun off now and then; + But maybe, while you're wondern' who + You've fool-like lent your umbrell' to, + And <i>want</i> it—out'll pop the sun, + And you'll be glad you ain't got none! + + It aggervates the farmers, too— + They's too much wet, er too much sun, + Er work, er waiting round to do + Before the plowin''s done; + And maybe, like as not, the wheat, + Jest as it's lookin' hard to beat, + Will ketch the storm—and jest about + The time the corn 's a-jintin' out! + + These here cy-clones a-foolin' round— + And back'ard crops—and wind and rain, + And yit the corn that's wallered down + May elbow up again! + They ain't no sense, as I kin see, + In mortals, sich as you and me, + A-faultin' Nature's wise intents, + And lockin' horns with Providence! + + It ain't no use to grumble and complain; + It's jest as cheap and easy to rejoice: + When God sorts out the weather and sends rain, + W'y, rain's my choice. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0029" id="link2H_4_0029"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + WHERE SHALL WE LAND. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "<i>Where shall we land you, sweet</i>?"—Swinburne. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + All listlessly we float + Out seaward in the boat + That beareth Love. + Our sails of purest snow + Bend to the blue below + And to the blue above. + Where shall we land? + + We drift upon a tide + Shoreless on every side, + Save where the eye + Of Fancy sweeps far lands + Shelved slopingly with sands + Of gold and porphyry. + Where shall we land? + + The fairy isles we see, + Loom up so mistily— + So vaguely fair, + We do not care to break + Fresh bubbles in our wake + To bend our course for there. + Where shall we land? + + The warm winds of the deep + Have lulled our sails to sleep, + And so we glide + Careless of wave or wind, + Or change of any kind, + Or turn of any tide. + Where shall we land? + + We droop our dreamy eyes + Where our reflection lies + Steeped in the sea, + And, in an endless fit + Of languor, smile on it + And its sweet mimicry. + Where shall we land? + + "Where shall we land?" God's grace! + I know not any place + So fair as this— + Swung here between the blue + Of sea and sky, with you + To ask me, with a kiss, + "Where shall we land?" +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0030" id="link2H_4_0030"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + AN OLD SETTLER'S STORY + </h2> + <p> + William Williams his name was—or so he said;—Bill Williams + they called him, and them 'at knowed him best called him Bill Bills. + </p> + <p> + The first I seed o' Bills was about two weeks after he got here. The + Settlement wasn't nothin' but a baby in them days, far I mind 'at old Ezry + Sturgiss had jist got his saw and griss-mill a-goin', and Bills had come + along and claimed to know all about millin', and got a job with him; and + millers in them times was wanted worse'n congerss-men, and I reckon got + better wages; far afore Ezry built, ther wasn't a dust o' meal er flour to + be had short o' the White Water, better'n sixty mild from here, the way we + had to fetch it. And they used to come to Ezry's far ther grindin' as far + as that; and one feller I knowed to come from what used to be the old + South Fork, over eighty mild from here, and in the wettest, rainyest + weather; and mud! <i>Law!</i> + </p> + <p> + Well, this-here Bills was a-workin' far Ezry at the time—part the + time a-grindin', and part the time a-lookin' after the sawin', and gittin' + out timber and the like. Bills was a queer-lookin' feller, shore! About as + tall a build man as Tom Carter—but of course you don't know nothin' + o' Tom Carter. A great big hulk of a feller, Tom was; and as far back as + Fifty-eight used to make his brags that he could cut and put up his seven + cord a day. + </p> + <p> + Well, what give Bills this queer look, as I was a-goin' on to say, was a + great big ugly scar a-runnin' from the corner o' one eye clean down his + face and neck, and I don't know how far down his breast—awful + lookin'; and he never shaved, and ther wasn't a hair a-growin' in that + scar, and it looked like a—some kind o' pizen snake er somepin' a + crawlin' in the grass and weeds. I never seed sich a' out-an'-out + onry-lookin' chap, and I'll never fergit the first time I set eyes on him. + </p> + <p> + Steve and me—Steve was my youngest brother; Steve's be'n in + Californy now far, le' me see,—well, anyways, I reckon, over thirty + year.—Steve was a-drivin' the team at the time—I allus let + Steve drive; 'peared like Steve was made a-purpose far hosses. The + beatin'est hand with hosses 'at ever you <i>did</i> see-an'-I-know! W'y, a + hoss, after he got kind o' used to Steve a-handlin' of him, would do + anything far <i>him</i>! And I've knowed that boy to swap far hosses 'at + cou'dn't hardly make a shadder; and, afore you knowed it, Steve would have + 'em a-cavortin' around a-lookin' as peert and fat and slick! + </p> + <p> + Well, we'd come over to Ezry's far some grindin' that day; and Steve + wanted to price some lumber far a house, intendin' to marry that Fall—and + would a-married, I reckon, ef the girl hadn't a-died jist as she'd got her + weddin' clothes done, and that set hard on Steve far awhile. Yit he + rallied, you know, as a youngster will; but he never married, someway—never + married. Reckon he never found no other woman he could love well enough, + 'less it was—well, no odds.—The Good Bein's jedge o' what's + best far each and all. + </p> + <p> + We lived <i>then</i> about eight mild from Ezry's, and it tuck about a day + to make the trip; so you kin kind o' git an idee o' how the roads was in + them days. + </p> + <p> + Well, on the way over I noticed Steve was mighty quiet-like, but I didn't + think nothin' of it, tel at last he says, says he, "Tom, I want you to + kind o' keep an eye out far Ezry's new hand," meanin Bills. And then I + kind o' suspicioned somepin' o' nother was up betwixt 'em; and shore + enough ther was, as I found out afore the day was over. + </p> + <p> + I knowed 'at Bills was a mean sort of a man, from what I'd heerd. His name + was all over the neighborhood afore he'd be'n here two weeks. + </p> + <p> + In the first place, he come in a suspicious sort o' way. Him and his wife, + and a little baby only a few months old, come through in a kivvered wagon + with a fambly a-goin' som'ers in The Illinoy; and they stopped at the + mill, far some meal er somepin', and Bills got to talkin' with Ezry 'bout + millin', and one thing o' nother, and said he was expeerenced some 'bout a + mill hisse'f, and told Ezry ef he'd give him work he'd stop; said his wife + and baby wasn't strong enough to stand trav'lin', and ef Ezry'd give him + work he was ready to lick into it then and there; said his woman could pay + her board by sewin' and the like, tel they got ahead a little; and then, + ef he liked the neighberhood, he said he'd as leave settle there as + anywheres; he was huntin' a home, he said, and the outlook kind o' struck + him, and his woman railly needed rest, and wasn't strong enough to go much + furder. And old Ezry kind o' tuck pity on the feller; and havin' houseroom + to spare, and railly in need of a good hand at the mill, he said all + right; and so the feller stopped and the wagon druv ahead and left 'em; + and they didn't have no things ner nothin'—not even a + cyarpet-satchel, ner a stitch o' clothes, on'y what they had on their + backs. And I think it was the third er fourth day after Bills stopped 'at + he whirped Tomps Burk, the bully o' here them days, tel you would n't + a-knowed him! + </p> + <p> + Well, I'd heerd o' this, and the fact is I'd made up my mind 'at Bills was + a bad stick, and the place was n't none the better far his bein' here. + But, as I was a-goin' on to say,—as Steve and me driv up to the + mill, I ketched sight o' Bills the first thing, a-lookin' out o' where + some boards was knocked off, jist over the worter-wheel; and he knowed + Steve—I could see that by his face; and he hollered somepin', too, + but what it was I couldn't jist make out, far the noise o' the wheel; but + he looked to me as ef he'd hollered somepin' mean a-purpose so's Steve <i>wouldn't</i> + hear it, and <i>he'd</i> have the consolation o' knowin' 'at he'd called + Steve some onry name 'thout givin' him a chance to take it up. Steve was + allus quiet like, but ef you raised his dander one't—and you could + do that 'thout much trouble, callin' him names er somepin', particular' + anything 'bout his mother. Steve loved his mother—allus loved his + mother, and would fight far her at the drap o' the hat. And he was her + favo-<i>rite</i>—allus a-talkin' o' "her boy, Steven," as she used + to call him, and so proud of him, and so keerful of him allus, when he 'd + be sick er anything; nuss him like a baby, she would. + </p> + <p> + So when Bills hollered, Steve didn't pay no attention; and I said nothin', + o' course, and didn't let on like I noticed him. So we druv round to the + south side and hitched; and Steve 'lowed he'd better feed; so I left him + with the hosses and went into the mill. + </p> + <p> + They was jist a-stoppin' far dinner. Most of 'em brought ther dinners—lived + so far away, you know. The two Smith boys lived on what used to be the old + Warrick farm, five er six mild, anyhow, from wher' the mill stood. Great + stout fellers, they was; and little Jake, the father of 'em, wasn't no man + at all—not much bigger'n you, I rickon. Le' me see, now:—Ther + was Tomps Burk, Wade Elwood, and Joe and Ben Carter, and Wesley Morris, + John Coke—wiry little cuss, he was, afore he got his leg sawed off—and + Ezry, and—Well, I don't jist mind all the boys—'s a long time + ago, and I never was much of a hand far names.—Now, some folks'll + hear a name and never fergit it, but I can't boast of a good ricollection, + 'specially o' names; and far the last thirty year my mem'ry's be'n + a-failin' me, ever sence a spell o' fever 'at I brought on onc't—fever + and rheumatiz together. You see, I went a-sainin' with a passel o' the + boys, fool-like, and let my clothes freeze on me a-comin' home. Wy, my + breeches was like stove-pipes when I pulled 'em off. 'Ll, ef I didn't pay + far that spree! Rheumatiz got a holt o' me and helt me there flat o' my + back far eight weeks, and couldn't move hand er foot 'thout a-hollerin' + like a' Injun. And I'd a-be'n there yit, I reckon, ef it had n't a-be'n + far a' old hoss-doctor, name o' Jones; and he gits a lot o' sod and steeps + it in hot whisky and pops it on me, and I'll-be-switched-to-death ef it + didn't cuore me up, far all I laughed and told him I'd better take the + whisky inardly and let him keep the grass far his doctor bill. But that's + nuther here ner there:—As I was a-saying 'bout the mill: As I went + in, the boys had stopped work and was a-gittin' down ther dinners, and + Bills amongst 'em, and old Ezry a-chattin' away—great hand, he was, + far his joke, and allus a-cuttin' up and a-gittin' off his odd-come-shorts + on the boys. And that day he was in particular good humor. He'd brought + some liquor down far the boys, and he'd be'n drinkin' a little hisse'f, + enough to feel it. He didn't drink much—that is to say, he didn't + git drunk adzactly; but he tuck his dram, you understand. You see, they + made ther own whisky in them days, and it was n't nothin' like the bilin' + stuff you git now. Old Ezry had a little still, and allus made his own + whisky, enough far fambly use, and jist as puore as worter, and as + harmless. But now-a-days the liquor you git's rank pizen. They say they + put tobacker in it, and strychnine, and the Lord knows what; ner I never + knowed why, 'less it was to give it a richer-lookin' flavor, like. Well, + Ezry he 'd brought up a jug, and the boys had be'n a-takin' it purty free; + I seed that as quick as I went in. And old Ezry called out to me to come + and take some, the first thing. Told him I did n't b'lieve I keered about + it; but nothin' would do but I must take a drink with the boys; and I was + tired anyhow and I thought a little would n't hurt; so I takes a swig; and + as I set the jug down Bills spoke up and says, "You're a stranger to me, + and I'm a stranger to you, but I reckon we can drink to our better + acquaintance," er somepin' to that amount, and poured out another snifter + in a gourd he'd be'n a-drinkin' coffee in, and handed it to me. Well, I + could n't well refuse, of course, so I says, "Here 's to us," and drunk + her down—mighty nigh a half pint, I reckon. Now, I railly did n't + want it, but, as I tell you, I was obleeged to take it, and I downed her + at a swaller and never batted an eye, far, to tell the fact about it, I + liked the taste o' liquor; and I do yit, only I know when I' got enough. + Jist then I didn't want to drink on account o' Steve. Steve couldn't abide + liquor in no shape ner form—far medicine ner nothin', and I 've + allus thought it was his mother's doin's. + </p> + <p> + Now, a few months afore this I 'd be'n to Vincennes, and I was jist + a-tellin' Ezry what they was a-astin' far ther liquor there—far I 'd + fetched a couple o' gallon home with me 'at I 'd paid six bits far, and + pore liquor at that: And I was a-tellin' about it, and old Ezry was + a-sayin' what an oudacious figger that was, and how he could make money + a-sellin' it far half that price, and was a-goin' on a-braggin' about his + liquor—and it was a good article—far new whisky,—and + jist then Steve comes in, jist as Bills was a-sayin' 'at a man 'at + wouldn't drink that whisky wasn't no man at all. So, of course, when they + ast Steve to take some and he told 'em no, 'at he was much obleeged, Bills + was kind o' tuck down, you understand, and had to say somepin'; and says + he, "I reckon you ain't no better 'n the rest of us, and <i>we 've</i> + be'n a-drinkin' of it." But Steve did n't let on like he noticed Bills at + all, and rech and shuck hands with the other boys and ast how they was all + a-comin' on. + </p> + <p> + I seed Bills was riled, and more 'n likely wanted trouble; and shore + enough, he went on to say, kind o' snarlin' like, 'at "he'd knowed o' men + in his day 'at had be'n licked far refusin' to drink when their betters + ast 'em;" and said furder 'at "a lickin' wasn't none too good far anybody + 'at would refuse liquor like that o' Ezry's, and in his own house too"—er + <i>buildin'</i>, ruther. Ezry shuck his head at him, but I seed 'at Bills + was bound far a quarrel, and I winks at Steve, as much as to say, "Don't + you let him bully you; you'll find your brother here to see you have fair + play!" <i>I</i> was a-feelin' my oats some about then, and Steve seed I + was, and looked so sorry like, and like his mother, 'at I jist thought, "I + kin fight far you, and die far you, 'cause you're wuth it!"—And I + didn't someway feel like it would amount to much ef I did die er git + killed er somepin' on his account. I seed Steve was mighty white around + the mouth and his eyes was a glitterin' like a snake's; but Bills didn't + seem to take warnin', but went on to say 'at he'd knowed boys 'at loved + the'r mothers so well they couldn't drink nothin' stronger 'n milk.—And + then you'd ort o' seed Steve's coat fly off, jist like it wanted to git + out of his way, and give the boy room accordin' to his stren'th. I seed + Bills grab a piece o' scantlin' jist in time to ketch his arm as he struck + at Steve,—far Steve was a-comin' far him dangerss. But they'd + ketched Steve from behind jist then; and Bills turned far me. I seed him + draw back, and I seed Steve a-scufflin' to ketch his arm; but he didn't + reach it quite in time to do me no good. It must a-come awful suddent. The + first I ricollect was a roarin' and a buzzin' in my ears, and when I kind + o' come a little better to, and crawled up and peeked over the saw-log I + was a-layin' the other side of, I seed a couple clinched and a rollin' + over and over, and a-makin' the chips and saw-dust fly, now I tell you! + Bills and Steve it was—head and tail, tooth and toenail, and + a-bleedin' like good fellers. I seed a gash o' some kind in Bills's head, + and Steve was purty well tuckered, and a-pantin' like a lizard; and I made + a rush in, and one o' the Carter boys grabbed me and told me to jist keep + cool; 'at Steve didn't need no he'p, and they might need me to keep + Bills's friends off ef they made a rush. By this time Steve had whirlt + Bills, and was a-jist a-gittin' in a fair way to finish him up in good + style, when Wesley Morris run in—I seed him do it—run in, and + afore we could ketch him he struck Steve a deadener in the butt o' the ear + and knocked him as limber as a rag. And then Bills whirlt Steve and got + him by the throat, and Ben Carter and me and old Ezry closed in—Carter + tackled Morris, and Ezry and me grabs Bills—and as old Ezry grabbed + him to pull him off, Bills kind o' give him a side swipe o' some kind and + knocked him—I don't know how far! And jist then Carter and Morris + come a-scufflin' back'ards right amongst us, and Carter throwed him right + acrost Bills and Steve. Well, it ain't fair, and I don't like to tell it, + but I seed it was the last chance and I tuck advantage of it:—As + Wesley and Ben fell it pulled Bills down in a kind o' twist, don't you + understand, so's he couldn't he'p hisse'f, yit still a-clinchin' Steve by + the throat, and him black in the face: Well, as they fell I grabbed up a + little hick'ry limb, not bigger 'n my two thumbs, and I struck Bills a + little tap kind o' over the back of his head like, and blame me ef he + didn't keel over like a stuck pig—and not any too soon, nuther, far + he had Steve's chunk as nigh put out as you ever seed a man's, to come to + agin. But he was up th'reckly and ready to a-went at it ef Bills could + a-come to the scratch; but Mister Bills he wasn't in no fix to try it + over! After a-waitin' awhile far him to come to, and him not a-comin' to, + we concluded 'at we'd better he'p him, maybe. And we worked with him, and + washed him, and drenched him with whisky, but it 'peared like it wasn't no + use: He jist laid there with his eyes about half shet, and a-breathin' + like a hoss when he's bad sceart; and I'll be dad-limbed ef I don't + believe he'd a-died on our hands ef it hadn't a-happened old Doc Zions + come a-ridin' past on his way home from the Murdock neighberhood, where + they was a-havin' sich a time with the milk-sick. And he examined Bills, + and had him laid on a plank and carried down to the house—'bout a + mild, I reckon, from the mill. Looked kind o' curous to see Steve + a-heppin' pack the feller, after his nearly chokin' him to death. Oh, it + was a bloody fight, I tell you! W'y, ther wasn't a man in the mill 'at + didn't have a black eye er somepin'; and old Ezry, where Bills hit him, + had his nose broke, and was as bloody as a butcher. And you'd ort a-seed + the women-folks when our p'session come a-bringin' Bills in. I never seed + anybody take on like Bills's woman. It was distressin'; it was, indeed.—Went + into hysterics, she did; and we thought far awhile she'd gone plum crazy, + far she cried so pitiful over him, and called him "Charley! Charley!" + 'stid of his right name, and went on, clean out of her head, tel she + finally jist fainted clean away. + </p> + <p> + Far three weeks Bills laid betwixt life and death, and that woman set by + him night and day, and tended him as patient as a' angel—and she was + a' angel, too; and he'd a-never lived to bother nobody agin ef it hadn't + a-be'n far Annie, as he called her. Zions said ther was a 'brazure of the—some + kind o' p'tubernce, and ef he'd a-be'n struck jist a quarter of a' inch + below—jist a quarter of a' inch—he'd a-be'n a dead man. And + I've sence wished—not 'at I want the life of a human bein' to + account far, on'y, well, no odds—I've sence wished 'at I had a-hit + him jist a quarter of a' inch below! + </p> + <p> + Well, of course, them days ther wasn't no law o' no account, and nothin' + was ever done about it. So Steve and me got our grindin', and talked the + matter over with Ezry and the boys. Ezry said he was a-goin' to do all he + could far Bills, 'cause he was a good hand, and when he wasn't drinkin' + ther wasn't no peaceabler man in the settlement. I kind o' suspicioned + what was up, but I said nothin' then. And Ezry said furder, as we was + about drivin' off, that Bills was a despert feller, and it was best to + kind o' humor him a little. "And you must kind o' be on your guard," he + says, "and I'll watch him and ef anything happens 'at I git wind of I'll + let you know," he says; and so we put out far home. + </p> + <p> + Mother tuck on awful about it. You see, she thought she'd be'h the whole + blame of it, 'cause the Sunday afore that her and Steve had went to + meetin', and they got there late, and the house was crowded, and Steve had + ast Bills to give up his seat to Mother, and he wouldn't do it, and said + somepin' 'at disturbed the prayin', and the preacher prayed 'at the feller + 'at was a-makin' the disturbance might be forgive; and that riled Bills so + he got up and left, and hung around till it broke up, so's he could git a + chance at Steve to pick a fight. And he did try it, and dared Steve and + double-dared him far a fight, but Mother begged so hard 'at she kep' him + out of it. Steve said 'at he'd a-told me all about it on the way to + Ezry's, on'y he'd promised Mother, you know, not to say nothin' to me. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + Ezry was over at our house about six weeks after the fight, appearantly as + happy as you please. We ast him how him and Bills was a-makin' it, and he + said firstrate; said 'at Bills was jist a-doin' splendid; said he'd got + moved in his new house 'at he'd fixed up far him, and ever'thing was + a-goin' on as smooth as could be; and Bills and the boys was on better + terms 'n ever; and says he, "As far as you and Steve 's concerned, Bills + don't 'pear to bear you no ill feelin's, and says as far as he 's + concerned the thing 's settled." "Well," says I, "Ezry, I hope so; but I + can't he'p but think ther 's somepin' at the bottom of all this;" and says + I, "I do n't think it's in Bills to ever amount to anything good;" and + says I, "It's my opinion ther 's a dog in the well, and now you mark it!" + </p> + <p> + Well, he said he <i>wasn't</i> jist easy, but maybe he 'd come out all + right; said he couldn't turn the feller off—he hadn't the heart to + do that, with that-air pore, dilicate woman o' his, and the baby. And then + he went on to tell what a smart sort o' woman Bills's wife was,—one + of the nicest little women he 'd ever laid eyes on, said she was; said she + was the kindest thing, and the sweetest-tempered, and all—and the + handiest woman 'bout the house, and 'bout sewin', and cookin', and the + like, and all kinds o' housework; and so good to the childern, and all; + and how they all got along so well; and how proud she was of her baby, and + allus a-goin' on about it and a-cryin' over it and a-carryin' on, and + wouldn't leave it out of her sight a minute. And Ezry said 'at she could + write so purty, and made sich purty pictures far the childern; and how + they all liked her better'n ther own mother. And, sence she'd moved, he + said it seemed so lonesome like 'thout <i>her</i> about the house—like + they'd lost one o' ther own fambly; said they didn't git to see her much + now, on'y sometimes, when her man would be at work, she'd run over far + awhile, and kiss all the childern and women-folks about the place,—the + greatest hand far the childern, she was; tell 'em all sorts o'little + stories, you know, and sing far 'em; said 'at she could sing so + sweet-like,'at time and time agin she'd break clean down in some song + o'nuther, and her voice would trimble so mournful-like 'at you'd find + yourse'f a-cryin' afore you knowed it. And she used to coax Ezry's woman + to let her take the childern home with her; and they used to allus want to + go, 'tel Bills come onc't while they was there, and they said he got to + jawin' her far a-makin' some to-do over the baby, and swore at her and + tuck it away from her and whipped it far cryin', and she cried and told + him to whip her and not little Annie, and he said that was jist what he + was a-doin'. And the childern was allus afear'd to go there any more after + that—'fear'd he'd come home and whip little Annie agin. Ezry said he + jist done that to skeer 'em away—'cause he didn't want a passel o' + childern a-whoopin' and a-howlin' and a-trackin' 'round the house all the + time. + </p> + <p> + But, shore enough, Bills, after the fight, 'peared like he 'd settled + down, and went 'bout his business so stiddy-like, and worked so well, the + neighbors begin to think he was all right after all, and railly <i>some</i> + got to <i>likin'</i> him. But far me, well, I was a leetle slow to argy + 'at the feller wasn't "a-possumin'." But the next time I went over to the + mill—and Steve went with me—old Ezry come and met us, and said + 'at Bills didn't have no hard feelin's ef <i>we</i> didn't, and 'at he + wanted us to fergive him; said 'at Bills wanted him to tell us 'at he was + sorry the way he'd acted, and wanted us to fergive him. Well, I looked at + Ezry, and we both looked at him, jist perfectly tuck back—the idee + o' Bills a-wantin' anybody to fergive him! And says I, "Ezry, what in the + name o' common sense do you mean?" And says he, "I mean jist what I say; + Bills jined meetin' last night and had 'em all a-prayin' far him; and we + all had <i>a glorious time</i>," says old Ezry; "and his woman was there + and jined, too, and prayed and shouted and tuck on to beat all; and Bills + got up and spoke and give in his experience, and said he'd be'n a bad man, + but, glory to God, them times was past and gone; said 'at he wanted all of + 'em to pray far him, and he wanted to prove faithful, and wanted all his + inemies to fergive him; and prayed 'at you and Steve and your folks would + fergive him, and ever'body 'at he ever wronged anyway." And old Ezry was + a-goin' on, and his eyes a-sparklin', and a-rubbin' his hands, he was so + excited and tickled over it, 'at Steve and me we jist stood there + a-gawkin' like, tel Bills hisse'f come up and rech out one hand to Steve + and one to me; and Steve shuck with him kind o' oneasy like, and I—well, + sir, I never felt cur'oser in my born days than I did that minute. The + cold chills crep' over me, and I shuck as ef I had the agur, and I folded + my hands behind me and I looked that feller square in the eye, and I tried + to speak three or four times afore I could make it, and when I did, my + voice wasn't natchurl—sounded like a feller a-whisperin' through a + tin horn er somepin'.—and I says, says I, "You're a liar," slow and + delibert. That was all. His eyes blazed a minute, and drapped; and he + turned, 'thout a word, and walked off. And Ezry says, "He's in airnest; I + know he's in airnest, er he'd a-never a-tuck that!" And so he went on, tel + finally Steve jined in, and betwixt 'em they p'suaded me 'at I was in the + wrong and the best thing to do was to make it all up, which I finally did. + And Bills said 'at he'd a-never a-felt jist right 'thout <i>my</i> + friendship, far he'd wronged me, he said, and he'd wronged Steve and + Mother, too, and he wanted a chance, he said, o' makin' things straight + agin. + </p> + <p> + Well, a-goin' home, I don't think Steve and me talked o' nothin' else but + Bills—how airnest the feller acted 'bout it, and how, ef he <i>wasn't</i> + in airnest he'd a-never a-swallered that 'lie,' you see. That's what + walked my log, far he could a-jist as easy a-knocked me higher 'n + Kilgore's kite as he could to walk away 'thout a-doin' of it. + </p> + <p> + Mother was awful tickled when she heerd about it, far she'd had an idee + 'at we'd have trouble afore we got back, and a-gitten home safe, and + a-bringin' the news 'bout Bills a-jinin' church and all, tickled her so + 'at she mighty nigh shouted far joy. You see, Mother was a' old + church-member all her life; and I don't think she ever missed a sermont er + a prayer-meetin' 'at she could possibly git to—rain er shine, wet er + dry. When ther was a meetin' of any kind a-goin' on, go she would, and + nothin' short o' sickness in the fambly, er knowin' nothin' of it would + stop <i>her</i>! And clean up to her dyin' day she was a God-fearin' and + consistent Christian ef ther ever was one. I mind now when she was tuck + with her last spell and laid bedfast far eighteen months, she used to tell + the preacher, when he 'd come to see her and pray and go on, 'at she could + die happy ef she could on'y be with 'em all agin in their love-feasts and + revivals. She was purty low then, and had be'n a-failin' fast far a day er + two; and that day they'd be'n a-holdin' service at the house. It was her + request, you know, and the neighbers had congergated and was a-prayin' and + a-singin' her favorite hymns—one in p'tickler, "God moves in a + mysterous way his wunders to p'form," and 'bout his "Walkin' on the sea + and a-ridin' of the storm."—Well, anyway, they'd be'n a-singin' that + hymn far her—she used to sing that 'n so much, I ricollect as far + back as I kin remember; and I mind how it used to make me feel so + lonesome-like and solemn, don't you know,—when I'd be a-knockin' + round the place along of evenin's, and she'd be a-milkin', and I'd hear + her, at my feedin', way off by myse'f, and it allus somehow made me feel + like a feller'd ort o' try and live as nigh right as the law allows, and + that's about my doctern yit. Well, as I was a-goin' on to say, they'd jist + finished that old hymn, and Granny Lowry was jist a-goin to lead in + prayer, when I noticed mother kind o' tried to turn herse'f in bed, and + smiled so weak and faint-like, and looked at me, with her lips a-kind o' + movin'; and I thought maybe she wanted another dos't of her syrup 'at + Ezry's woman had fixed up far her, and I kind o' stooped down over her and + ast her if she wanted anything. "Yes," she says, and nodded, and her voice + sounded so low and solemn and so far away-like 'at I knowed she'd never + take no more medicine on this airth. And I tried to ast her what it was + she wanted, but I couldn't say nothin'; my throat hurt me, and I felt the + warm tears a-boolgin' up, and her kind old face a-glimmerin' a-way so + pale-like afore my eyes, and still a-smilin' up so lovin' and forgivin' + and so good 'at it made me think so far back in the past I seemed to be a + little boy agin; and seemed like her thin gray hair was brown, and + a-shinin' in the sun as it used to do when she helt me on her shoulder in + the open door, when Father was a-livin' and we used to go to meet him at + the bars; seemed like her face was young agin, and a-smilin' like it allus + used to be, and her eyes as full o' hope and happiness as afore they ever + looked on grief er ever shed a tear. And I thought of all the trouble they + had saw on my account, and of all the lovin' words her lips had said, and + of all the thousand things her pore old hands had done far me 'at I never + even thanked her far; and how I loved her better 'n all the world besides, + and would be so lonesome ef she went away—Lord! I can't tell you + what I didn't think and feel and see. And I knelt down by her, and she + whispered then far Steven, and he come, and we kissed her—and she + died—a smilin' like a child—jist like a child. + </p> + <p> + Well—well! 'Pears like I'm allus a-runnin' into somepin' else. I + wisht I could tell a story 'thout driftin' off in matters 'at hain't no + livin' thing to do with what I started out with. I try to keep from + thinkin' of afflictions and the like, 'cause sich is bound to come to the + best of us; but a feller's ricollection will bring 'em up, and I reckon + it'd ort 'o be er it wouldn't be; and I've thought, sometimes, it was done + may be to kind o' admonish a feller, as the Good Book says, of how good a + world 'd be 'thout no sorrow in it. + </p> + <p> + Where was I? Oh, yes, I ricollect;—about Bills a-jinin' church. + Well, sir, ther' wasn't a better-actin' feller and more religious-like in + all the neighberhood. Spoke in meetin's, he did, and tuck a' active part + in all religious doin's, and, in fact, was jist as square a man, + appearantly, as the preacher hisse'f. And about six er eight weeks after + he'd jined, they got up another revival, and things run high. Ther' was a + big excitement, and ever'body was a'tendin' from far and near. Bills and + Ezry got the mill-hands to go, and didn't talk o' nothin' but religion. + People thought awhile 'at old Ezry 'd turn preacher, he got so interested + 'bout church matters. He was easy excited 'bout anything; and when he went + into a thing it was in dead earnest, shore!—"jist flew off the + handle," as I heerd a comical feller git off onct. And him and Bills was + up and at it ever' night—prayin' and shoutin' at the top o' the'r + voice. Them railly did seem like good times—when ever'body jined + together, and prayed and shouted ho-sanner, and danced around together, + and hugged each other like they was so full o' glory they jist couldn't + he'p theirse'v's—that's the reason I jined; it looked so kind o' + whole-souled-like and good, you understand. But la! I didn't hold out on'y + far a little while, and no wunder! + </p> + <p> + Well, about them times Bills was tuck down with the agur; first got to + chillin' ever'-other-day, then ever' day, and harder and harder, tel + sometimes he 'd be obleeged to stay away from meetin' on account of it. + And one't I was at meetin' when he told about it, and how when he couldn't + be with 'em he allus prayed at home, and he said 'at he believed his + prayers was answered, far onc't he'd prayed far a new outpourin' of the + Holy Sperit, and that very night ther' was three new jiners. And another + time he said 'at he 'd prayed 'at Wesley Morris would jine, and lo and + behold you! he <i>did</i> jine, and the very night 'at he prayed he would. + </p> + <p> + Well, the night I'm a-speakin' of he'd had a chill the day afore and + couldn't go that night, and was in bed when Ezry druv past far him; said + he'd like to go, but had a high fever and couldn't. And then Ezry's woman + ast him ef he was too sick to spare Annie; and he said no, they could take + her and the baby: and told her to fix his medicine so's he could reach it + 'thout gittin' out o' bed, and he'd git along 'thout her. And so she tuck + the baby and went along with Ezry and his folks. + </p> + <p> + I was at meetin' that night and ricollect 'em comin' in. Annie got a seat + jist behind me—Steve give her his'n and stood up; and I ricollect + a-astin' her how Bills was a-gittin' along with the agur; and little + Annie, the baby, kep' a-pullin' my hair and a-crowin' tel finally she went + to sleep; and Steve ast her mother to let <i>him</i> hold her—cutest + little thing you ever laid eyes on, and the very pictur' <i>of</i> her + mother. + </p> + <p> + Old Daddy Barker preached that night, and a mighty good sermont. His text, + ef I ricollect right, was "workin' out your own salvation;" and when I + listen to preachers nowadays in ther big churches and ther fine pulpits, I + allus think o' Daddy Barker, and kind o' some way wisht the old times + could come agin, with the old log meetin'-house with its puncheon floor + and the chinkin' in the walls, and old Daddy Barker in the pulpit. He'd + make you feel 'at the Lord could make hissef at home there, and find jist + as abundant comfort in the old log house as he could in any of your + fine-furnished churches 'at you can't set down in 'thout payin' far the + privilege, like it was a theater. + </p> + <p> + Ezry had his two little girls jine that night, and I ricollect the + preacher made sich a purty prayer about the Savior a-cotin' from the Bible + 'bout "Suffer little childern to come unto me" and all; and talked so + purty about the jedgment day, and mothers a-meetin' the'r little ones + there and all; and went on tel ther wasn't a dry eye in the house—and + jist as he was a-windin' up, Abe Riggers stuck his head in at the door and + hollered "fire" loud as he could yell. We all rushed out, a-thinkin' it + was the meetin'-house; but he hollered it was the mill; and shore enough, + away off to the southards we could see the light acrost the woods, and see + the blaze a-lickin' up above the trees. I seed old Ezry as he come + a-scufflin' through the crowd; and we put out together far it. Well, it + was two mild to the mill, but by the time we'd half way got there, we + could tell it wasn't the mill a-burnin', 'at the fire was furder to the + left, and that was Ezry's house; and by the time we got there it wasn't + much use. We pitched into the household goods, and got out the beddin', + and the furnitur' and cheers and the like o' that; saved the clock and a + bedstid, and got the bureau purt' nigh out when they hollered to us 'at + the roof was a cavin' in, and we had to leave it; well, we'd tuck the + drawers out, all but the big one, and that was locked; and it and all in + it went with the buildin', and that was a big loss: All the money 'at Ezry + was a-layin' by was in that-air drawer, and a lot o' keepsakes and + trinkets 'at Ezry's woman said she wouldn't a-parted with far the world + and all. + </p> + <p> + I never seed a troubleder fambly than they was. It jist 'peared like old + Ezry give clean down, and the women and childern a-cryin' and a-takin' on. + It looked jist awful—shore's you're born!—Losin' ever'thing + they'd worked so hard far—and there it was, purt' nigh midnight, and + a fambly, jist a little while ago all so happy, and now with no home to go + to ner nothin'! + </p> + <p> + It was arranged far Ezry's to move in with Bills—that was about the + on'y chance—on'y one room and a loft; but Bills said they could + manage <i>some</i> way, far a while anyhow. + </p> + <p> + Bills said he seed the fire when it first started, and could a-put it out + ef he'd on'y be'n strong enough to git there; said he started twic't to + go, but was too weak and had to go back to bed agin; said it was a-blazin' + in the kitchen roof when he first seed it. So the gineral conclusion 'at + we all come to was—it must a-ketched from the flue. + </p> + <p> + It was too late in the Fall then to think o' buildin' even the onryest + kind o' shanty, and so Ezry moved in with Bills. And Bills used to say ef + it had n't a-be'n far Ezry <i>he'd</i> a-never a-had no house, ner nuthin' + to put in it, nuther. You see, all the household goods 'at Bills had in + the world he'd got of Ezry, and he 'lowed he'd be a triflin' whelp ef he + didn't do all in his power to make Ezry perfeckly at home 's long as he + wanted to stay there. And together they managed to make room far 'em all, + by a-buildin' a kind o' shed-like to the main house, intendin' to build + when Spring come. And ever'thing went along first-rate, I guess; never + heerd no complaints—that is, p'ticular. + </p> + <p> + Ezry was kind o' down far a long time, though; didn't like to talk about + his trouble much, and didn't 'tend meetin' much, like he used to; said it + made him think 'bout his house burnin', and he didn't feel safe to lose + sight o' the mill. And the meetin's kind o' broke up altogether that + winter. Almost broke up religious doin's, it did. 'S long as I've lived + here I never seed jist sich a slack in religion as ther' was that winter; + and 'fore then, I kin mind the time when ther' wasn't a night the whole + endurin' winter when they didn't have preachin' er prayer-meetin' o' some + kind a-goin' on. W'y, I ricollect one night in p'ticular—<i>the + coldest</i> night, <i>whooh!</i> And somebody had stold the meetin'-house + door, and they was obleeged to preach 'thout it. And the wind blowed in so + they had to hold the'r hats afore the candles, and then one't-in-a-while + they'd git sluffed out. And the snow drifted in so it was jist like + settin' out doors; and they had to stand up when they prayed—yessir! + stood up to pray. I noticed that night they was a' oncommon lot o' jiners, + and I believe to this day 'at most of 'em jined jist to git up wher' the + stove was. Lots o' folks had the'r feet froze right in meetin'; and Steve + come home with his ears froze like they was whittled out o' bone; and he + said 'at Mary Madaline Wells's feet was froze, and she had two pair o' + socks on over her shoes. Oh, it was cold, now I tell you! + </p> + <p> + They run the mill part o' that winter—part they couldn't. And they + didn't work to say stiddy tel along in Aprile, and then ther' was snow on + the ground yit—in the shadders—and the ground froze, so you + couldn't hardly dig a grave. But at last they got to kind o' jiggin' along + agin. Plenty to do ther' was; and old Ezry was mighty tickled, too; + 'peared to recruit right up like. Ezry was allus best tickled when things + was a-stirrin', and then he was a-gittin' ready far buildin', you know, + wanted a house of his own, he said—and of course it wasn't adzackly + like home, all cluttered up as they was there at Bills's. They got along + mighty well, though, together; and the women-folks and childern got along + the best in the world. Ezry's woman used to say she never laid eyes on + jist sich another woman as Annie was. Said it was jist as good as a + winter's schoolin' far the childern; said her two little girls had learnt + to read, and didn't know the'r a-b abs afore Annie learnt 'em; well, the + oldest one, Mary Patience, she did know her letters, I guess—fourteen + year old, she was; but Mandy, the youngest, had never seed inside a book + afore that winter; and the way she learnt was jist su'prisin'. She was + puny-like and frail-lookin' allus, but ever'body 'lowed she was a heap + smarter 'n Mary Patience, and she was; and in my opinion she railly had + more sense 'n all the rest o' the childern put together, 'bout books and + cipherin' and arethmetic, and the like; and John Wesley, the oldest of + 'em, he got to teachin' at last, when he growed up,—but, la! he + couldn't write his own name so 's you could read it. I allus thought ther + was a good 'eal of old Ezry in John Wesley. Liked to romance 'round with + the youngsters 'most too well.—Spiled him far teachin', I allus + thought; far instance, ef a scholard said somepin' funny in school, + John-Wes he'd jist have to have his laugh out with the rest, and it was + jist fun far the boys, you know, to go to school to him. Allus in far + spellin'-matches and the like, and learnin' songs and sich. I ricollect he + give a' exhibition onc't, one winter, and I'll never fergit it, I reckon. + </p> + <p> + The school-house would on'y hold 'bout forty, comfortable, and that night + ther' was up'ards of a hunderd er more—jist crammed and jammed! And + the benches was piled back so's to make room far the flatform they'd built + to make the'r speeches and dialogues on; and fellers a-settin' up on them + back seats, the'r heads was clean aginst the j'ist. It was a low ceilin', + anyhow, and o' course them 'at tuck a part in the doin's was way up, too. + Janey Thompson had to give up her part in a dialogue, 'cause she looked so + tall she was afeard the congergation would laugh at her; and they couldn't + git her to come out and sing in the openin' song 'thout lettin' her set + down first and git ready 'fore they pulled the curtain. You see, they had + sheets sewed together, and fixed on a string some way, to slide back'ards + and for'ards, don't you know. But they was a big bother to 'em—couldn't + git 'em to work like. Ever' time they'd git 'em slid 'bout half way + acrost, somepin' would ketch, and they'd have to stop and fool with 'em + awhile 'fore they could git 'em the balance o' the way acrost. Well, + finally, t'ords the last, they jist kep' 'em drawed back all the time. It + was a pore affair, and spiled purt nigh ever' piece; but the scholards all + wanted it fixed thataway, the teacher said, in a few appropert remarks he + made when the thing was over. Well, I was a settin' in the back part o' + the house on them high benches, and my head was jist even with them on the + flatform, and the lights was pore, wher' the string was stretched far the + curtain to slide on it looked like the p'formers was strung on it. And + when Lige Boyer's boy was a-speakin'—kind o' mumbled it, you know, + and you couldn't half hear—it looked far the world like he was + a-chawin' on that-air string; and some devilish feller 'lowed ef he'd chaw + it clean in two it'd be a good thing far the balance. After that they all + sung a sleigh-ridin' song, and it was right purty, the way they got it + off. Had a passel o' sleigh-bells they'd ring ever' onc't-in-a-while, and + it sounded purty—shore! + </p> + <p> + Then Hunicut's girl, Marindy, read a letter 'bout winter, and what fun the + youngsters allus had in winter-time, a-sleighin' and the like, and + spellin'-matches, and huskin'-bees, and all. Purty good, it was, and made + a feller think o' old times. Well, that was about the best thing ther' was + done that night; but ever'body said the teacher wrote it far her; and I + wouldn't be su'prised much, far they was married not long afterwards. I + expect he wrote it far her.—Wouldn't put it past Wes! + </p> + <p> + They had a dialogue, too, 'at was purty good. Little Bob Arnold was all + fixed up—had on his pap's old bell-crowned hat, the one he was + married in. Well, I jist thought die I would when I seed that old hat and + called to mind the night his pap was married, and we all got him a little + how-come-you-so on some left-handed cider 'at had be'n a-layin' in a + whisky-bar'l tel it was strong enough to bear up a' egg. I kin ricollect + now jist how he looked in that hat, when it was all new, you know, and + a-settin on the back of his head, and his hair in his eyes; and sich hair!—as + red as git-out—and his little black eyes a-shinin' like beads. Well + sir, you'd a-died to a-seed him a-dancin'. We danced all night that night, + and would a-be'n a-dancin' yit, I reckon, ef the fiddler hadn't a-give + out. Wash Lowry was a-fiddlin' far us; and along to'rds three or four in + the mornin' Wash was purty well fagged out. You see, Wash could never play + far a dance er nothin' 'thout a-drinkin' more er less, and when he got to + a certain pitch you couldn't git nothin' out o' him but "Barbary Allan;" + so at last he struck up on that, and jist kep' it up and <i>kep</i>' it + up, and nobody couldn't git nothin' else out of him! + </p> + <p> + Now, anybody 'at ever danced knows 'at "Barbary Allan" hain't no tune to + dance by, no way you can fix it; and, o' course, the boys seed at onc't + the'r fun was gone ef they could n't git him on another tune.—And + they 'd coax and beg and plead with him, and maybe git him started on "The + Wind Blows over the Barley," and 'bout the time they'd git to knockin' it + down agin purty lively, he'd go to sawin' away on "Barbary Allan"—and + I'll-be-switched-to-death ef that feller didn't set there and play hisse'f + sound asleep on "Barbary Allan," and we had to wake him up afore he'd + quit! Now, that's jes' a plum' facts. And ther' wasn't a better fiddler + nowheres than Wash Lowry, when he was at hisse'f. I've heerd a good many + fiddlers in my day, and I never heerd one yit 'at could play my style o' + fiddlin' ekal to Wash Lowry. You see, Wash didn't play none o' this-here + newfangled music—nothin' but the old tunes, you understand, "The + Forkéd Deer," and "Old Fat Gal," and "Gray Eagle," and the like. Now, + them's music! Used to like to hear Wash play "Gray Eagle." He could come + as nigh a-makin' that old tune talk as ever you heerd! Used to think a + heap o' his fiddle—and he had a good one, shore. I've heard him say, + time and time agin, 'at a five-dollar gold-piece wouldn't buy it, and I + knowed him my-se'f to refuse a calf far it onc't—yessir, a yearland + calf—and the feller offered him a double-bar'l'd pistol to boot, and + blame ef he'd take it; said he'd ruther part with anything else he owned + than his fiddle.—But here I am, clean out o' the furry agin. Oh, + yes; I was a-tellin' about little Bob, with that old hat; and he had on a + swaller-tail coat and a lot o' fixin's, a-actin' like he was 'squire; and + he had him a great long beard made out o' corn-silks, and you wouldn't + a-knowed him ef it wasn't far his voice. Well, he was a-p'tendin' he was a + 'squire a-tryin' some kind o' law-suit, you see; and John Wesley he was + the defendunt, and Joney Wiles, I believe it was, played like he was the + plaintive. And they'd had a fallin' out 'bout some land, and was a-lawin' + far p'session, you understand. Well, Bob he made out it was a mighty bad + case when John-Wes comes to consult him about it, and tells <i>him</i> ef + a little p'int o' law was left out he thought he could git the land far + him. And then John-Wes bribes him, you understand, to leave out the p'int + o' law, and the 'squire says he'll do all he kin, and so John-Wes goes out + a feelin' purty good. Then <i>Wiles</i> comes in to consult the 'squire + don't you see. And the 'squire tells <i>him</i> the same tale he told <i>John + Wesley</i>. So <i>Wiles</i> bribes him to leave out the p'int o' law in <i>his</i> + favor, don't you know. So when the case is tried he decides in favor o' + John-Wes, a-tellin' Wiles some cock-and-bull story 'bout havin' to manage + it thataway so 's to git the case mixed so's he could git it far him + shore; and posts him to sue far change of venue er somepin',—anyway, + Wiles gits a new trial, and then the 'squire decides in <i>his</i> favor, + and tells John-Wes another trial will fix it in <i>his</i> favor, and so + on.—And so it goes on tel, anyway, he gits holt o' the land hisse'f + and all ther money besides, and leaves them to hold the bag! Wellsir, it + was purty well got up; and they said it was John-Wes's doin's, and I 'low + it was—he was a good hand at anything o' that sort, and knowed how + to make fun.—But I've be'n a tellin' you purty much ever'thing but + what I started out with, and I'll try and hurry through, 'cause I know + you're tired. + </p> + <p> + 'Long 'bout the beginin' o' summer, things had got back to purty much the + old way. The boys round was a-gittin' devilish, and o' nights 'specially + ther' was a sight o' meanness a-goin' on. The mill-hands, most of'em, was + mixed up in it—Coke and Morris, and them 'at had jined meetin' 'long + in the winter, had all backslid, and was a-drinkin' and carousin' 'round + worse 'n ever. + </p> + <p> + People perdicted 'at Bills would backslide, but he helt on faithful, to + all appearance; said he liked to see a feller when he made up his mind to + do right, he liked to see him do it, and not go back on his word; and even + went so far as to tell Ezry ef they didn't put a stop to it he'd quit the + neighberhood and go some'rs else. And Bills was Ezry's head man then, and + he couldn't a-got along 'thout him; and I b'lieve ef Bills had a-said the + word old Ezry would a-turned off ever' hand he had. He got so he jist left + ever'thing to Bills. Ben Carter was turned off far somepin', and nobody + ever knowed what. Bills and him had never got along jist right sence the + fight. + </p> + <p> + Ben was with this set I was a-tellin' you 'bout, and they'd got him to + drinkin' and in trouble, o' course. I'd knowed Ben well enough to know he + wouldn't do nothin' onry ef he wasn't agged on, and ef he ever was mixed + up in anything o' the kind Wes Morris and John Coke was at the bottom of + it, and I take notice they wasn't turned off when Ben was. + </p> + <p> + One night the crowd was out, and Ben amongst 'em, o' course.—Sence + he'd be'n turned off he'd be'n a-drinkin',—and I never blamed him + much; he was so good-hearted like and easy led off, and I allus b'lieved + it wasn't his own doin's. + </p> + <p> + Well, this night they cut up awful, and ef ther was one fight ther was a + dozend; and when all the devilment was done they <i>could</i> do, they + started on a stealin' expedition, and stold a lot o' chickens and tuck 'em + to the mill to roast'em; and, to make a long story short, that night the + mill burnt clean to the ground. And the whole pack of 'em cologued + together aginst Carter to saddle it onto him; claimed 'at they left Ben + there at the mill 'bout twelve o'clock—which was a fact, far he was + dead drunk and couldn't git away. Steve stumbled over him while the mill + was a-burnin' and drug him out afore he knowed what was a-goin' on, and it + was all plain enough to Steve 'at Ben didn't have no hand in the firm' of + it. But I'll tell you he sobered up mighty suddent when he seed what was + a-goin' on, and heerd the neighbors a-hollerin', and a-threatenin', and + a-goin' on!—far it seemed to be the ginerl idee 'at the buildin' was + fired a-purpose. And says Ben to Steve, says he, "I expect I'll have to + say good-bye to you, far they've got me in a ticklish place! I kin see + through it all now, when it's too late!" And jist then Wesley Morris + hollers out, "Where's Ben Carter?" and started to'rds where me and Ben and + Steve was a-standin'; and Ben says, wild like, "Don't you two fellers ever + think it was my doin's," and whispers "Good-bye," and started off, and + when we turned, Wesley Morris was a-layin' flat of his back, and we heerd + Carter yell to the crowd 'at "that man"—meanin' Morris—" + needed lookin' after worse than <i>he</i> did," and another minute he + plunged into the river and swum acrost; and we all stood and watched him + in the flickerin' light tel he clum out on t'other bank; and 'at was last + anybody ever seed o' Ben Carter! + </p> + <p> + It must a-be'n about three o'clock in the mornin' by this time, and the + mill then was jist a-smoulderin' to ashes—far it was as dry as + tinder and burnt like a flash—and jist as a party was a-talkin' o' + organizin' and follerin' Carter, we heerd a yell 'at I'll never fergit ef + I'd live tel another flood. Old Ezry, it was, as white as a corpse, and + with the blood a-streamin' out of a gash in his forehead, and his clothes + half on, come a-rushin' into the crowd and a-hollerin' fire and murder + ever' jump. "My house is a-burnin', and my folks is all a-bein' murdered + while you 're a-standin' here! And Bills done it! Bills done it!" he + hollered, as he headed the crowd and started back far home. "Bills done + it! I caught him at it; and he would a-murdered me in cold blood ef it had + n't a-be'n far his woman. He knocked me down, and had me tied to a + bed-post in the kitchen afore I come to. And his woman cut me loose and + told me to run far he'p; and says I, 'Where's Bills?' and she says, 'He's + after me by this time.' And jist then we heerd Bills holler, and we + looked, and he was a-standin' out in the clearin' in front o' the house, + with little Annie in his arms; and he hollered wouldn't she like to kiss + the baby good-bye." + </p> + <p> + "And she hollered My God! far me to save little Annie, and fainted clean + dead away. And I heerd the roof a-crackin', and grabbed her up and packed + her out jist in time. And when I looked up, Bills hollered out agin, and + says, 'Ezry,' he says, 'You kin begin to kind a' git an idee o' what a + good feller I am! And ef you hadn't a-caught me you 'd a-never a-knowed + it, and 'Brother Williams' wouldn't a-be'n called away to another + app'intment like he is.' And says he, 'Now, ef you foller me I'll finish + you shore!—You're safe now, far I hain't got time to waste on you + furder.' And jist then his woman kind o' come to her senses agin and + hollered far little Annie, and the child heerd her and helt out its little + arms to go to her, and hollered 'Mother! Mother!' And Bills says, Dam your + mother! ef it hadn't a-be'n far <i>her</i> I'd a-be'n all right. And dam + you too!' he says to me,—'This'll pay you far that lick you struck + me; and far you a-startin' reports when I first come 'at more 'n likely + I'd done somepin' mean over east and come out west to reform! And I wonder + ef I <i>didn't</i> do somepin' mean afore I come here?' he went on; 'kill + somebody er somepin'? And I wonder ef I ain't reformed enough to go back? + Good-bye, Annie!' he hollered; 'and you needn't fret about your baby, I + 'll be the same indulgent father to it I 've allus be'n!' And the baby was + a-cryin' and a-reachin' out its little arms to'rds its mother, when Bills + he turned and struck oft' in the dark to'rds the river." + </p> + <p> + This was about the tale 'at Ezry told us, as nigh as I can ricollect, and + by the time he finished, I never want to see jist sich another crowd o' + men as was a-swarmin' there. Ain't it awful when sich a crowd gits + together? I tell you it makes my flesh creep to think about it! + </p> + <p> + As Bills had gone in the direction of the river, we wasn't long in makin' + our minds up 'at he'd have to cross it, and ef he done <i>that</i> he'd + have to use the boat 'at was down below the mill, er wade it at the ford, + a mild er more down. So we divided in three sections, like—one to go + and look after the folks at the house, and another to the boat, and + another to the ford. And Steve and me and Ezry was in the crowd 'at struck + far the boat, and we made time a-gittin' there! It was awful dark, and the + sky was a-cloudin'up like a storm; but we wasn't long a-gittin' to the + p'int where the boat was allus tied; but ther' wasn't no boat there! Steve + kind o' tuck the lead, and we all talked in whispers. And Steve said to + kind o' lay low and maybe we could hear somepin', and some feller said he + thought he heerd somepin' strange like, but the wind was kind o' raisin' + and kep' up sich a moanin' through the trees along the bank 't we couldn't + make out nothin'. "Listen!" says Steve, suddent like, "I hear somepin!" We + was all still again—and we all heerd a moanin' 'at was sadder 'n the + wind—sounded mournfuller to me 'cause I knowed it in a minute, and I + whispered, "Little Annie." And 'way out acrost the river we could hear the + little thing a-sobbin', and we all was still 's death; and we heerd a + voice we knowd was Bills's say, "Dam ye! Keep still, or I'll drownd ye!" + And the wind kind o' moaned agin and we could hear the trees a-screechin' + together in the dark, and the leaves a-rustlin'; and when it kind o' + lulled agin, we heerd Bills make a kind o' splash with the oars; and jist + then Steve whispered far to lay low and be ready—he was a-goin' to + riconnitre; and he tuck his coat and shoes off, and slid over the bank and + down into the worter as slick as a' eel. Then ever'thing was still agin, + 'cept the moanin' o' the child, which kep' a-gittin' louder and louder; + and then a voice whispered to us, "He's a-comin' back; the crowd below has + sent scouts up, and they're on t' other side. Now watch clos't, and he's + our meat." We could hear Bills, by the moanin' o' the baby, a-comin' + nearder and nearder, tel suddently he made a sort o' miss-lick with the + oar, I reckon, and must a splashed the baby, far she set up a loud cryin; + and jist then old Ezry, who was a-leanin' over the bank, kind o' lost his + grip some way o' nuther, and fell kersplash in the worter like a' old + chunk. "Hello!" says Bills, through the dark, "you're there, too, air ye?" + as old Ezry splashed up the bank agin. And "Cuss you!" he says then, to + the baby—"ef it hadn't be'n far your infernal squawkin' I'd a-be'n + all right; but you've brought the whole neighberhood out, and, dam you, + I'll jist let you swim out to 'em!" And we heerd a splash, then a kind o' + gurglin', and then Steve's voice a-hollerin', "Close in on him, boys; I've + got the baby!" And about a dozend of us bobbed off the bank like so many + bull-frogs, and I'll tell you the worter b'iled! We could jist make out + the shape o' the boat, and Bills a-standin' with a' oar drawed back to + smash the first head 'at come in range. It was a mean place to git at him. + We knowed he was despert, and far a minute we kind o' helt back. Fifteen + foot o' worter 's a mighty onhandy place to git hit over the head in! And + Bills says, "You hain't afeard, I reckon—twenty men agin one!" + "You'd better give your se'f up!" hollered Ezry from the shore. "No, + Brother Sturgiss," says Bills, "I can't say 'at I'm at all anxious 'bout + bein' borned agin, jist yit awhile," he says; "I see you kind o' 'pear to + go in far babtism; guess you'd better go home and git some dry clothes on; + and, speakin' o' home, you'd ort 'o be there by all means—your house + might catch afire and burn up while you're gone!" And jist then the boat + give a suddent shove under him—some feller'd div under and tilted it—and + far a minute it throwed him off his guard and the boys closed in. Still he + had the advantage, bein' in the boat, and as fast as a feller would climb + in he'd git a whack o' the oar, tel finally they got to pilin' in a little + too fast far him to manage, and he hollered then 'at we'd have to come to + the bottom ef we got him, and with that he div out o' the end o' the boat, + and we lost sight of him; and I'll be blame ef he didn't give us the slip + after all. + </p> + <p> + Wellsir, we watched far him, and some o' the boys swum on down stream, + expectin' he'd raise, but couldn't find hide ner hair of him; so we left + the boat a-driftin' off down stream and swum ashore, a-thinkin' he'd jist + drownded hisse'f a-purpose. But ther' was more su'prise waitin' far us + yit,—for lo-and-behold-you, when we got ashore ther' wasn't no trace + o' Steve er the baby to be found. Ezry said he seed Steve when he fetched + little Annie ashore, and she was all right on'y she was purt nigh past + cryin'; and he said Steve had lapped his coat around her and give her to + him to take charge of, and he got so excited over the fight he laid her + down betwixt a couple o' logs and kind o' forget about her tel the thing + was over, and he went to look far her, and she was gone. Couldn't a-be'n + 'at she'd a-wundered off her-own-se'f; and it couldn't a-be'n 'at Steve'd + take her, 'thout a-lettin us know it. It was a mighty aggervatin' + conclusion to come to, but we had to do it, and that was, Bills must a got + ashore unbeknownst to us and packed her off. Sich a thing wasn't hardly + probable, yit it was a thing 'at might be; and after a-talkin' it over we + had to admit 'at it must a-be'n the way of it. But where was Steve? W'y, + we argied, he'd discivvered she was gone, and had put out on track of her + 'thout losin' time to stop and explain the thing. The next question was, + what did Bills want with her agin? He'd tried to drownd her onc't. We + could ast questions enough, but c'rect answers was mighty skearce, and we + jist concluded 'at the best thing to do was to put out far the ford, far + that was the nighdest place Bills could cross 'thout a boat, and ef it was + him tuck the child he was still on our side o' the river, o' course. So we + struck out far the ford, a-leav-in' a couple o' men to search up the + river. A drizzlin' sort o' rain had set in by this time, and with that and + the darkness and the moanin' of the wind, it made 'bout as lonesome a + prospect as a feller ever wants to go through agin. + </p> + <p> + It was jist a-gittin' a little gray-like in the mornin' by the time we + reached the ford, but you couldn't hardly see two rods afore you far the + mist and the fog 'at had settled along the river. We looked far tracks, + but couldn't make out nuthin'. Thereckly old Ezry punched me and p'inted + out acrost the river. "What's that?" he whispers. Jist 'bout half way + acrost was somepin' white-like in the worter—couldn't make out what—perfeckly + still it was. And I whispered back and told him I guess it wasn't nothin' + but a sycamore snag. "Listen!" says he; "Sycamore snags don't make no + noise like that!" And, shore enough, it was the same moanin' noise we'd + heerd the baby makin' when we first got on the track. Sobbin' she was, as + though nigh about dead. "Well, ef that's Bills," says I—"and I + reckon ther' hain't no doubt but it is—what in the name o' all + that's good and bad's the feller a-standin' there far?" And a-creep-in' + clos'ter, we could make him out plainer and plainer. It was him; and there + he stood breast-high in the worter, a-holdin' the baby on his shoulder + like, and a lookin' up stream, and a-waitin'. + </p> + <p> + "What do you make out of it?" says Ezry. "What's he waitin' far?" + </p> + <p> + And a strainin' my eyes in the direction he was a-lookin' I seed somepin' + a-movin' down the river, and a minute later I'd made out the old boat + a-driftin' down stream; and then of course ever'thing was plain enough: He + was waitin' far the boat, and ef he got <i>that</i> he'd have the same + advantage on us he had afore. + </p> + <p> + "Boys," says I, "he mustn't git that boat agin! Foller me, and don't let + him git to the shore alive." And in we plunged. He seed us, but he never + budged, on'y to grab the baby by its little legs, and swing it out at + arms-len'th. "Stop, there," he hollered. "Stop jist where you air! Move + another inch and I'll drownd this dam young-un afore your eyes!" he says.—And + he 'd a done it. "Boys," says I, "he's got us. Don't move! This thing'll + have to rest with a higher power 'n our 'n! Ef any of you kin pray," says + I, "now's a good time to do it!" + </p> + <p> + Jist then the boat swung up, and Bills grabbed it and rech 'round and set + the baby in it, never a-takin' his eye off o' us, though, far a minute. + "Now," says he, with a sort o' snarlin' laugh, "I've on'y got a little + while to stay with you, and I want to say a few words afore I go. I want + to tell you fellers, in the first place, 'at you've be'n <i>fooled</i> in + me: I <i>hain't</i> a good feller, now, honest! And ef you're a little the + worse far findin' it out so late in the day, you hain't none the worse far + losin' me so soon—far I'm a-goin' away now, and any interference + with my arrangements 'll on'y give you more trouble; so it's better all + around to let me go peaceable and jist while I'm in the notion. I expect + it'll be a disapp'intment to some o' you that my name hain't 'Williams,' + but it hain't. And maybe you won't think nigh as much o' me when I tell + you furder 'at I was obleeged to 'dopt the name o' 'Williams' onc't to + keep from bein' strung up to a lamp-post, but sich is the facts. I was so + extremely unfortunit onc't as to kill a p'ticular friend o' mine, and he + forgive me with his dyin' breath, and told me to run while I could, and be + a better man. But he'd spotted me with a' ugly mark 'at made it kind o' + onhandy to git away, but I did at last; and jist as I was a-gittin' + reformed-like, you fellers had to kick in the traces, and I've made up my + mind to hunt out a more moraler community, where they don't make sich a + fuss about trifles. And havin' nothin' more to say, on'y to send Annie + word 'at I'll still be a father to her youngun here, I'll bid you all + good-bye." And with that he turned and clum in the boat—or ruther + fell in,—far somepin' black-like had riz up in it, with a' awful + lick—my—God!—and, a minute later, boat and baggage was + a-gratin' on the shore, and a crowd come thrashin' 'crost from tother side + to jine us, and 'peared like wasn't a <i>second</i> longer tel a feller + was a-swingin' by his neck to the limb of a scrub-oak, his feet clean off + the ground, and his legs a-jerkin' up and down like a limber-jack's. + </p> + <p> + And Steve it was a-layin' in the boat, and he'd rid a mild or more 'thout + knowin' of it. Bills had struck and stunt him as he clum in while the + rumpus was a-goin' on, and he'd on'y come to in time to hear Bills's + farewell address to us there at the ford. + </p> + <p> + Steve tuck charge o' little Annie agin, and ef she'd a-be'n his own child + he wouldn't a-went on more over her than he did; and said nobody but her + mother would git her out o' his hands agin. And he was as good as his + word; and ef you could a-seed him a half hour after that, when he <i>did</i> + give her to her mother—all lapped up in his coat and as drippin'-wet + as a little drownded angel—it would a-made you wish't you was him to + see that little woman a caperin' round him, and a-thankin' him, and + a-cryin' and a-laughin', and almost a-huggin' him, she was so tickled,—Well, + I thought in my soul she'd die! And Steve blushed like a girl to see her + a-taking' on, and a-thankin' him, and a-cryin', and a-kissin' little + Annie, and a-goin' on. And when she inquired 'bout Bills, which she did + all suddent like, with a burst o' tears, we jist didn't have the heart to + tell her—on'y we said he'd crossed the river and got away. And he + had! + </p> + <p> + And now comes a part o' this thing 'at 'll more 'n like tax you to believe + it: Williams and her wasn't man and wife—and you needn't look + su'prised, nuther, and I'll tell you far why—They was own brother + and sister; and that brings me to <i>her</i> part of the story, which + you'll have to admit beats anything 'at you ever read about in books. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + Her and Williams—that <i>wasn't</i> his name, like he acknowledged, + hisse'f, you ricollect—ner she didn't want to tell his right name; + and we forgive her far that. Her and 'Williams' was own brother and + sister, and the'r parents lived in Ohio some'ers. The'r mother had be'n + dead five year' and better—grieved to death over her onnachurl + brother's recklessness, which Annie hinted had broke her father up in some + way, in tryin' to shield him from the law. And the secret of her bein' + with him was this: She had married a man o' the name of Curtis or Custer, + I don't mind which, adzackly—but no matter; she'd married a + well-to-do young feller 'at her brother helt a' old grudge agin, she never + knowed what; and sence her marriage her brother had went on from bad to + worse tel finally her father jist give him up and told him to go it his + own way—he'd killed his mother and ruined him, and he'd jist give up + all hopes. But Annie—you know how a sister is—she still clung + to him and done ever'thing far him, tel finally, one night about three + years after she was married she got word some way that he was in trouble + agin, and sent her husband to he'p him; and a half hour after he'd gone, + her brother come in, all excited and bloody, and told her to git the baby + and come with him, 'at her husband had got in a quarrel with a friend o' + his and was bad hurt. And she went with him, of course, and he tuck her in + a buggy, and lit out with her as tight as he could go all night; and then + told her 'at <i>he</i> was the feller 'at had quarreled with her husband, + and the officers was after him and he was obleeged to leave the country, + and far fear he hadn't made shore work o' him, he was a-takin' her along + to make shore of his gittin' his revenge; and he swore he'd kill her and + the baby too ef she dared to whimper. And so it was, through a hunderd + hardships he'd made his way at last to our section o' the country, givin' + out 'at they was man and wife, and keepin' her from denyin' of it by + threats, and promises of the time a-comin' when he'd send her home to her + man agin in case he hadn't killed him. And so it run on tel you'd a-cried + to hear her tell it, and still see her sister's love far the feller + a-breakin' out by a-declarin' how kind he was to her <i>at times</i>, and + how he wasn't railly bad at heart, on'y far his ungov'nable temper. But I + couldn't he'p but notice, when she was a tellin' of her hist'ry, what a + quiet sort o' look o' satisfaction settled on the face o' Steve and the + rest of 'em, don't you understand. + </p> + <p> + And now ther' was on'y one thing she wanted to ast, she said; and that + was, could she still make her home with us tel she could git word to her + friends?—and there she broke down agin, not knowin', of course, + whether <i>they</i> was dead er alive; far time and time agin she said + somepin' told her she'd never see her husband agin on this airth; and then + the women-folks would cry with her and console her, and the boys would + speak hopeful—all but Steve; some way o' nuther Steve was never like + hisse'f from that time on. + </p> + <p> + And so things went far a month and better. Ever'thing had quieted down, + and Ezry and a lot o' hands, and me and Steve amongst 'em, was a-workin' + on the frame-work of another mill. It was purty weather, and we was all in + good sperits, and it 'peared like the whole neighberhood was interested—and + they <i>-was</i>, too—women-folks and ever'body. And that day Ezry's + woman and amongst 'em was a-gittin' up a big dinner to fetch down to us + from the house; and along about noon a spruce-lookin' young feller, with a + pale face and a black beard, like, come a-ridin' by and hitched his hoss, + and comin' into the crowd, said "Howdy," pleasant like, and we all stopped + work as he went on to say 'at he was on the track of a feller o' the name + o' 'Williams,' and wanted to know ef we could give him any infermation + 'bout sich a man. Told him maybe,—'at a feller bearin' that name + desappeared kind o' myster'ous from our neighberhood 'bout five weeks + afore that. "My God!" says he, a-turnin' paler'n ever, "am I too late? + Where did he go, and was his sister and her baby with him?" Jist then I + ketched sight o' the women-folks a-comin' with the baskets, and Annie with + 'em, with a jug o' worter in her hand; so I spoke up quick to the + stranger, and says I, "I guess 'his sister and baby' wasn't along," says + I, "but his <i>wife</i> and <i>baby's</i> some'eres here in the + neighberhood yit." And then a-watchin' him clos't, I says, suddent, + a-pin'tin' over his shoulder, "There his woman is now—that one with + the jug, there." Well, Annie had jist stooped to lift up one o' the little + girls, when the feller turned, and the'r eyes met, "Annie! My wife!" he + says; and Annie she kind o' give a little yelp like and come a-flutterin' + down in his arms; and the jug o' worter rolled clean acrost the road, and + turned a somerset and knocked the cob out of its mouth and jist laid back + and hollered "Good—good—good—good—good!" like as + ef it knowed what was up and was jist as glad and tickled as the rest of + us. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0031" id="link2H_4_0031"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SWEET-KNOT AND GALAMUS + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0032" id="link2H_4_0032"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + AN OLD SWEETHEART. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + As one who cons at evening o'er an album all alone, + And muses on the faces of the friends that he has known, + So I turn the leaves of fancy till, in shadowy design, + I find the smiling features of an old sweetheart of mine. + + The lamplight seems to glimmer with a flicker of surprise, + As I turn it low to rest me of the dazzle in my eyes, + And light my pipe in silence, save a sigh that seems to yoke + Its fate with my tobacco and to vanish with the smoke. + + 'Tis a fragrant retrospection—for the loving thoughts that start + Into being are like perfumes from the blossom of the heart; + And to dream the old dreams over is a luxury divine— + When my truant fancy wanders with that old sweeheart of mine. + + Though I hear, beneath my study, like a fluttering of wings, + The voices of my children, and the mother as she sings, + I feel no twinge of conscience to deny me any theme + When care has cast her anchor in the harbor of a dream + + In fact, to speak in earnest, I believe it adds a charm + To spice the good a trifle with a little dust of harm— + For I find an extra flavor in Memory's mellow wine + That makes me drink the deeper to that old sweetheart of mine. + + A face of lily-beauty, with a form of airy grace, + Floats out of my tobacco as the genii from the vase; + And I thrill beneath the glances of a pair of azure eyes + As glowing as the summer and as tender as the skies. + + I can see the pink sunbonnet and the little checkered dress + She wore when first I kissed her and she answered the caress + With the written declaration that, "as surely as the vine + Grew 'round the stump," she loved me—that old sweetheart of mine. + + And again I feel the pressure of her slender little hand, + As we used to talk together of the future we had planned— + When I should be a poet, and with nothing else to do + But write the tender verses that she set the music to: + + When we should live together in a cozy little cot + Hid in a nest of roses, with a fairy garden-spot, + Where the vines were ever fruited, and the weather ever fine, + And the birds were ever singing for that old sweetheart of mine: + + When I should be her lover forever and a day, + And she my faithful sweetheart till the golden hair was gray; + And we should be so happy that when either's lips were dumb + They would not smile in Heaven till the other's kiss had come. + +</pre> + <hr /> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + But, ah! my dream is broken by a step upon the stair, + And the door is softly opened, and—my wife is standing there; + Yet with eagerness and rapture all my visions I resign + To greet the living presence of that old sweetheart of mine. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0033" id="link2H_4_0033"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + MARTHY ELLEN. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + They's nothin' in the name to strike + A feller more'n common like! + 'Taint liable to git no praise + Ner nothin' like it nowadays; + An' yit that name o' her'n is jest + As purty as the purtiest— + And more 'n that, I'm here to say + I'll live a-thinkin' thataway + And die far Marthy Ellen! + + It may be I was prejudust + In favor of it from the fust— + 'Cause I kin ricollect jest how + We met, and hear her mother now + A-callin' of her down the road— + And, aggervatin' little toad!— + I see her now, jes' sort o' half- + Way disapp'inted, turn and laugh + And mock her—"Marthy Ellen!" + + Our people never had no fuss, + And yit they never tuck to us; + We neighbered back and foreds some; + Until they see she liked to come + To our house—and me and her + Were jest together ever'whur + And all the time—and when they'd see + That I liked her and she liked me, + They'd holler "Marthy Ellen!" + + When we growed up, and they shet down + On me and her a-runnin' roun' + Together, and her father said + He'd never leave her nary red, + So he'p him, ef she married me, + And so on—and her mother she + Jest agged the gyrl, and said she 'lowed + She'd ruther see her in her shroud, + I <i>writ</i> to Marthy Ellen— + + That is, I kindo' tuck my pen + In hand, and stated whur and when + The undersigned would be that night, + With two good hosses saddled right + Far lively travelin' in case + Her folks 'ud like to jine the race. + She sent the same note back, and writ + "The rose is red!" right under it— + "Your 'n allus, Marthy Ellen." + + That's all, I reckon—Nothin' more + To tell but what you've heerd afore— + The same old story, sweeter though + Far all the trouble, don't you know. + Old-fashioned name! and yit it's jest + As purty as the purtiest; + And more 'n that, I'm here to say + I'll live a-thinking thataway, + And die far Marthy Ellen! +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0034" id="link2H_4_0034"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + MOON-DROWNED. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'Twas the height of the fete when we quitted the riot, + And quietly stole to the terrace alone, + Where, pale as the lovers that ever swear by it, + The moon it gazed down as a god from his throne. + We stood there enchanted.—And O the delight of + The sight of the stars and the moon and the sea, + And the infinite skies of that opulent night of + Purple and gold and ivory! + + The lisp of the lip of the ripple just under— + The half-awake nightingale's dream in the yews— + Came up from the water, and down from the wonder + Of shadowy foliage, drowsed with the dews,— + Unsteady the firefly's taper—unsteady + The poise of the stars, and their light in the tide, + As it struggled and writhed in caress of the eddy, + As love in the billowy breast of a bride. + + The far-away lilt of the waltz rippled to us, + And through us the exquisite thrill of the air: + Like the scent of bruised bloom was her breath, and its dew was + Not honier-sweet than her warm kisses were. + We stood there enchanted.—And O the delight of + The sight of the stars and the moon and the sea, + And the infinite skies of that opulent night of + Purple and gold and ivory! +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0035" id="link2H_4_0035"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LONG AFORE HE KNOWED WHO SANTY-CLAUS WUZ. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Jes' a little bit o' feller—I remember still,— + Ust to almost <i>cry</i> far Christmas, like a youngster will. + Fourth o' July's nothin' to it!—New-Year's ain't a smell: + Easter-Sunday—Circus-day—jes' all dead in the shell! + Lordy, though! at night, you know, to set around and hear + The old folks work the story off about the sledge and deer, + And "Santy" skootin' round the roof, all wrapped in fur and fuzz— + Long afore + I knowed who + "Santy-Claus" wuz! + + Ust to wait, and set up late, a week er two ahead: + Couldn't hardly keep awake, ner wouldn't go to bed: + Kittle stewin' on the fire, and Mother settin' here + Darnin' socks, and rockin' in the skreeky rockin'-cheer; + Pap gap', and wunder where it wuz the money went, + And quar'l with his frosted heels, and spill his liniment: + And me a-dreamin' sleigh-bells when the clock 'ud whir and buzz, + Long afore + I knowed who + "Santy-Claus" wuz! + + Size the fire-place up, and figger how "Old Santy" could + Manage to come down the chimbly, like they said he would: + Wisht that I could hide and see him—wundered what he 'd say + Ef he ketched a feller layin' far him thataway! + But I <i>bet</i> on him, and <i>liked</i> him, same as ef he had + Turned to pat me on the back and <i>say</i>, "Look here, my lad, + Here's my pack,—jes' he'p yourse'f, like all good boys does!" + Long afore + I knowed who + "Santy-Claus" wuz! + + Wisht that yarn was <i>true</i> about him, as it 'peared to be— + Truth made out o' lies like that-un's good enough far me!— + Wisht I still wuz so confidin' I could jes' go wild + Over hangin' up my stockin's, like the little child + Climbin' in my lap to-night, and beggin' me to tell + 'Bout them reindeers, and "Old Santy" that she loves so well + I'm half sorry far this little-girl-sweetheart of his— + Long afore + She knows who + "Santy-Claus" is! +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0036" id="link2H_4_0036"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + DEAR HANDS. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The touches of her hands are like the fall + Of velvet snowflakes; like the touch of down + The peach just brushes 'gainst the garden wall; + The flossy fondlings of the thistle-wisp + Caught in the crinkle of a leaf of brown + The blighting frost hath turned from green to crisp. + + Soft as the falling of the dusk at night, + The touches of her hands, and the delight— + The touches of her hands! + The touches of her hands are like the dew + That falls so softly down no one e'er knew + The touch thereof save lovers like to one + Astray in lights where ranged Endymion. + + O rarely soft, the touches of her hands, + As drowsy zephyrs in enchanted lands; + Or pulse of dying fay; or fairy sighs, + Or—in between the midnight and the dawn, + When long unrest and tears and fears are gone— + Sleep, smoothing down the lids of weary eyes. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0037" id="link2H_4_0037"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THIS MAN JONES. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + This man Jones was what you'd call + A feller 'at had no sand at all; + Kind o' consumpted, and undersize, + And sailor-complected, with big sad eyes, + And a kind-of-a sort-of-a hang-dog style, + And a sneakin' sort-of-a half-way smile + 'At kind o' give him away to us + As a preacher, maybe, er somepin' wuss. + + Didn't take with the gang—well, no— + But still we managed to use him, though,— + Coddin' the gilly along the rout', + And drivin' the stakes 'at he pulled out— + Far I was one of the bosses then, + And of course stood in with the canvasmen; + And the way we put up jobs, you know, + On this man Jones jes' beat the show! + + Ust to rattle him scandalous, + And keep the feller a-dodgin' us, + And a-shyin' round half skeered to death, + And afeerd to whimper above his breath; + Give him a cussin', and then a kick, + And then a kind-of-a back-hand lick— + Jes' far the fun of seem' him climb + Around with a head on most the time. + + But what was the curioust thing to me, + Was along o' the party—let me see,— + Who was our "Lion Queen" last year?— + Mamzelle Zanty, or De La Pierre?— + Well, no matter—a stunnin' mash, + With a red-ripe lip, and a long eye-lash, + And a figger sich as the angels owns— + And one too many far this man Jones. + + He'd allus wake in the afternoon, + As the band waltzed in on the lion-tune, + And there, from the time 'at she'd go in + Till she'd back out of the cage agin, + He'd stand, shaky and limber-kneed— + 'Specially when she come to "feed + The beasts raw meat with her naked hand"— + And all that business, you understand. + + And it <i>was</i> resky in that den— + Far I think she juggled three cubs then, + And a big "green" lion 'at used to smash + Collar-bones far old Frank Nash; + And I reckon now she hain't fergot + The afternoon old "Nero" sot + His paws on <i>her</i>!—but as far me, + It's a sort-of-a mixed-up mystery:— + + Kind o' remember an awful roar, + And see her back far the bolted door— + See the cage rock—heerd her call + "God have mercy!" and that was all— + Far they ain't no livin' man can tell + <i>What</i> it's like when a thousand yell + In female tones, and a thousand more + Howl in bass till their throats is sore! + + But the keeper said 'at dragged her out, + They heerd some feller laugh and shout— + "Save her! Quick! I've got the cuss!" + And yit she waked and smiled on <i>us!</i> + And we daren't flinch, far the doctor said, + Seein' as this man Jones was dead, + Better to jes' not let her know + Nothin' o' that far a week er so. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0038" id="link2H_4_0038"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + TO MY GOOD MASTER. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + In fancy, always, at thy desk, thrown wide, + Thy most betreasured books ranged neighborly— + The rarest rhymes of every land and sea + And curious tongue—thine old face glorified,— + Thou haltest thy glib quill, and, laughing-eyed, + Givest hale welcome even unto me, + Profaning thus thine attic's sanctity, + To briefly visit, yet to still abide + Enthralled there of thy sorcery of wit, + And thy songs' most exceeding dear conceits. + O lips, cleft to the ripe core of all sweets, + With poems, like nectar, issuing therefrom, + Thy gentle utterances do overcome + My listening heart and all the love of it! +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0039" id="link2H_4_0039"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + WHEN THE GREEN GITS BACK IN THE TREES. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + In spring, when the green gits back in the trees, + And the sun comes out and stays, + And yer boots pulls on with a good tight squeeze, + And you think of yer barefoot days; + When you ort to work and you want to not, + And you and yer wife agrees + It's time to spade up the garden lot, + When the green gits back in the trees— + Well! work is the least o' <i>my</i> idees + When the green, you know, gits back in the trees! + + When the green gits back in the trees, and bees + Is a-buzzin' aroun' agin, + In that kind of a lazy go-as-you-please + Old gait they bum roun' in; + When the groun's all bald where the hay-rick stood, + And the crick 's riz, and the breeze + Coaxes the bloom in the old dogwood, + And the green gits back in the trees,— + I like, as I say, in sich scenes as these, + The time when the green gits back in the trees! + + When the whole tail-feathers o' wintertime + Is all pulled out and gone! + And the sap it thaws and begins to climb, + And the sweat it starts out on + A feller's forred, a-gittin' down + At the old spring on his knees— + I kind o' like jes' a-loaferin' roun' + When the green gits back in the trees— + Jes' a-potterin' roun' as I—durn—please— + When the green, you know, gits back in the trees! +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0040" id="link2H_4_0040"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + AT BROAD RIPPLE. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Ah, Luxury! Beyond the heat + And dust of town, with dangling feet, + Astride the rock below the dam, + In the cool shadows where the calm + Rests on the stream again, and all + Is silent save the waterfall,— + bait my hook and cast my line, + And feel the best of life is mine. + + No high ambition may I claim— + angle not for lordly game + Of trout, or bass, or wary bream— + black perch reaches the extreme + Of my desires; and "goggle-eyes" + Are not a thing that I despise; + A sunfish, or a "chub," or "cat"— + A "silver-side"—yea, even that! + + In eloquent tranquility + The waters lisp and talk to me. + Sometimes, far out, the surface breaks, + As some proud bass an instant shakes + His glittering armor in the sun, + And romping ripples, one by one, + Come dallying across the space + Where undulates my smiling face. + + The river's story flowing by, + Forever sweet to ear and eye, + Forever tenderly begun— + Forever new and never done. + Thus lulled and sheltered in a shade + Where never feverish cares invade, + I bait my hook and cast my line, + And feel the best of life is mine. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0041" id="link2H_4_0041"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + WHEN OLD JACK DIED. + </h2> + <h3> + I. + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + When old Jack died, we staid from school (they said, + At home, we needn't go that day), and none + Of us ate any breakfast—only one, + And that was Papa—and his eyes were red + When he came round where we were, by the shed + Where Jack was lying, half way in the sun + And half way in the shade. When we begun + To cry out loud, Pa turned and dropped his head + And went away; and Mamma, she went back + Into the kitchen. Then, for a long while, + All to ourselves, like, we stood there and cried. + We thought so many good things of Old Jack, + And funny things—although we didn't smile—We + couldn't only cry when Old Jack died. +</pre> + <h3> + II. + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + When Old Jack died, it seemed a human friend + Had suddenly gone from us; that some face + That we had loved to fondle and embrace + From babyhood, no more would condescend + To smile on us forever. We might bend + With tearful eyes above him, interlace + Our chubby fingers o'er him, romp and race, + Plead with him, call and coax—aye, we might send + The old halloo up for him, whistle, hist, + (If sobs had let us) or, as wildly vain, + Snapped thumbs, called "speak," and he had not replied; + We might have gone down on our knees and kissed + The tousled ears, and yet they must remain + Deaf, motionless, we knew—when Old Jack died. +</pre> + <h3> + III. + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + When Old Jack died, it seemed to us, some way, + That all the other dogs in town were pained + With our bereavement, and some that were chained, + Even, unslipped their collars on that day + To visit Jack in state, as though to pay + A last, sad tribute there, while neighbors craned + Their heads above the high board fence, and deigned + To sigh "Poor dog!" remembering how they + Had cuffed him, when alive, perchance, because, + For love of them he leaped to lick their hands— + Now, that he could not, were they satisfied? + We children thought that, as we crossed his paws, + And o'er his grave, 'way down the bottom-lands, + Wrote "Our First Love Lies Here," when Old Jack died. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0042" id="link2H_4_0042"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + DOC SIFERS. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Of all the doctors I could cite you to in this-'ere town + Doc Sifers is my favorite, jes' take him up and down! + Count in the Bethel Neighberhood, and Rollins, and Big Bear, + And Sifers' standin's jes' as good as ary doctor's there! + + There's old Doc Wick, and Glenn, and Hall, and Wurgler, and McVeigh, + But I'll buck Sifers 'ginst 'em all and down 'em any day! + Most old Wick ever knowed, I s'pose, was <i>whisky!</i> Wurgler—well, + He et morphine—ef actions shows, and facts' reliable! + + But Sifers—though he ain't no sot, he's got his faults; and yit + When you <i>git</i> Sifers one't, you've got <i>a doctor</i>, don't fergit! + He ain't much at his office, er his house, er anywhere + You'd natchurly think certain far to ketch the feller there.— + + But don't blame Doc: he's got all sorts o' cur'ous notions—as + The feller says; his odd-come-shorts, like smart men mostly has. + He'll more'n like be potter'n 'round the Blacksmith Shop; er in + Some back lot, spadin' up the ground, er gradin' it agin. + + Er at the workbench, planin' things; er buildin' little traps + To ketch birds; galvenizin' rings; er graftin' plums, perhaps. + Make anything! good as the best!—a gunstock—er a flute; + He whittled out a set o' chesstmen one't o' laurel root, + + Durin' the Army—got his trade o' surgeon there—I own + To-day a finger-ring Doc made out of a Sesesh bone! + An' glued a fiddle one't far me—jes' all so busted you + 'D a throwed the thing away, but he fixed her as good as new! + + And take Doc, now, in <i>ager</i>, say, er <i>biles</i>, er <i>rheumatiz</i>, + And all afflictions thataway, and he's the best they is! + Er janders—milksick—I don't keer—k-yore anything he tries— + A abscess; getherin' in yer yeer; er granilated eyes! + + There was the Widder Daubenspeck they all give up far dead; + A blame cowbuncle on her neck, and clean out of her head! + First had this doctor, what's-his-name, from "Puddlesburg," and then + This little red-head, "Burnin' Shame" they call him—Dr. Glenn. + + And they "consulted" on the case, and claimed she'd haf to die,— + I jes' was joggin' by the place, and heerd her dorter cry, + And stops and calls her to the fence; and I-says-I, "Let me + Send Sifers—bet you fifteen cents he'll k-yore her!" "Well," says + she, + + "Light out!" she says: And, lipp-tee-cut! I loped in town, and rid + 'Bout two hours more to find him, but I kussed him when I did! + He was down at the Gunsmith Shop a-stuffin' birds! Says he, + "My sulky's broke." Says I, "You hop right on and ride with me!" + + I got him there.—"Well, Aunty, ten days k-yores you," Sifers said, + "But what's yer idy livin' when yer jes' as good as dead?" + And there's Dave Banks—jes' back from war without a scratch—one + day + Got ketched up in a sickle-bar, a reaper runaway.— + + His shoulders, arms, and hands and legs jes' sawed in strips! And + Jake + Dunn starts far Sifers—feller begs to shoot him far God-sake. + Doc, 'course, was gone, but he had penned the notice, "At Big Bear— + Be back to-morry; Gone to 'tend the Bee Convention there." + + But Jake, he tracked him—rid and rode the whole endurin' night! + And 'bout the time the roosters crowed they both hove into sight. + Doc had to ampitate, but 'greed to save Dave's arms, and swore + He could a-saved his legs ef he'd ben there the day before. + + Like when his wife's own mother died 'fore Sifers could be found, + And all the neighbors far and wide a' all jes' chasin' round; + Tel finally—I had to laugh—it's jes' like Doc, you know,— + Was learnin' far to telegraph, down at the old deepo. + + But all they're faultin' Sifers far, there's none of 'em kin say + He's biggoty, er keerless, er not posted anyway; + He ain't built on the common plan of doctors now-a-days, + He's jes' a great, big, brainy man—that's where the trouble lays! +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0043" id="link2H_4_0043"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + AT NOON—AND MIDNIGHT. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Far in the night, and yet no rest for him! The pillow next his own + The wife's sweet face in slumber pressed—yet he awake—alone! + alone! + In vain he courted sleep;—one thought would ever in his heart + arise,— + The harsh words that at noon had brought the teardrops to her eyes. + + Slowly on lifted arm he raised and listened. All was still as death; + He touched her forehead as he gazed, and listened yet, with bated + breath: + Still silently, as though he prayed, his lips moved lightly as she + slept— + For God was with him, and he laid his face with hers and wept. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0044" id="link2H_4_0044"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A WILD IRISHMAN. + </h2> + <p> + Not very many years ago the writer was for some months stationed at South + Bend, a thriving little city of northern Indiana, its main population on + the one side of the St. Joseph river, but quite a respectable fraction + thereof taking its industrial way to the opposite shore, and there gaining + an audience and a hearing in the rather imposing growth and hurly-burly of + its big manufactories, and the consequent rapid appearance of + multitudinous neat cottages, tenement houses and business blocks. A + stranger, entering South Bend proper on any ordinary day, will be at some + loss to account for its prosperous appearance—its flagged and + bowldered streets—its handsome mercantile blocks, banks, and + business houses generally. Reasoning from cause to effect, and seeing but + a meager sprinkling of people on the streets throughout the day, and these + seeming, for the most part, merely idlers, and in no wise accessory to the + evident thrift and opulence of their surroundings, the observant stranger + will be puzzled at the situation. But when evening comes, and the outlying + foundries, sewing-machine, wagon, plow, and other "works," together with + the paper-mills and all the nameless industries—when the operations + of all these are suspended for the day, and the workmen and workwomen + loosed from labor—then, as this vast army suddenly invades and + overflows bridge, roadway, street and lane, the startled stranger will + fully comprehend the why and wherefore of the city's high prosperity. And, + once acquainted with the people there, the fortunate sojourner will find + no ordinary culture and intelligence, and, as certainly, he will meet with + a social spirit and a wholesouled heartiness that will make the place a + lasting memory. The town, too, is the home of many world-known notables, + and a host of local celebrities, the chief of which latter class I found, + during my stay there, in the person of Tommy Stafford, or "The Wild + Irishman" as everybody called him. + </p> + <p> + "Talk of odd fellows and eccentric characters," said Major Blowney, my + employer, one afternoon, "you must see our 'Wild Irishman' here before you + say you've yet found the queerest, brightest, cleverest chap in all your + travels. What d'ye say, Stockford?" And the Major paused in his work of + charging cartridges for his new breech-loading shotgun and turned to await + his partner's response. + </p> + <p> + Stockford, thus addressed, paused above the shield-sign he was lettering, + slowly smiling as he dipped and trailed his pencil through the ivory black + upon a bit of broken glass and said, in his deliberate, half-absent-minded + way,—"Is it Tommy you're telling him about?" and then, with a + gradual broadening of the smile, he went on, "Well, I should say so. + Tommy! What's come of the fellow, anyway? I haven't seen him since his + last bout with the mayor, on his trial for shakin' up that fast-horse + man." + </p> + <p> + "The fast-horse man got just exactly what he needed, too," said the genial + Major, laughing, and mopping his perspiring brow. "The fellow was barkin' + up the wrong stump when he tackled Tommy! Got beat in the trade, at his + own game, you know, and wound up by an insult that no Irishman would take; + and Tommy just naturally wore out the hall carpet of the old hotel with + him!" + </p> + <p> + "And then collared and led him to the mayor's office himself, they say!" + </p> + <p> + "Oh, he did!" said the Major, with a dash of pride in the confirmation; + "that's Tommy all over!" + </p> + <p> + "Funny trial, wasn't it?" continued the ruminating Stockford. + </p> + <p> + "Wasn't it though?" laughed the Major. + </p> + <p> + "The porter's testimony: You see, he was for Tommy, of course, and on + examination testified that the horse-man struck Tommy first. And there + Tommy broke in with: 'He's a-meanin' well, yer Honor, but he's lyin' to ye—he's + lyin' to ye. No livin' man iver struck me first—nor last, nayther, + for the matter o' that!' And I thought—the—court—would—die!" + concluded the Major, in a like imminent state of merriment. + </p> + <p> + "Yes, and he said if he struck him first," supplemented Stockford, "he'd + like to know why the horseman was 'wearin' all the black eyes, and the + blood, and the boomps on the head of um!' And it's that talk of his that + got him off with so light a fine!" + </p> + <p> + "As it always does," said the Major, coming to himself abruptly and + looking at his watch. "Stock', you say you're not going along with our + duck-shooting party this time? The old Kankakee is just lousy with 'em + this season!" + </p> + <p> + "Can't go possibly," said Stockford, "not on account of the work at all, + but the folks at home ain't just as well as I'd like to see them, and I'll + stay here till they're better. Next time I'll try and be ready for you. + Going to take Tommy, of course?" + </p> + <p> + "Of course! Got to have 'The Wild Irishman' with us! I'm going around to + find him now." Then turning to me the Major continued, "Suppose you get on + your coat and hat and come along? It's the best chance you'll ever have to + meet Tommy. It's late anyhow, and Stockford'll get along without you. Come + on." + </p> + <p> + "Certainly," said Stockford; "go ahead. And you can take him ducking, too, + if he wants to go." + </p> + <p> + "But he doesn't want to go—and won't go," replied the Major with a + commiserative glance at me. "Says he doesn't know a duck from a + poll-parrot—nor how to load a shotgun—and couldn't hit a house + if he were inside of it and the door shut. Admits that he nearly killed + his uncle once, on the other side of a tree, with a squirrel runnin' down + it. Don't want him along!" + </p> + <p> + Reaching the street with the genial Major, he gave me this advice: "Now, + when you meet Tommy, you mustn't take all he says for dead earnest, and + you mustn't believe, because he talks loud, and in italics every other + word, that he wants to do all the talking and won't be interfered with. + That's the way he's apt to strike folks at first—but it's their + mistake, not his. Talk back to him—controvert him whenever he's + aggressive in the utterance of his opinions, and if you're only honest in + the announcement of your own ideas and beliefs, he'll like you all the + better for standing by them. He's quick-tempered, and perhaps a trifle + sensitive, so share your greater patience with him, and he'll pay you back + by fighting for you at the drop of the hat. In short, he's as nearly + typical of his gallant country's brave, impetuous, fun-loving + individuality as such a likeness can exist." + </p> + <p> + "But is he quarrelsome?" I asked. + </p> + <p> + "Not at all. There's the trouble. If he'd only quarrel there'd be no harm + done. Quarreling's cheap, and Tommy's extravagant. A big blacksmith here, + the other day, kicked some boy out of his shop, and Tommy, on his cart, + happened to be passing at the time; and he just jumped off without a word, + and went in and worked on that fellow for about three minutes, with such + disastrous results that they couldn't tell his shop from a + slaughter-house; paid an assault and battery fine, and gave the boy a + dollar beside, and the whole thing was a positive luxury to him. But I + guess we'd better drop the subject, for here's his cart, and here's Tommy. + Hi! there, you Far-down 'Irish Mick!" called the Major, in affected + antipathy, "been out raiding the honest farmers' hen-roosts again, have + you?" + </p> + <p> + We had halted at a corner grocery and produce store, as I took it, and the + smooth-faced, shave-headed man in woolen shirt, short vest, and + suspenderless trousers so boisterously addressed by the Major, was just + lifting from the back of his cart a coop of cackling chickens. + </p> + <p> + "Arrah! ye blasted Kerryonian!" replied the handsome fellow, depositing + the coop on the curb and straightening his tall, slender figure; "I were + jist thinking of yez and the ducks, and here ye come quackin' into the + prisence of r'yalty, wid yer canvas-back suit upon ye and the shwim-skins + bechuxt yer toes! How air yez, anyhow—and air we startin' for the + Kankakee by the nixt post?" + </p> + <p> + "We're to start just as soon as we get the boys together," said the Major, + shaking hands. "The crowd's to be at Andrews' by 4, and it's fully that + now; so come on at once. We'll go 'round by Munson's and have Hi send a + boy to look after your horse. Come; and I want to introduce my friend here + to you, and we'll all want to smoke and jabber a little in appropriate + seclusion. Come on." And the impatient Major had linked arms with his + hesitating ally and myself, and was turning the corner of the street. + </p> + <p> + "It's an hour's work I have yet wid the squawkers," mildly protested + Tommy, still hanging back and stepping a trifle high; "but, as one + Irishman would say til another, 'Ye're wrong, but I'm wid ye!'" + </p> + <p> + And five minutes later the three of us had joined a very jolly party in a + snug back room, with + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "The chamber walls depicted all around + With portraitures of huntsman, hawk, and hound, + And the hurt deer," +</pre> + <p> + and where, as well, drifted over the olfactory intelligence a certain + subtle, warm-breathed aroma, that genially combatted the chill and + darkness of the day without, and, resurrecting long-dead Christmases, + brimmed the grateful memory with all comfortable cheer. + </p> + <p> + A dozen hearty voices greeted the appearance of Tommy and the Major, the + latter adroitly pushing the jovial Irishman to the front, with a + mock-heroic introduction to the general company, at the conclusion of + which Tommy, with his hat tucked under the left elbow, stood bowing with a + grace of pose and presence Lord Chesterfield might have applauded. + </p> + <p> + "Gintlemen," said Tommy, settling back upon his heels and admiringly + contemplating the group; "Gintlemen, I congratu-late yez wid a pride that + shoves the thumbs o' me into the arrum-holes of me weshkit! At the + inshtigation of the bowld O'Blowney—axin' the gintleman's pardon—I + am here wid no silver tongue of illoquence to para-lyze yez, but I am + prisent, as has been ripresinted, to jine wid yez in a stupendeous waste + of gun-powder, and duck-shot, and 'high-wines,' and ham sand-witches, upon + the silvonian banks of the ragin' Kankakee, where the 'di-dipper' tips ye + good-bye wid his tail, and the wild loon skoots like a sky-rocket for his + exiled home in the alien dunes of the wild morass—or, as Tommy Moore + so illegantly describes the blashted birrud,— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'Away to the dizhmal shwamp he shpeeds— + His path is rugged and sore, + Through tangled juniper, beds of reeds, + And many a fen where the serpent feeds, + <i>And birrud niver flew before— + And niver will fly any more</i> +</pre> + <p> + if iver he arrives back safe into civilization again—and I've been + in the poultry business long enough to know the private opinion and + personal integrity of ivery fowl that flies the air or roosts on poles. + But, changin' the subject of my few small remarks here, and thankin yez + wid an overflowin' heart but a dhry tongue, I have the honor to propose, + gintlemen, long life and health to ivery mother's o' yez, and success to + the 'Duck-hunters of Kankakee.'" + </p> + <p> + "The duck-hunters of the Kankakee!" chorussed the elated party in such + musical uproar that for a full minute the voice of the enthusiastic Major—who + was trying to say something—could not be heard. Then he said: + </p> + <p> + "I want to propose that theme—'The Duck-hunters of the Kankakee', + for one of Tommy's improvizations. I move we have a song now from Tommy on + the 'Duck-hunters of the Kankakee.'" + </p> + <p> + "Hurra! Hurra! A song from Tommy," cried the crowd. "Make us up a song, + and put us all into it! A song from Tommy! A song! A song!" + </p> + <p> + There was a queer light in the eye of the Irishman. I observed him + narrowly—expectantly. Often I had read of this phenomenal art of + improvised ballad-singing, but had always remained a little skeptical in + regard to the possibility of such a feat. Even in the notable instances of + this gift as displayed by the very clever Theodore Hook, I had always half + suspected some prior preparation—some adroit forecasting of the + sequence that seemed the instant inspiration of his witty verses. + </p> + <p> + Here was evidently to be a test example, and I was all alert to mark its + minutest detail. + </p> + <p> + The clamor had subsided, and Tommy had drawn a chair near to and directly + fronting the Major's. His right hand was extended, closely grasping the + right hand of his friend which he scarce perceptibly, though measuredly, + lifted and let fall throughout the length of all the curious performance. + The voice was not unmusical, nor was the quaint old ballad-air adopted by + the singer unlovely in the least; simply a monotony was evident that + accorded with the levity and chance-finish of the improvisation—and + that the song was improvised on the instant I am certain—though in + no wise remarkable, for other reasons, in rhythmic worth or finish. And + while his smiling auditors all drew nearer, and leant, with parted lips to + catch every syllable, the words of the strange melody trailed + unhesitatingly into the lines literally as here subjoined: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "One gloomy day in the airly Fall, + Whin the sunshine had no chance at all— + No chance at all for to gleam and shine + And lighten up this heart of mine: + + "'Twas in South Bend, that famous town, + Whilst I were a-strollin' round and round, + I met some friends and they says to me: + 'It's a hunt we'll take on the Kankakee!'" +</pre> + <p> + "Hurra for the Kankakee! Give it to us, Tommy!" cried an enthused voice + between verses. "Now give it to the Major!" And the song went on:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "There's Major Blowney leads the van, + As crack a shot as an Irishman,— + For its the duck is a tin decoy + That his owld shotgun can't destroy!" +</pre> + <p> + And a half a dozen jubilant palms patted the Major's shoulders, and his + ruddy, good-natured face beamed with delight. "Now give it to the rest of + 'em, Tommy!" chuckled the Major. And the song continued:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "And along wid 'Hank' is Mick Maharr, + And Barney Pince, at 'The Shamrock' bar— + There's Barney Pinch, wid his heart so true; + And the Andrews Brothers they'll go too." +</pre> + <p> + "Hold on, Tommy!" chipped in one of the Andrews; "you must give 'the + Andrews Brothers' a better advertisement than that! Turn us on a full + verse, can't you?" + </p> + <p> + "Make 'em pay for it if you do!" said the Major, in an undertone. And + Tommy promptly amended:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "O, the Andrews Brothers, they'll be there, + Wid good se-gyars and wine to shpare,— + They'll treat us here on fine champagne, + And whin we're there they 'll treat us again." +</pre> + <p> + The applause here was vociferous, and only discontinued when a box of + Havanas stood open on the table. During the momentary lull thus + occasioned, I caught the Major's twinkling eyes glancing evasively toward + me, as he leant whispering some further instructions to Tommy, who again + took up his desultory ballad, while I turned and fled for the street, + catching, however, as I went, and high above the laughter of the crowd, + the satire of this quatrain to its latest line— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "But R-R-Riley he 'll not go, I guess, + Lest he'd get lost in the wil-der-ness, + And so in the city he will shtop + For to curl his hair in the barber shop." +</pre> + <p> + It was after six when I reached the hotel, but I had my hair trimmed + before I went in to supper. The style of trimming adopted then I still + rigidly adhere to, and call it "the Tommy Stafford stubble-crop." + </p> + <p> + Ten days passed before I again saw the Major. Immediately upon his return—it + was late afternoon when I heard of it—I determined to take my + evening walk out the long street toward his pleasant home and call upon + him there. This I did, and found him in a wholesome state of fatigue, + slippers and easy chair, enjoying his pipe on the piazza. Of course, he + was overflowing with happy reminiscences of the hunt—the + wood-and-water-craft—boats—ambushes—decoys, and tramp, + and camp, and so on, without end;—but I wanted to hear him talk of + "The Wild Irishman"—Tommy; and I think, too, now, that the sagacious + Major secretly read my desires all the time. To be utterly frank with the + reader I will admit that I not only think the Major divined my interest in + Tommy, but I know he did; for at last, as though reading my very thoughts, + he abruptly said, after a long pause, in which he knocked the ashes from + his pipe and refilled and lighted it:—"Well, all I know of 'The Wild + Irishman' I can tell you in a very few words—that is, if you care at + all to listen?" And the crafty old Major seemed to hesitate. + </p> + <p> + "Go on—go on!" I said, eagerly. + </p> + <p> + "About forty years ago," resumed the Major, placidly, "in the little, old, + unheard-of town Karnteel, County Tyrone, Province Ulster, Ireland, Tommy + Stafford—in spite of the contrary opinion of his wretchedly poor + parents—was fortunate enough to be born. And here, again, as I + advised you the other day, you must be prepared for constant surprises in + the study of Tommy's character." + </p> + <p> + "Go on," I said; "I'm prepared for anything." + </p> + <p> + The Major smiled profoundly and continued:— + </p> + <p> + "Fifteen years ago, when he came to America—and the Lord only knows + how he got the passage-money—he brought his widowed mother with him + here, and has supported, and is still supporting her. Besides," went on + the still secretly smiling Major, "the fellow has actually found time, + through all his adversities, to pick up quite a smattering of education, + here and there—" + </p> + <p> + "Poor fellow!" I broke in, sympathizingly, "what a pity it is that he + couldn't have had such advantages earlier in life," and as I recalled the + broad brogue of the fellow, together with his careless dress, recognizing + beneath it all the native talent and brilliancy of a mind of most uncommon + worth, I could not restrain a deep sigh of compassion and regret. + </p> + <p> + The Major was leaning forward in the gathering dusk, and evidently + studying my own face, the expression of which, at that moment, was very + grave and solemn, I am sure. He suddenly threw himself backward in his + chair, in an uncontrollable burst of laughter. "Oh, I just can't keep it + up any longer," he exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + "Keep what up?" I queried, in a perfect maze of bewilderment and surprise. + "Keep what up?" I repeated. + </p> + <p> + "Why, all this twaddle, farce, travesty and by-play regarding Tommy! You + know I warned you, over and over, and you mustn't blame me for the + deception. I never thought you'd take it so in earnest!" and here the + jovial Major again went into convulsions of laughter. + </p> + <p> + "But I don't understand a word of it all," I cried, half frenzied with the + gnarl and tangle of the whole affair. "What 'twaddle, farce and by-play,' + is it anyhow?" And in my vexation, I found myself on my feet and striding + nervously up and down the paved walk that joined the street with the + piazza, pausing at last and confronting the Major almost petulantly. + "Please explain," I said, controlling my vexation with an effort. + </p> + <p> + The Major arose. "Your striding up and down there reminds me that a little + stroll on the street might do us both good," he said. "Will you wait until + I get a coat and hat?" + </p> + <p> + He rejoined me a moment later, and we passed through the open gate; and + saying, "Let's go down this way," he took my arm and turned into a street, + where, cooling as the dusk was, the thick maples lining the walk, seemed + to throw a special shade of tranquility upon us. + </p> + <p> + "What I meant was"—began the Major, in low, serious voice,—"What + I meant was—simply this: Our friend Tommy, though the truest + Irishman in the world, is a man quite the opposite everyway of the + character he has appeared to you. All that rich brogue of his is assumed. + Though he's poor, as I told you, when he came here, his native quickness, + and his marvelous resources, tact, judgment, business qualities—all + have helped him to the equivalent of a liberal education. His love of the + humorous and the ridiculous is unbounded; but he has serious moments, as + well, and at such times is as dignified and refined in speech and manner + as any man you'd find in a thousand. He is a good speaker, can stir a + political convention to fomentation when he gets fired up; and can write + an article for the press that goes spang to the spot. He gets into a great + many personal encounters of a rather undignified character; but they are + almost invariably bred of his innate interest in the 'under dog,' and the + fire and tow of his impetuous nature." + </p> + <p> + My companion had paused here, and was looking through some printed slips + in his pocket-book. "I wanted you to see some of the fellow's articles in + print, but I have nothing of importance here—only some of his + 'doggerel,' as he calls it, and you've had a sample of that. But here's a + bit of the upper spirit of the man—and still another that you should + hear him recite. You can keep them both if you care to. The boys all fell + in love with that last one, particularly, hearing his rendition of it. So + we had a lot printed, and I have two or three left. Put these two in your + pocket and read at your leisure." + </p> + <p> + But I read them there and then, as eagerly, too, as I append them here and + now. The first is called— + </p> + <h3> + SAYS HE. + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "Whatever the weather may be," says he— + "Whatever the weather may be, + It's plaze, if ye will, an' I'll say me say,— + Supposin' to-day was the winterest day, + Wud the weather be changing because ye cried, + Or the snow be grass were ye crucified? + The best is to make your own summer," says he, + "Whatever the weather may be," says he— + "Whatever the weather may be! + + "Whatever the weather may be," says he— + "Whatever the weather may be, + It's the songs ye sing, an' the smiles ye wear, + That's a-makin' the sunshine everywhere, + An' the world of gloom is a world of glee, + Wid the bird in the bush, an' the bud in the tree, + An' the fruit on the stim of the bough," says he, + "Whatever the weather may be," says he— + "Whatever the weather may be! + + "Whatever the weather may be," says he— + "Whatever the weather may be, + Ye can bring the Spring, wid its green an' gold, + An' the grass in the grove where the snow lies cold, + An' ye'll warm yer back, wid a smiling face, + As ye sit at yer heart like an owld fire-place, + An' toast the toes o' yer soul," says he, + "Whatever the weather may be," says he— + "Whatever the weather may be!" +</pre> + <p> + "Now" said the Major, peering eagerly above my shoulder, "go on with the + next. To my liking, it is even better than the first. A type of character + you'll recognize.—The same 'broth of a boy,' only <i>Americanized</i>, + don't you know." + </p> + <p> + And I read the scrap entitled— + </p> + <h3> + CHAIRLEY BURKE. + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + It's Chairley Burke's in town, b'ys! He's down til "Jamesy's Place," + Wid a bran' new shave upon 'um, an' the fhwhuskers aff his face; + He's quit the Section Gang last night, and yez can chalk it down, + There's goin' to be the divil's toime, sence Chairley Burke's in + town. + + It's treatin' iv'ry b'y he is, an' poundin' on the bar + Till iv'ry man he 's drinkin' wid must shmoke a foine cigar; + An' Missus Murphy's little Kate, that's comin' there for beer, + Can't pay wan cint the bucketful, the whilst that Chairley's here! + + He's joompin' oor the tops o' sthools, the both forninst an' back! + He'll lave yez pick the blessed flure, an' walk the straightest + crack! + He's liftin' barrels wid his teeth, and singin' "Garry Owen," + Till all the house be strikin' hands, sence Chairley Burke's in + town. + + The Road-Yaird hands comes dhroppin' in, an' niver goin' back; + An' there 's two freights upon the switch—the wan on aither track— + An' Mr. Gearry, from The Shops, he's mad enough to swear, + An' durst n't spake a word but grin, the whilst that Chairley's + there! + + Oh! Chairley! Chairley! Chairley Burke! ye divil, wid yer ways + O' dhrivin' all the throubles aff, these dark an' gloomy days! + Ohone! that it's meself, wid all the griefs I have to drown, + Must lave me pick to resht a bit, sence Chairley Burke's in town! +</pre> + <p> + "Before we turn back, now," said the smiling Major, as I stood lingering + over the indefinable humor of the last refrain, "before we turn back I + want to show you something eminently characteristic. Come this way a half + dozen steps." + </p> + <p> + As he spoke I looked up, to first observe that we had paused before a + handsome square brick residence, centering a beautiful smooth lawn, its + emerald only littered with the light gold of the earliest autumn leaves. + On either side of the trim walk that led up from the gate to the carved + stone ballusters of the broad piazza, with its empty easy chairs, were + graceful vases, frothing over with late blossoms, and wreathed with + laurel-looking vines; and, luxuriantly lacing the border of the pave that + turned the further corner of the house, blue, white and crimson, pink and + violet, went fading in perspective as my gaze followed the gesture of the + Major's. + </p> + <p> + "Here, come a little further. Now do you see that man there?" + </p> + <p> + Yes, I could make out a figure in the deepening dusk—the figure of a + man on the back stoop—a tired looking man, in his shirt-sleeves, who + sat upon a low chair—no, not a chair—an empty box. He was + leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, and the hands dropped limp. + He was smoking, too, I could barely see his pipe, and but for the odor of + very strong tobacco, would not have known he had a pipe. Why does the + master of the house permit his servants to so desecrate this beautiful + home? I thought. + </p> + <p> + "Well, shall we go now?" said the Major. + </p> + <p> + I turned silently and we retraced our steps. I think neither of us spoke + for the distance of a square. + </p> + <p> + "Guess you didn't know the man there on the back porch?" said the Major. + </p> + <p> + "No; why?" I asked dubiously. + </p> + <p> + "I hardly thought you would, and besides the poor fellow's tired, and it + was best not to disturb him," said the Major. + </p> + <p> + "Why; who was it—some one I know?" + </p> + <p> + "It was Tommy." + </p> + <p> + "Oh," said I, inquiringly, "he's employed there in some capacity?" + </p> + <p> + "Yes, as master of the house." + </p> + <p> + "You don't mean it?" + </p> + <p> + "I certainly do. He owns it, and made every cent of the money that paid + for it!" said the Major proudly. "That's why I wanted you particularly to + note that 'eminent characteristic' I spoke of. Tommy could just as well be + sitting, with a fine cigar, on the front piazza in an easy chair, as, with + his dhudeen, on the back porch, on an empty box, where every night you'll + find him. Its the unconscious dropping back into the old ways of his + father, and his father's father, and his father's father's father. In + brief, he sits there the poor lorn symbol of the long oppression of his + race." + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0045" id="link2H_4_0045"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + RAGWEED AND FENNEL + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0046" id="link2H_4_0046"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + WHEN MY DREAMS COME TRUE. + </h2> + <h3> + I. + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + When my dreams come true—when my dreams come true— + Shall I lean from out my casement, in the starlight and the dew, + To listen—smile and listen to the tinkle of the strings + Of the sweet guitar my lover's fingers fondle, as he sings? + And as the nude moon slowly, slowly shoulders into view, + Shall I vanish from his vision—when my dreams come true? + + When my dreams come true—shall the simple gown I wear + Be changed to softest satin, and my maiden-braided hair + Be raveled into flossy mists of rarest, fairest gold, + To be minted into kisses, more than any heart can hold?— + Or "the summer of my tresses" shall my lover liken to + "The fervor of his passion"—when my dreams come true? +</pre> + <h3> + II. + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + When my dreams come true—I shall bide among the sheaves + Of happy harvest meadows; and the grasses and the leaves + Shall lift and lean between me and the splendor of the sun, + Till the noon swoons into twilight, and the gleaners' work is done— + Save that yet an arm shall bind me, even as the reapers do + The meanest sheaf of harvest—when my dreams come true. + + When my dreams come true! when my dreams come true! + True love in all simplicity is fresh and pure as dew;— + The blossom in the blackest mold is kindlier to the eye + Than any lily born of pride that looms against the sky: + And so it is I know my heart will gladly welcome you, + My lowliest of lovers, when my dreams come true. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0047" id="link2H_4_0047"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A DOS'T O' BLUES. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I' got no patience with blues at all! + And I ust to kindo talk + Aginst 'em, and claim, 'tel along last Fall, + They was none in the fambly stock; + But a nephew of mine, from Eelinoy, + That visited us last year, + He kindo convinct me differunt + While he was a-stayin' here. + + Frum ever'-which way that blues is from, + They'd tackle him ever' ways; + They'd come to him in the night, and come + On Sundays, and rainy days; + They'd tackle him in corn-plantin' time, + And in harvest, and airly Fall, + But a dose 't of blues in the wintertime, + He 'lowed, was the worst of all! + + Said all diseases that ever he had— + The mumps, er the rheumatiz— + Er ever'-other-day-aigger's bad + Purt' nigh as anything is!— + Er a cyarbuncle, say, on the back of his neck, + Er a felon on his thumb,— + But you keep the blues away from him, + And all o' the rest could come! + + And he'd moan, "They's nary a leaf below! + Ner a spear o' grass in sight! + And the whole wood-pile's clean under snow! + And the days is dark as night! + You can't go out—ner you can't stay in— + Lay down—stand up—ner set!" + And a tetch o' regular tyfoid-blues + Would double him jest clean shet! + + I writ his parents a postal-kyard, + He could stay 'tel Spring-time come; + And Aprile first, as I rickollect, + Was the day we shipped him home! + Most o' his relatives, sence then, + Has either give up, er quit, + Er jest died off; but I understand + He's the same old color yit! +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0048" id="link2H_4_0048"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE BAT. + </h2> + <h3> + I. + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Thou dread, uncanny thing, + With fuzzy breast and leathern wing, + In mad, zigzagging flight, + Notching the dusk, and buffeting + The black cheeks of the night, + With grim delight! +</pre> + <h3> + II. + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + What witch's hand unhasps + Thy keen claw-cornered wings + From under the barn roof, and flings + Thee forth, with chattering gasps, + To scud the air, + And nip the lady-bug, and tear + Her children's hearts out unaware? +</pre> + <h3> + III. + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The glow-worm's glimmer, and the bright, + Sad pulsings of the fire-fly's light, + Are banquet lights to thee. + O less than bird, and worse than beast, + Thou Devil's self, or brat, at least, + Grate not thy teeth at me! +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0049" id="link2H_4_0049"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE WAY IT WUZ. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Las' July—an', I persume + 'Bout as hot + As the ole Gran'-Jury room + Where they sot!— + Fight 'twixt Mike an' Dock McGriff— + 'Pears to me jes' like as if + I'd a dremp' the whole blame thing— + Allus ha'nts me roun' the gizzard + When they're nightmares on the wing, + An' a feller's blood's jes' friz! + Seed the row from a to izzard— + 'Cause I wuz a-standin' as clost to 'em + As me an' you is! + + Tell you the way it wuz— + An' I do n't want to see, + Like <i>some</i> fellers does, + When they 're goern to be + Any kind o' fuss— + On'y makes a rumpus wuss + Far to interfere + When their dander's riz— + But I wuz a-standin' as clost to 'em + As me an' you is! + + I wuz kind o' strayin' + Past the blame saloon— + Heerd some fiddler playin' + That "ole hee-cup tune!" + Sort o' stopped, you know, + Far a minit er so, + And wuz jes' about + + Settin' down, when—<i>Jeemses-whizz!</i> + Whole durn winder-sash fell out! + An' there laid Doc McGriff, and Mike + A-straddlin' him, all bloody-like, + An' both a-gittin' down to biz!— + An' I wuz a-standin' as clost to 'em + As me an' you is! + + I wuz the on'y man aroun'— + (Durn old-fogy town! + 'Peared more like, to me, + <i>Sund'y</i> 'an <i>Saturd'y!)</i> + Dog come 'crost the road + An' tuck a smell + An' put right back; + Mishler driv by 'ith a load + O' cantalo'pes he couldn't sell— + Too mad, 'y jack! + To even ast + What wuz up, as he went past! + Weather most outrageous hot!— + Fairly hear it sizz + Roun' Dock an' Mike—till Dock he shot, + An' Mike he slacked that grip o' his + An' fell, all spraddled out. Dock riz + 'Bout half up, a-spittin' red, + An' shuck his head— + An' I wuz a-standin' as clost to 'em + As me an' you is! + + An' Dock he says, + A-whisperin'-like,— + "It hain't no use + A-tryin'!—Mike + He's jes' ripped my daylights loose!— + Git that blame-don fiddler to + Let up, an' come out here—You + Got some burryin' to do,— + Mike makes <i>one</i>, an' I expects + In ten seconds I'll make <i>two</i>!" + And he drapped back, where he riz, + 'Crost Mike's body, black and blue, + Like a great big letter X!— + An' I wuz a-standin' as clost to 'em + As me an' you is! +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0050" id="link2H_4_0050"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE DRUM. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + O the drum! + There is some + Intonation in thy grum + Monotony of utterance that strikes the spirit dumb, + As we hear + Through the clear + And unclouded atmosphere, + Thy palpitating syllables roll in upon the car! + + There's a part + Of the art + Of thy music-throbbing heart + That thrills a something in us that awakens with a start, + And in rhyme + With the chime + And exactitude of time, + Goes marching on to glory to thy melody sublime. + + And the guest + Of the breast + That thy rolling robs of rest + Is a patriotic spirit as a Continental dressed; + And he looms + From the glooms + Of a century of tombs, + And the blood he spilled at Lexington in living beauty blooms. + + And his eyes + Wear the guise + Of a purpose pure and wise, + As the love of them is lifted to a something in the skies + That is bright + Red and white, + With a blur of starry light, + As it laughs in silken ripples to the breezes day and night. + + There are deep + Hushes creep + O'er the pulses as they leap, + As thy tumult, fainter growing, on the silence falls asleep, + While the prayer + Rising there + Wills the sea and earth and air + As a heritage to Freedom's sons and daughters everywhere. + + Then, with sound + As profound + As the thunderings resound, + Come thy wild reverberations in a throe that shakes the ground, + And a cry + Flung on high, + Like the flag it flutters by, + Wings rapturously upward till it nestles in the sky. + + O the drum! + There is some + Intonation in thy grum + Monotony of utterance that strikes the spirit dumb, + As we hear + Through the clear + And unclouded atmosphere, + Thy palpitating syllables roll in upon the ear! +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0051" id="link2H_4_0051"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + TOM JOHNSON'S QUIT. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + A passel o' the boys last night— + An' me amongst 'em—kindo got + To talkin' Temper'nce left an' right, + An' workin' up "blue-ribbon," <i>hot</i>; + An' while we was a-countin' jes' + How many bed gone into hit + An' signed the pledge, some feller says,— + "Tom Johnson's quit!" + + We laughed, of course—'cause Tom, you know, + <i>He's</i> spiled more whisky, boy an' man, + And seed more trouble, high an' low, + Than any chap but Tom could stand: + And so, says I "<i>He's</i> too nigh dead. + Far Temper'nce to benefit!" + The feller sighed agin, and said— + "Tom Johnson's quit!" + + We all <i>liked</i> Tom, an' that was why + We sorto simmered down agin, + And ast the feller ser'ously + Ef he wa'n't tryin' to draw us in: + He shuck his head—tuck off his hat— + Helt up his hand an' opened hit, + An' says, says he, "I'll <i>swear</i> to that— + Tom Johnson's quit!" + + Well, we was stumpt, an' tickled too,— + Because we knowed ef Tom <i>had</i> signed + Ther wa'n't no man 'at wore the "blue" + 'At was more honester inclined: + An' then and there we kindo riz,— + The hull dern gang of us 'at bit— + An' th'owed our hats and let 'er whizz,— + "<i>Tom Johnson's quit!</i>" + + I've heerd 'em holler when the balls + Was buzzin' 'round us wus 'n bees, + An' when the ole flag on the walls + Was flappin' o'er the enemy's, + I've heerd a-many a wild "hooray" + 'At made my heart git up an' git— + But Lord!—to hear 'em shout that way!— + "<i>Tom Johnson's quit!</i>" + + But when we saw the chap 'at fetched + The news wa'n't jinin' in the cheer, + But stood there solemn-like, an' reched + An' kindo wiped away a tear, + We someway sorto' stilled agin, + And listened—I kin hear him yit, + His voice a-wobblin' with his chin,— + "Tom Johnson's quit— + + "I hain't a-givin' you no game— + I wisht I was!... An hour ago, + This operator—what's his name— + The one 'at works at night, you know?— + Went out to flag that Ten Express, + And sees a man in front of hit + Th'ow up his hands an' stagger—yes,— + <i>Tom Johnson's quit</i>." +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0052" id="link2H_4_0052"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LULLABY. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The maple strews the embers of its leaves + O'er the laggard swallows nestled 'neath the eaves; + And the moody cricket falters in his cry—Baby-bye!— + And the lid of night is falling o'er the sky—Baby-bye!— + The lid of night is falling o'er the sky! + + The rose is lying pallid, and the cup + Of the frosted calla-lily folded up; + And the breezes through the garden sob and sigh—Baby-bye!— + O'er the sleeping blooms of summer where they lie—Baby-bye!— + O'er the sleeping blooms of summer where they lie! + + Yet, Baby—O my Baby, for your sake + This heart of mine is ever wide awake, + And my love may never droop a drowsy eye—Baby-bye!— + Till your own are wet above me when I die—Baby-bye!— + Till your own are wet above me when I die. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0053" id="link2H_4_0053"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IN THE SOUTH. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + There is a princess in the South + About whose beauty rumors hum + Like honey-bees about the mouth + Of roses dewdrops falter from; + And O her hair is like the fine + Clear amber of a jostled wine + In tropic revels; and her eyes + Are blue as rifts of Paradise. + + Such beauty as may none before + Kneel daringly, to kiss the tips + Of fingers such as knights of yore + Had died to lift against their lips: + Such eyes as might the eyes of gold + Of all the stars of night behold + With glittering envy, and so glare + In dazzling splendor of despair. + + So, were I but a minstrel, deft + At weaving, with the trembling strings + Of my glad harp, the warp and weft + Of rondels such as rapture sings,— + I'd loop my lyre across my breast, + Nor stay me till my knee found rest + In midnight banks of bud and flower + Beneath my lady's lattice-bower. + + And there, drenched with the teary dews, + I'd woo her with such wondrous art + As well might stanch the songs that ooze + Out of the mockbird's breaking heart; + So light, so tender, and so sweet + Should be the words I would repeat, + Her casement, on my gradual sight, + Would blossom as a lily might. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0054" id="link2H_4_0054"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE OLD HOME BY THE MILL. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + This is "The old Home by the Mill"—far we still call it so, + Although the old mill, roof and sill, is all gone long ago. + The old home, though, and old folks, and the old spring, and a few + Old cat-tails, weeds and hartychokes, is left to welcome you! + + Here, Marg'et, fetch the man a tin to drink out of' Our spring + Keeps kindo-sorto cavin' in, but don't "taste" anything! + She's kindo agein', Marg'et is—"the old process," like me, + All ham-stringed up with rheumatiz, and on in seventy-three. + + Jes' me and Marg'et lives alone here—like in long ago; + The childern all put off and gone, and married, don't you know? + One's millin' way out West somewhere; two other miller-boys + In Minnyopolis they air; and one's in Illinoise. + + The oldest gyrl—the first that went—married and died right here; + The next lives in Winn's Settlement—for purt' nigh thirty year! + And youngest one—was allus far the old home here—but no!— + Her man turns in and he packs her 'way off to Idyho! + + I don't miss them like <i>Marg'et</i> does—'cause I got <i>her</i>, you see; + And when she pines for them—that's 'cause <i>she's</i> only jes' got + <i>me</i>! + I laugh, and joke her 'bout it all.—But talkin' sense, I'll say, + When she was tuk so bad last Fall, I laughed the t'other way! + + I haint so favorble impressed 'bout dyin'; but ef I + Found I was only second-best when <i>us two</i> come to die, + I'd 'dopt the "new process" in full, ef <i>Marg'et</i> died, you see,— + I'd jes' crawl in my grave and pull the green grass over me! +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0055" id="link2H_4_0055"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A LEAVE-TAKING. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + She will not smile; + She will not stir; + I marvel while + I look on her. + The lips are chilly + And will not speak; + The ghost of a lily + In either cheek. + + Her hair—ah me! + Her hair—her hair! + How helplessly + My hands go there! + But my caresses + Meet not hers, + O golden tresses + That thread my tears! + + I kiss the eyes + On either lid, + Where her love lies + Forever hid. + I cease my weeping + And smile and say: + I will be sleeping + Thus, some day! +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0056" id="link2H_4_0056"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + WAIT FOR THE MORNING. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Wait for the morning:—It will come, indeed, + As surely as the night hath given need. + The yearning eyes, at last, will strain their sight + No more unanswered by the morning light; + No longer will they vainly strive, through tears, + To pierce the darkness of thy doubts and fears, + But, bathed in balmy dews and rays of dawn, + Will smile with rapture o'er the darkness drawn. + + Wait for the morning, O thou smitten child, + Scorned, scourged and persecuted and reviled— + Athirst and famishing, none pitying thee, + Crowned with the twisted thorns of agony— + No faintest gleam of sunlight through the dense + Infinity of gloom to lead thee thence— + Wait for the morning:—It will come, indeed, + As surely as the night hath given need. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0057" id="link2H_4_0057"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + WHEN JUNE IS HERE. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + When June is here—what art have we to sing + The whiteness of the lilies midst the green + Of noon-tranced lawns? Or flash of roses seen + Like redbirds' wings? Or earliest ripening + Prince-Harvest apples, where the cloyed bees cling + Round winey juices oozing down between + The peckings of the robin, while we lean + In under-grasses, lost in marveling. + Or the cool term of morning, and the stir + Of odorous breaths from wood and meadow walks, + The bobwhite's liquid yodel, and the whir + Of sudden flight; and, where the milkmaid talks + Across the bars, on tilted barley-stalks + The dewdrops' glint in webs of gossamer. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0058" id="link2H_4_0058"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE GILDED ROLL. + </h2> + <p> + Nosing around in an old box—packed away, and lost to memory for + years—an hour ago I found a musty package of gilt paper, or rather, + a roll it was, with the green-tarnished gold of the old sheet for the + outer wrapper. I picked it up mechanically to toss it into some obscure + corner, when, carelessly lifting it by one end, a child's tin whistle + dropped therefrom and fell tinkling on the attic floor. It lies before me + on my writing table now—and so, too, does the roll entire, though + now a roll no longer,—for my eager fingers have unrolled the gilded + covering, and all its precious contents are spread out beneath my hungry + eyes. + </p> + <p> + Here is a scroll of ink-written music. I don't read music, but I know the + dash and swing of the pen that rained it on the page. Here is a letter, + with the self-same impulse and abandon in every syllable; and its melody—however + sweet the other—is far more sweet to me. And here are other letters + like it—three—five—and seven, at least. Bob wrote them + from the front, and Billy kept them for me when I went to join him. Dear + boy! Dear boy! + </p> + <p> + Here are some cards of bristol-board. Ah! when Bob came to these there + were no blotches then. What faces—what expressions! The droll, + ridiculous, good-for-nothing genius, with his "sad mouth," as he called + it, "upside down," laughing always—at everything, at big rallies, + and mass-meetings and conventions, county fairs, and floral halls, booths, + watermelon-wagons, dancing-tents, the swing, Daguerrean-car, the + "lung-barometer," and the air-gun man. Oh! what a gifted, good-for-nothing + boy Bob was in those old days! And here 's a picture of a girlish face—a + very faded photograph—even fresh from "the gallery," five and twenty + years ago it was a faded thing. But the living face—how bright and + clear that was!—for "Doc," Bob's awful name for her, was a pretty + girl, and brilliant, clever, lovable every way. No wonder Bob fancied her! + And you could see some hint of her jaunty loveliness in every fairy face + he drew, and you could find her happy ways and dainty tastes unconsciously + assumed in all he did—the books he read—the poems he admired, + and those he wrote; and, ringing clear and pure and jubilant, the vibrant + beauty of her voice could clearly be defined and traced through all his + music. Now, there's the happy pair of them—Bob and Doc. Make of them + just whatever your good fancy may dictate, but keep in mind the stern, + relentless ways of destiny. + </p> + <p> + You are not at the beginning of a novel, only at the threshold of one of a + hundred experiences that lie buried in the past, and this particular one + most happily resurrected by these odds and ends found in the gilded roll. + </p> + <p> + You see, dating away back, the contents of this package, mainly, were + hastily gathered together after a week's visit out at the old Mills farm; + the gilt paper, and the whistle, and the pictures, they were Billy's; the + music pages, Bob's, or Doc's; the letters and some other manuscripts were + mine. + </p> + <p> + The Mills girls were great friends of Doc's, and often came to visit her + in town; and so Doc often visited the Mills's. This is the way that Bob + first got out there, and won them all, and "shaped the thing" for me, as + he would put it; and lastly, we had lugged in Billy,—such a handy + boy, you know, to hold the horses on picnic excursions, and to watch the + carriage and the luncheon, and all that.—"Yes, and," Bob would say, + "such a serviceable boy in getting all the fishing tackle in proper order, + and digging bait, and promenading in our wake up and down the creek all + day, with the minnow-bucket hanging on his arm, don't you know!" + </p> + <p> + But jolly as the days were, I think jollier were the long evenings at the + farm. After the supper in the grove, where, when the weather permitted, + always stood the table, ankle-deep in the cool green plush of the sward; + and after the lounge upon the grass, and the cigars, and the new fish + stories, and the general invoice of the old ones, it was delectable to get + back to the girls again, and in the old "best room" hear once more the + lilt of the old songs and the stacattoed laughter of the piano mingling + with the alto and falsetto voices of the Mills girls, and the gallant + soprano of the dear girl Doc. + </p> + <p> + This is the scene I want you to look in upon, as, in fancy, I do now—and + here are the materials for it all, husked from the gilded roll: + </p> + <p> + Bob, the master, leans at the piano now, and Doc is at the keys, her glad + face often thrown up sidewise toward his own. His face is boyish—for + there is yet but the ghost of a mustache upon his lip. His eyes are dark + and clear, of over-size when looking at you, but now their lids are + drooped above his violin, whose melody has, for the time, almost smoothed + away the upward kinkings of the corners of his mouth. And wonderfully + quiet now is every one, and the chords of the piano, too, are low and + faltering; and so, at last, the tune itself swoons into the universal + hush, and—Bob is rasping, in its stead, the ridiculous, but + marvelously perfect imitation of the "priming" of a pump, while Billy's + hands forget the "chiggers" on the bare backs of his feet, as, with + clapping palms, he dances round the room in ungovernable spasms of + delight. And then we all laugh; and Billy, taking advantage of the general + tumult, pulls Bob's head down and whispers, "Git 'em to stay up 'way late + to-night!" And Bob, perhaps remembering that we go back home to-morrow, + winks at the little fellow and whispers, "You let me manage 'em! Stay up + till broad daylight if we take a notion—eh?" And Billy dances off + again in newer glee, while the inspired musician is plunking a banjo + imitation on his enchanted instrument, which is unceremoniously drowned + out by a circus-tune from Doc that is absolutely inspiring to everyone but + the barefooted brother, who drops back listlessly to his old position on + the floor and sullenly renews operations on his "chigger" claims. + </p> + <p> + "Thought you was goin' to have pop-corn to-night all so fast!" he says, + doggedly, in the midst of a momentary lull that has fallen on a game of + whist. And then the oldest Mills girl, who thinks cards stupid anyhow, + says: "That's so, Billy; and we're going to have it, too; and right away, + for this game's just ending, and I shan't submit to being bored with + another. I say 'pop-corn' with Billy! And after that," she continues, + rising and addressing the party in general, "we must have another literary + and artistic tournament, and that's been in contemplation and preparation + long enough; so you gentlemen can be pulling your wits together for the + exercises, while us girls see to the refreshments." + </p> + <p> + "Have you done anything toward it!" queries Bob, when the girls are gone, + with the alert Billy in their wake. + </p> + <p> + "Just an outline," I reply. "How with you?" + </p> + <p> + "Clean forgot it—that is, the preparation; but I've got a little old + second-hand idea, if you'll all help me out with it, that'll amuse us + some, and tickle Billy I'm certain." + </p> + <p> + So that's agreed upon; and while Bob produces his portfolio, drawing + paper, pencils and so on, I turn to my note-book in a dazed way and begin + counting my fingers in a depth of profound abstraction, from which I am + barely aroused by the reappearance of the girls and Billy. + </p> + <p> + "Goody, goody, goody! Bob's goin' to make pictures!" cries Billy, in + additional transport to that the cake pop-corn has produced. + </p> + <p> + "Now, you girls," says Bob, gently detaching the affectionate Billy from + one leg and moving a chair to the table, with a backward glance of + intelligence toward the boy,—"you girls are to help us all you can, + and we can all work; but, as I'll have all the illustrations to do, I want + you to do as many of the verses as you can—that'll be easy, you + know,—because the work entire is just to consist of a series of + fool-epigrams, such as, for instance.—Listen, Billy: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Here lies a young man + Who in childhood began + To swear, and to smoke, and to drink,— + In his twentieth year + He quit swearing and beer, + And yet is still smoking, I think." +</pre> + <p> + And the rest of his instructions are delivered in lower tones, that the + boy may not hear; and then, all matters seemingly arranged, he turns to + the boy with—"And now, Billy, no lookin' over shoulders, you know, + or swinging on my chair-back while I'm at work. When the pictures are all + finished, then you can take a squint at 'em, and not before. Is that all + hunky, now?" + </p> + <p> + "Oh! who's a-goin' to look over your shoulder—only <i>Doc</i>." And + as the radiant Doc hastily quits that very post, and dives for the + offending brother, he scrambles under the piano and laughs derisively. + </p> + <p> + And then a silence falls upon the group—a gracious quiet, only + intruded upon by the very juicy and exuberant munching of an apple from a + remote fastness of the room, and the occasional thumping of a bare heel + against the floor. + </p> + <p> + At last I close my note-book with a half slam. + </p> + <p> + "That means," says Bob, laying down his pencil, and addressing the girls,—"That + means he's concluded his poem, and that he's not pleased with it in any + manner, and that he intends declining to read it, for that + self-acknowledged reason, and that he expects us to believe every affected + word of his entire speech—" + </p> + <p> + "Oh, don't!" I exclaim. + </p> + <p> + "Then give us the wretched production, in all its hideous deformity!" + </p> + <p> + And the girls all laugh so sympathetically, and Bob joins them so gently, + and yet with a tone, I know, that can be changed so quickly to my further + discomfiture, that I arise at once and read, without apology or excuse, + this primitive and very callow poem recovered here to-day from the gilded + roll: + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0059" id="link2H_4_0059"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A BACKWARD LOOK. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + As I sat smoking, alone, yesterday, + And lazily leaning back in my chair, + Enjoying myself in a general way— + Allowing my thoughts a holiday + From weariness, toil and care,— + My fancies—doubtless, for ventilation— + Left ajar the gates of my mind,— + And Memory, seeing the situation, + Slipped out in street of "Auld Lang Syne." + + Wandering ever with tireless feet + Through scenes of silence, and jubilee + Of long-hushed voices; and faces sweet + Were thronging the shadowy side of the street + As far as the eye could see; + Dreaming again, in anticipation, + The same old dreams of our boyhood's days + That never come true, from the vague sensation + Of walking asleep in the world's strange ways. + + Away to the house where I was born! + And there was the selfsame clock that ticked + From the close of dusk to the burst of morn, + When life-warm hands plucked the golden corn + And helped when the apples were picked. + And the "chany-dog" on the mantel-shelf, + With the gilded collar and yellow eyes, + Looked just as at first, when I hugged myself + Sound asleep with the dear surprise. + + And down to the swing in the locust tree, + Where the grass was worn from the trampled ground, + And where "Eck" Skinner, "Old" Carr, and three + Or four such other boys used to be + Doin' "sky-scrapers," or "whirlin' round:" + And again Bob climbed for the bluebird's nest, + And again "had shows" in the buggy-shed + Of Guymon's barn, where still, unguessed, + The old ghosts romp through the best days dead! + + And again I gazed from the old school-room + With a wistful look of a long June day, + When on my cheek was the hectic bloom + Caught of Mischief, as I presume— + He had such a "partial" way, + It seemed, toward me.—And again I thought + Of a probable likelihood to be + Kept in after school—for a girl was caught + Catching a note from me. + + And down through the woods to the swimming-hole— + Where the big, white, hollow, old sycamore grows,— + And we never cared when the water was cold, + And always "ducked" the boy that told + On the fellow that tied the clothes.— + When life went so like a dreamy rhyme, + That it seems to me now that then + The world was having a jollier time + Than it ever will have again. +</pre> + <p> + The crude production is received, I am glad to note, with some expressions + of favor from the company, though Bob, of course, must heartlessly + dissipate my weak delight by saying, "Well, it's certainly bad enough; + though," he goes on with an air of deepest critical sagacity and fairness, + "considered, as it should be, justly, as the production of a jour-poet, + why, it might be worse—that is, a little worse." + </p> + <p> + "Probably," I remember saying,—"Probably I might redeem myself by + reading you this little amateurish bit of verse, enclosed to me in a + letter by mistake, not very long ago." I here fish an envelope from my + pocket the address of which all recognize as in Bob's almost printed + writing. He smiles vacantly at it—then vividly colors. + </p> + <p> + "What date?" he stoically asks. + </p> + <p> + "The date," I suggestively answer, "of your last letter to our dear Doc, + at Boarding-School, two days exactly in advance of her coming home—this + veritable visit now." + </p> + <p> + Both Bob and Doc rush at me—but too late. The letter and contents + have wholly vanished. The youngest Miss Mills quiets us—urgently + distracting us, in fact, by calling our attention to the immediate + completion of our joint production; "For now," she says, "with our new + reinforcement, we can, with becoming diligence, soon have it ready for + both printer and engraver, and then we'll wake up the boy (who has been + fortunately slumbering for the last quarter of an hour), and present to + him, as designed and intended, this matchless creation of our united + intellects." At the conclusion of this speech we all go good-humoredly to + work, and at the close of half an hour the tedious, but most ridiculous, + task is announced completed. + </p> + <p> + As I arrange and place in proper form here on the table the separate cards—twenty-seven + in number—I sigh to think that I am unable to transcribe for you the + best part of the nonsensical work—the illustrations. All I can give + is the written copy of— + </p> + <h3> + BILLY'S ALPHABETICAL ANIMAL SHOW. + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + A was an elegant Ape + Who tied up his ears with red tape, + And wore a long veil + Half revealing his tail + Which was trimmed with jet bugles and crape. + + B was a boastful old Bear + Who used to say,—"Hoomh! I declare + I can eat—if you'll get me + The children, and let me— + Ten babies, teeth, toenails and hair!" + + C was a Codfish who sighed + When snatched from the home of his pride, + But could he, embrined, + Guess this fragrance behind, + How glad he would be that he died! + + D was a dandified Dog + Who said,—"Though it's raining like fog + I wear no umbrellah, + Me boy, for a fellah + Might just as well travel incog!" + + E was an elderly Eel + Who would say,—"Well, I really feel— + As my grandchildren wriggle + And shout 'I should giggle'— + A trifle run down at the heel!" + + F was a Fowl who conceded + <i>Some</i> hens might hatch more eggs than <i>she</i> did,— + But she'd children as plenty + As eighteen or twenty, + And that was quite all that she needed. + + G was a gluttonous Goat + Who, dining one day, <i>table-d'hote,</i> + Ordered soup-bone, <i>au fait</i>, + And fish, <i>papier-mache</i>, + And a <i>filet</i> of Spring overcoat. + + H was a high-cultured Hound + Who could clear forty feet at a bound, + And a coon once averred + That his howl could be heard + For five miles and three-quarters around. + + I was an Ibex ambitious + To dive over chasms auspicious; + He would leap down a peak + And not light for a week, + And swear that the jump was delicious. + + J was a Jackass who said + He had such a bad cold in his head, + If it wasn't for leaving + The rest of us grieving, + He'd really rather be dead. + + K was a profligate Kite + Who would haunt the saloons every night; + And often he ust + To reel back to his roost + Too full to set up on it right. + + L was a wary old Lynx + Who would say,—"Do you know wot I thinks?— + I thinks ef you happen + To ketch me a-nappin' + I'm ready to set up the drinks!" + + M was a merry old Mole, + Who would snooze all the day in his hole, + Then—all night, a-rootin' + Around and galootin'— + He'd sing "Johnny, Fill up the Bowl!" + + N was a caustical Nautilus + Who sneered, "I suppose, when they've <i>caught</i> all us, + Like oysters they'll serve us, + And can us, preserve us, + And barrel, and pickle, and bottle us!" + + O was an autocrat Owl— + Such a wise—such a wonderful fowl! + Why, for all the night through + He would hoot and hoo-hoo, + And hoot and hoo-hooter and howl! + + P was a Pelican pet, + Who gobbled up all he could get; + He could eat on until + He was full to the bill, + And there he had lodgings to let! + + Q was a querulous Quail, + Who said: "It will little avail + The efforts of those + Of my foes who propose + To attempt to put salt on my tail!" + + R was a ring-tailed Raccoon, + With eyes of the tinge of the moon, + And his nose a blue-black, + And the fur on his back + A sad sort of sallow maroon. + + S is a Sculpin—you'll wish + Very much to have one on your dish, + Since all his bones grow + On the outside, and so + He's a very desirable fish. + + T was a Turtle, of wealth, + Who went round with particular stealth,— + "Why," said he, "I'm afraid + Of being waylaid + When I even walk out for my health!" + + U was a Unicorn curious, + With one horn, of a growth so <i>luxurious</i>, + He could level and stab it— + If you didn't grab it— + Clean through you, he was so blamed furious! + + V was a vagabond Vulture + Who said: "I don't want to insult yer, + But when you intrude + Where in lone solitude + I'm a-preyin', you're no man o' culture!" + + W was a wild <i>Wood</i>chuck, + And you can just bet that he <i>could</i> "chuck" + He'd eat raw potatoes, + Green corn, and tomatoes, + And tree roots, and call it all "<i>good</i> chuck!" + + X was a kind of X-cuse + Of a some-sort-o'-thing that got loose + Before we could name it, + And cage it, and tame it, + And bring it in general use. + + Y is the Yellowbird,—bright + As a petrified lump of star-light, + Or a handful of lightning- + Bugs, squeezed in the tight'ning + Pink fist of a boy, at night. + + Z is the Zebra, of course!— + A kind of a clown-of-a-horse,— + Each other despising, + Yet neither devising + A way to obtain a divorce! + + & here is the famous—what-is-it? + Walk up, Master Billy, and quiz it: + You've seen the <i>rest</i> of 'em— + Ain't this the <i>best</i> of 'em, + Right at the end of your visit? +</pre> + <p> + At last Billy is sent off to bed. It is the prudent mandate of the old + folks: But so lothfully the poor child goes, Bob's heart goes, too.—Yes, + Bob himself, to keep the little fellow company awhile, and, up there under + the old rafters, in the pleasant gloom, lull him to famous dreams with + fairy tales. And it is during this brief absence that the youngest Mills + girl gives us a surprise. She will read a poem, she says, written by a + very dear friend of hers who, fortunately for us, is not present to + prevent her. We guard door and window as she reads. Doc says she will not + listen; but she does listen, and cries, too—out of pure vexation, + she asserts. The rest of us, however, cry just because of the apparent + honesty of the poem of— + </p> + <h3> + BEAUTIFUL HANDS. + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + O your hands—they are strangely fair! + Fair—for the jewels that sparkle there,— + Fair—for the witchery of the spell + That ivory keys alone can tell; + But when their delicate touches rest + Here in my own do I love them best, + As I clasp with eager acquisitive spans + My glorious treasure of beautiful hands! + + Marvelous—wonderful—beautiful hands! + They can coax roses to bloom in the strands + Of your brown tresses; and ribbons will twine, + Under mysterious touches of thine, + Into such knots as entangle the soul, + And fetter the heart under such a control + As only the strength of my love understands— + My passionate love for your beautiful hands. + + As I remember the first fair touch + Of those beautiful hands that I love so much, + I seem to thrill as I then was thrilled, + Kissing the glove that I found unfilled— + When I met your gaze, and the queenly bow, + As you said to me, laughingly, "Keep it now!" + And dazed and alone in a dream I stand + Kissing this ghost of your beautiful hand. + + When first I loved, in the long ago, + And held your hand as I told you so— + Pressed and caressed it and gave it a kiss, + And said "I could die fora hand like this!" + Little I dreamed love's fulness yet + Had to ripen when eyes were wet, + And prayers were vain in their wild demands + For one warm touch of your beautiful hands. + + Beautiful Hands! O Beautiful Hands! + Could you reach out of the alien lands + Where you are lingering, and give me, to-night, + Only a touch—were it ever so light— + My heart were soothed, and my weary brain + Would lull itself into rest again; + For there is no solace the world commands + Like the caress of your beautiful hands. + +</pre> + <hr /> + <p> + Violently winking at the mist that blurs my sight, I regretfully awaken to + the here and now. And is it possible, I sorrowfully muse, that all this + glory can have fled away?—that more than twenty long, long years are + spread between me and that happy night? And is it possible that all the + dear old faces—O, quit it! quit it! Gather the old scraps up and wad + 'em back into oblivion, where they belong! + </p> + <p> + Yes, but be calm—be calm! Think of cheerful things. You are not all + alone. <i>Billy</i>'s living yet. + </p> + <p> + I know—and six feet high—and sag-shouldered—and owns a + tin and stove-store, and can't hear thunder! <i>Billy!</i> + </p> + <p> + And the youngest Mills girl—she's alive, too. + </p> + <p> + S'pose I don't know that? I married her! + </p> + <p> + And Doc.— + </p> + <p> + <i>Bob</i> married her. Been in California for more than fifteen years—on + some blasted cattle-ranch, or something,—and he's worth a half a + million! And am I less prosperous with this gilded roll? + </p> + <div style="height: 6em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 13908 ***</div> +</body> +</html> diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e2b04db --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #13908 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/13908) diff --git a/old/13908-h.zip b/old/13908-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..5ed0966 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/13908-h.zip diff --git a/old/13908-h/13908-h.htm b/old/13908-h/13908-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..8a43f50 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/13908-h/13908-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,6828 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="iso-8859-1"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> + <head> + <meta content="pg2html (binary v0.17)" name="linkgenerator" /> + <title> + Pipes O' Pan at Zekesbury, by James Whitcomb Riley + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + body { margin:15%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .75em; margin-bottom: .75em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 5%; text-align: justify; font-size: 80%; font-style: italic;} + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + .xx-small {font-size: 60%;} + .x-small {font-size: 75%;} + .small {font-size: 85%;} + .large {font-size: 115%;} + .x-large {font-size: 130%;} + .indent5 { margin-left: 5%;} + .indent10 { margin-left: 10%;} + .indent15 { margin-left: 15%;} + .indent20 { margin-left: 20%;} + .indent25 { margin-left: 25%;} + .indent30 { margin-left: 30%;} + .indent35 { margin-left: 35%;} + .indent40 { margin-left: 40%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {position: absolute; right: 1%; font-size: 0.6em; + font-variant: normal; font-style: normal; + text-align: right; background-color: #FFFACD; + border: 1px solid; padding: 0.3em;text-indent: 0em;} + .side { float: left; font-size: 75%; width: 15%; padding-left: 0.8em; + border-left: dashed thin; text-align: left; + text-indent: 0; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; + font-weight: bold; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: solid 1px;} + .head { float: left; font-size: 90%; width: 98%; padding-left: 0.8em; + border-left: dashed thin; text-align: center; + text-indent: 0; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; + font-weight: bold; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: solid 1px;} + p.pfirst, p.noindent {text-indent: 0} + span.dropcap { float: left; margin: 0 0.1em 0 0; line-height: 0.8 } + pre { font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 100%; margin-left: 10%;} +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +Project Gutenberg's Pipes O'Pan at Zekesbury, by James Whitcomb Riley + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Pipes O'Pan at Zekesbury + +Author: James Whitcomb Riley + +Release Date: October 31, 2004 [EBook #13908] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: iso-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PIPES O'PAN AT ZEKESBURY *** + + + + +Etext produced by Curtis A. Weyant, Project Manager, Keith M. Eckrich, +Post-Processor, and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed +Proofreading Team + +HTML file produced by David Widger + + + + +</pre> + <div style="height: 8em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + PIPES O' PAN AT ZEKESBURY + </h1> + <h2> + By James Whitcomb Riley + </h2> + <h4> + Indianapolis + </h4> + <h4> + Bowen-Merrill Co., Publishers + </h4> + <h3> + 1895 + </h3> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h3> + <i>TO MY BROTHER JOHN A. RILEY WITH MANY MEMORIES OF THE OLD HOME</i> + </h3> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <p> + <b>CONTENTS</b> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> <b>PIPES O' PAN AT ZEKESBURY</b> </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> <b>AT ZEKESBURY.</b> </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> <b>DOWN AROUND THE RIVER POEMS</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> DOWN AROUND THE RIVER. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> KNEELING WITH HERRICK. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> ROMANCIN'. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> HAS SHE FORGOTTEN. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> A' OLD PLAYED-OUT SONG. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> THE LOST PATH. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> THE LITTLE TINY KICKSHAW. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> HIS MOTHER. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0012"> KISSING THE ROD. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0013"> HOW IT HAPPENED. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0014"> BABYHOOD. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0015"> THE DAYS GONE BY. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0016"> MRS. MILLER </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0017"> <b>RHYMES OF RAINY DAYS</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0018"> THE TREE-TOAD. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0019"> A WORN-OUT PENCIL. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0020"> THE STEPMOTHER. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0021"> THE RAIN. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0022"> THE LEGEND GLORIFIED. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0023"> WANT TO BE WHUR MOTHER IS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0024"> OLD MAN'S NURSERY RHYME. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0025"> THREE DEAD FRIENDS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0026"> IN BOHEMIA. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0027"> IN THE DARK. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0028"> WET WEATHER TALK. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0029"> WHERE SHALL WE LAND. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0030"> AN OLD SETTLER'S STORY </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0031"> <b>SWEET-KNOT AND GALAMUS</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0032"> AN OLD SWEETHEART. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0033"> MARTHY ELLEN. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0034"> MOON-DROWNED. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0035"> LONG AFORE HE KNOWED WHO SANTY-CLAUS WUZ. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0036"> DEAR HANDS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0037"> THIS MAN JONES. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0038"> TO MY GOOD MASTER. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0039"> WHEN THE GREEN GITS BACK IN THE TREES. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0040"> AT BROAD RIPPLE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0041"> WHEN OLD JACK DIED. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0042"> DOC SIFERS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0043"> AT NOON—AND MIDNIGHT. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0044"> A WILD IRISHMAN. </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0045"> <b>RAGWEED AND FENNEL</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0046"> WHEN MY DREAMS COME TRUE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0047"> A DOS'T O' BLUES. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0048"> THE BAT. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0049"> THE WAY IT WUZ. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0050"> THE DRUM. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0051"> TOM JOHNSON'S QUIT. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0052"> LULLABY. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0053"> IN THE SOUTH. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0054"> THE OLD HOME BY THE MILL. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0055"> A LEAVE-TAKING. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0056"> WAIT FOR THE MORNING. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0057"> WHEN JUNE IS HERE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0058"> THE GILDED ROLL. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0059"> A BACKWARD LOOK. </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PIPES O' PAN AT ZEKESBURY + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The pipes of Pan! Not idler now are they + Than when their cunning fashioner first blew + The pith of music from them: Yet for you + And me their notes are blown in many a way + Lost in our murmurings for that old day + That fared so well, without us.—Waken to + The pipings here at hand:—The clear halloo + Of truant-voices, and the roundelay + The waters warble in the solitude + Of blooming thickets, where the robin's breast + Sends up such ecstacy o'er dale and dell, + Each tree top answers, till in all the wood + There lingers not one squirrel in his nest + Whetting his hunger on an empty shell. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + AT ZEKESBURY. + </h2> + <p> + The little town, as I recall it, was of just enough dignity and dearth of + the same to be an ordinary county seat in Indiana—"The Grand Old + Hoosier State," as it was used to being howlingly referred to by the + forensic stump orator from the old stand in the courthouse yard—a + political campaign being the wildest delight that Zekesbury might ever + hope to call its own. + </p> + <p> + Through years the fitful happenings of the town and its vicinity went on + the same—the same! Annually about one circus ventured in, and + vanished, and was gone, even as a passing trumpet-blast; the usual + rainy-season swelled the "Crick," the driftage choking at "the covered + bridge," and backing water till the old road looked amphibious; and crowds + of curious townsfolk straggled down to look upon the watery wonder, and + lean awe-struck above it, and spit in it, and turn mutely home again. + </p> + <p> + The usual formula of incidents peculiar to an uneventful town and its + vicinity: The countryman from "Jessup's Crossing," with the cornstalk + coffin-measure, loped into town, his steaming little gray-and-red-flecked + "roadster" gurgitating, as it were, with that mysterious utterance that + ever has commanded and ever must evoke the wonder and bewilderment of + every boy. The small-pox rumor became prevalent betimes, and the subtle + aroma of the assafoetida-bag permeated the graded schools "from turret to + foundation-stone;" the still recurring exposé of the poor-house + management; the farm-hand, with the scythe across his shoulder, struck + dead by lightning; the long-drawn quarrel between the rival editors + culminating in one of them assaulting the other with a "sidestick," and + the other kicking the one down stairs and thenceward <i>ad libitum;</i> + the tramp, suppositiously stealing a ride, found dead on the railroad; the + grand jury returning a sensational indictment against a bar-tender <i>non + est</i>; the Temperance outbreak; the "Revival;" the Church Festival; and + the "Free Lectures on Phrenology, and Marvels of Mesmerism," at the town + hall. It was during the time of the last-mentioned sensation, and directly + through this scientific investigation, that I came upon two of the town's + most remarkable characters. And however meager my outline of them may + prove, my material for the sketch is most accurate in every detail, and no + deviation from the cold facts of the case shall influence any line of my + report. + </p> + <p> + For some years prior to this odd experience I had been connected with a + daily paper at the state capitol; and latterly a prolonged session of the + legislature, where I specially reported, having told threateningly upon my + health, I took both the advantage of a brief vacation, and the invitation + of a young bachelor Senator, to get out of the city for awhile, and bask + my respiratory organs in the revivifying rural air of Zekesbury—the + home of my new friend. + </p> + <p> + "It'll pay you to get out here," he said, cordially, meeting me at the + little station, "and I'm glad you've come, for you'll find no end of odd + characters to amuse you." And under the very pleasant sponsorship of my + senatorial friend, I was placed at once on genial terms with half the + citizens of the little town—from the shirt-sleeved nabob of the + county office to the droll wag of the favorite loafing-place—the + rules and by-laws of which resort, by the way, being rudely charcoaled on + the wall above the cutter's bench, and somewhat artistically culminating + in an original dialectic legend which ran thus: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + F'rinstance, now whar <i>some</i> folks gits + To relyin' on their wits. + Ten to one they git too smart, + And spile it all right at the start!— + Feller wants to jest go slow + And do his <i>thinkin'</i> first, you know:—— + <i>Ef I can't think up somepin' good,</i> + <i>I set still and chaw my cood!</i> +</pre> + <p> + And it was at this inviting rendezvous, two or three evenings following my + arrival, that the general crowd, acting upon the random proposition of one + of the boys, rose as a man and wended its hilarious way to the town hall. + </p> + <p> + "Phrenology," said the little, old, bald-headed lecturer and mesmerist, + thumbing the egg-shaped head of a young man I remembered to have met that + afternoon in some law office; "Phrenology," repeated the professor—"or + rather the <i>term</i> phrenology—is derived from two Greek words + signifying <i>mind</i> and <i>discourse</i>; hence we find embodied in + phrenology-proper, the science of intellectual measurement, together with + the capacity of intelligent communication of the varying mental forces and + their flexibilities, etc., &c. The study, then, of phrenology is, to + wholly simplify it—is, I say, the general contemplation of the + workings of the mind as made manifest through the certain corresponding + depressions and protuberances of the human skull, when, of course, in a + healthy state of action and development, as we here find the conditions + exemplified in the subject before us." + </p> + <p> + Here the "subject" vaguely smiled. + </p> + <p> + "You recognize that mug, don't you?" whispered my friend. "It's that + coruscating young ass, you know, Hedrick—in Cummings' office—trying + to study law and literature at the same time, and tampering with 'The + Monster that Annually,' don't you know?—where we found the two young + students scuffling round the office, and smelling of peppermint?—Hedrick, + you know, and Sweeney. Sweeney, the slim chap, with the pallid face, and + frog-eyes, and clammy hands! You remember I told you 'there was a pair of + 'em?' Well, they're up to something here to-night. Hedrick, there on the + stage in front; and Sweeney—don't you see?—with the gang on + the rear seats." + </p> + <p> + "Phrenology—again," continued the lecturer, "is, we may say, a + species of mental geography, as it were; which—by a study of the + skull—leads also to a study of the brain within, even as geology + naturally follows the initial contemplation of the earth's surface. The + brain, thurfur, or intellectual retort, as we may say, natively exerts a + molding influence on the skull contour; thurfur is the expert in + phrenology most readily enabled to accurately locate the multitudinous + intellectual forces, and most exactingly estimate, as well, the sequent + character of each subject submitted to his scrutiny. As, in the example + before us—a young man, doubtless well known in your midst, though, I + may say, an entire stranger to myself—I venture to disclose some + characteristic trends and tendencies, as indicated by this phrenological + depression and development of the skull-proper, as later we will show, + through the mesmeric condition, the accuracy of our mental diagnosis." + </p> + <p> + Throughout the latter part of this speech my friend nudged me + spasmodically, whispering something which was jostled out of intelligent + utterance by some inward spasm of laughter. + </p> + <p> + "In this head," said the Professor, straddling his malleable fingers + across the young man's bumpy brow—"In this head we find Ideality + large—abnormally large, in fact; thurby indicating—taken in + conjunction with a like development of the perceptive qualities—language + following, as well, in the prominent eye—thurby indicating, I say, + our subject as especially endowed with a love for the beautiful—the + sublime—the elevating—the refined and delicate—the lofty + and superb—in nature, and in all the sublimated attributes of the + human heart and beatific soul. In fact, we find this young man possessed + of such natural gifts as would befit him for the exalted career of the + sculptor, the actor, the artist, or the poet—any ideal calling; in + fact, any calling but a practical, matter-of-fact vocation; though in + poetry he would seem to best succeed." + </p> + <p> + "Well," said my friend, seriously, "he's <i>feeling</i> for the boy!" Then + laughingly: "Hedrick <i>has</i> written some rhymes for the county papers, + and Sweeney once introduced him, at an Old Settlers' Meeting, as 'The Best + Poet in Center Township,' and never cracked a smile! Always after each + other that way, but the best friends in the world. <i>Sweeney's</i> strong + suit is elocution. He has a native ability that way by no means ordinary, + but even that gift he abuses and distorts simply to produce grotesque, and + oftentimes ridiculous effects. For instance, nothing more delights him + than to 'lothfully' consent to answer a request, at The Mite Society, some + evening, for 'an appropriate selection,' and then, with an elaborate + introduction of the same, and an exalted tribute to the refined genius of + the author, proceed with a most gruesome rendition of 'Alonzo The Brave + and The Fair Imogene,' in a way to coagulate the blood and curl the hair + of his fair listeners with abject terror. Pale as a corpse, you know, and + with that cadaverous face, lit with those malignant-looking eyes, his + slender figure, and his long, thin legs and arms and hands, and his whole + diabolical talent and adroitness brought into play—why, I want to + say to you, it's enough to scare 'em to death! Never a smile from him, + though, till he and Hedrick are safe out into the night again—then, + of course, they hug each other and howl over it like Modocs! But pardon; + I'm interrupting the lecture. Listen." + </p> + <p> + "A lack of continuity, however," continued the Professor, "and an undue + love of approbation, would, measurably, at least, tend to retard the young + man's progress toward the consummation of any loftier ambition, I fear; + yet as we have intimated, if the subject were appropriately educated to + the need's demand, he could doubtless produce a high order of both prose + and poetry—especially the latter—though he could very illy + bear being laughed at for his pains." + </p> + <p> + "He's dead wrong there," said my friend; "Hedrick enjoys being laughed at; + he 's used to it—gets fat on it!" + </p> + <p> + "He is fond of his friends," continued the Professor "and the heartier + they are the better; might even be convivially inclined—if so + tempted—but prudent—in a degree," loiteringly concluded the + speaker, as though unable to find the exact bump with which to bolster up + the last named attribute. + </p> + <p> + The subject blushed vividly—my friend's right eyelid dropped, and + there was a noticeable, though elusive sensation throughout the audience. + </p> + <p> + "<i>But!</i>" said the Professor, explosively, "selecting a directly + opposite subject, in conjunction with the study of the one before us + [turning to the group at the rear of the stage and beckoning], we may find + a newer interest in the practical comparison of these subjects side by + side." And the Professor pushed a very pale young man into position. + </p> + <p> + "Sweeney!" whispered my friend, delightedly; "now look out!" + </p> + <p> + "In <i>this</i> subject," said the Professor, "we find the practical + business head. Square—though small—a trifle light at the base, + in fact; but well balanced at the important points at least; thoughtful + eyes—wide-awake—crafty—quick—restless—a + policy eye, though not denoting language—unless, perhaps, mere + business forms and direct statements." + </p> + <p> + "Fooled again!" whispered my friend; "and I'm afraid the old man will fail + to nest out the fact also that Sweeney is the cold-bloodedest guyer on the + face of the earth, and with more diabolical resources than a prosecuting + attorney; the Professor ought to know this, too, by this time—for + these same two chaps have been visiting the old man in his room at the + hotel;—that's what I was trying to tell you awhile ago. The old + sharp thinks he's 'playing' the boys, is my idea; but it's the other way, + or I lose my guess." + </p> + <p> + "Now, under the mesmeric influence—if the two subjects will consent + to its administration," said the Professor, after some further tedious + preamble, "we may at once determine the fact of my assertions, as will be + proved by their action while in this peculiar state." Here some apparent + remonstrance was met with from both subjects, though amicably overcome by + the Professor first manipulating the stolid brow and pallid front of the + imperturbable Sweeney—after which the same mysterious ordeal was + lothfully submitted to by Hedrick—though a noticeably longer time + was consumed in securing his final loss of self-control. At last, however, + this curious phenomenon was presented, and there before us stood the two + swaying figures, the heads dropped back, the lifted hands, with thumb and + finger-tips pressed lightly together, the eyelids languid and half closed, + and the features, in appearance, wan and humid. + </p> + <p> + "Now, sir!" said the Professor, leading the limp Sweeney forward, and + addressing him in a quick, sharp tone of voice.—"Now, sir, you are a + great contractor—own large factories, and with untold business + interests. Just look out there! [pointing out across the expectant + audience] look there, and see the countless minions toiling servilely at + your dread mandates. And yet—ha! ha! See! see!—They recognize + the avaricious greed that would thus grind them in the very dust; they + see, alas! they see themselves half-clothed—half-fed, that you may + glut your coffers. Half-starved, they listen to the wail of wife and babe, + and, with eyes upraised in prayer, they see <i>you</i> rolling by in + gilded coach, and swathed in silk attire. But—ha! again! Look—look! + they are rising in revolt against you! Speak to them before too late! + Appeal to them—quell them with the promise of the just advance of + wages they demand!" + </p> + <p> + The limp figure of Sweeney took on something of a stately and majestic + air. With a graceful and commanding gesture of the hand, he advanced a + step or two; then, after a pause of some seconds duration, in which the + lifted face grew paler, as it seemed, and the eyes a denser black, he + said: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "But yesterday + I looked away + O'er happy lands, where sunshine lay + In golden blots, + Inlaid with spots + Of shade and wild forget-me-nots." +</pre> + <p> + The voice was low, but clear, and ever musical. The Professor started at + the strange utterance, looked extremely confused, and, as the boisterous + crowd cried "Hear, hear!" he motioned the subject to continue, with some + gasping comment interjected, which, if audible, would have run thus: "My + God! It's an inspirational poem!" + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "My head was fair + With flaxen hair—" +</pre> + <p> + resumed the subject. + </p> + <p> + "Yoop-ee!" yelled an irreverent auditor. + </p> + <p> + "Silence! silence!" commanded the excited Professor in a hoarse whisper; + then, turning enthusiastically to the subject—"Go on, young man! Go + on!—'<i>Thy head-was fair-with flaxen hair</i>—'" + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "My head was fair + With flaxen hair, + And fragrant breezes, faint and rare, + And warm with drouth + From out the south, + Blew all my curls across my mouth." +</pre> + <p> + The speaker's voice, exquisitely modulated, yet resonant as the twang of a + harp, now seemed of itself to draw and hold each listener; while a certain + extravagance of gesticulation—a fantastic movement of both form and + feature—seemed very near akin to fascination. And so flowed on the + curious utterance: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "And, cool and sweet, + My naked feet + Found dewy pathways through the wheat; + And out again + Where, down the lane, + The dust was dimpled with the rain." +</pre> + <p> + In the pause following there was a breathlessness almost painful. The poem + went on: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "But yesterday + I heard the lay + Of summer birds, when I, as they + With breast and wing, + All quivering + With life and love, could only sing. + + "My head was leant, + Where, with it, blent + A maiden's, o'er her instrument; + While all the night, + From vale to height, + Was filled with echoes of delight. + + "And all our dreams + Were lit with gleams + Of that lost land of reedy streams, + Along whose brim + Forever swim + Pan's lilies, laughing up at him." +</pre> + <p> + And still the inspired singer held rapt sway. + </p> + <p> + "It is wonderful!" I whispered, under breath. + </p> + <p> + "Of course it is!" answered my friend. "But listen; there is more:" + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "But yesterday!... + O blooms of May, + And summer roses—Where-away? + O stars above; + And lips of love, + And all the honeyed sweets thereof! + + "O lad and lass. + And orchard-pass, + And briared lane, and daisied grass! + O gleam and gloom, + And woodland bloom, + And breezy breaths of all perfume!— + + "No more for me + Or mine shall be + Thy raptures—save in memory,— + No more—no more— + Till through the Door + Of Glory gleam the days of yore." +</pre> + <p> + This was the evident conclusion of the remarkable utterance, and the + Professor was impetuously fluttering his hands about the subject's + upward-staring eyes, stroking his temples, and snapping his fingers in his + face. + </p> + <p> + "Well," said Sweeney, as he stood suddenly awakened, and grinning in an + idiotic way, "how did the old thing work?" And it was in the consequent + hilarity and loud and long applause, perhaps, that the Professor was + relieved from the explanation of this rather astounding phenomenon of the + idealistic workings of a purely practical brain—or, as my impious + friend scoffed the incongruity later, in a particularly withering + allusion, as the "blank-blanked fallacy, don't you know, of staying the + hunger of a howling mob by feeding 'em on Spring poetry!" + </p> + <p> + The tumult of the audience did not cease even with the retirement of + Sweeney, and cries of "Hedrick! Hedrick!" only subsided with the + Professor's high-keyed announcement that the subject was even then + endeavoring to make himself heard, but could not until utter quiet was + restored, adding the further appeal that the young man had already been a + long time under the mesmeric spell, and ought not be so detained for an + unnecessary period. "See," he concluded, with an assuring wave of the hand + toward the subject, "see; he is about to address you. Now, quiet!—utter + quiet, if you please!" + </p> + <p> + "Great heavens!" exclaimed my friend, stiflingly; "Just look at the boy! + Get onto that position for a poet! Even Sweeney has fled from the sight of + him!" + </p> + <p> + And truly, too, it was a grotesque pose the young man had assumed; not + wholly ridiculous either, since the dwarfed position he had settled into + seemed more a genuine physical condition than an affected one. The head, + back-tilted, and sunk between the shoulders, looked abnormally large, + while the features of the face appeared peculiarly child-like—especially + the eyes—wakeful and wide apart, and very bright, yet very mild and + very artless; and the drawn and cramped outline of the legs and feet, and + of the arms and hands, even to the shrunken, slender-looking fingers, all + combined to most strikingly convey to the pained senses the fragile frame + and pixey figure of some pitiably afflicted child, unconscious altogether + of the pathos of its own deformity. + </p> + <p> + "Now, mark the kuss, Horatio!" gasped my friend. + </p> + <p> + At first the speaker's voice came very low, and somewhat piping, too, and + broken—an eerie sort of voice it was, of brittle and erratic <i>timbre</i> + and undulant inflection. Yet it was beautiful. It had the ring of + childhood in it, though the ring was not pure golden, and at times fell + echoless. The <i>spirit</i> of its utterance was always clear and pure and + crisp and cheery as the twitter of a bird, and yet forever ran an + undercadence through it like a low-pleading prayer. Half garrulously, and + like a shallow brook might brawl across a shelvy bottom, the rhythmic + little changeling thus began: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "I'm thist a little crippled boy, an' never goin' to grow + An' git a great big man at all!—'cause Aunty told me so. + When I was thist a baby one't I falled out of the bed + An' got 'The Curv'ture of the Spine'—'at's what the Doctor said. + I never had no Mother nen—far my Pa run away + An' dassn't come back here no more—'cause he was drunk one day + An' stobbed a man in thish-ere town, an' couldn't pay his fine! + An' nen my Ma she died—an' I got 'Curv'ture of the Spine!'" +</pre> + <p> + A few titterings from the younger people in the audience marked the + opening stanza, while a certain restlessness, and a changing to more + attentive positions seemed the general tendency. The old Professor, in the + meantime, had sunk into one of the empty chairs. The speaker went on with + more gaiety: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "I'm nine years old! An' you can't guess how much I weigh, I bet!— + Last birthday I weighed thirty-three!—An' I weigh thirty yet! + I'm awful little far my size—I'm purt' nigh littler 'an + Some babies is!—an' neighbors all calls me 'The Little Man!' + An' Doc one time he laughed an' said: 'I 'spect, first thing you + know, + You'll have a little spike-tail coat an' travel with a show!' + An' nen I laughed—till I looked round an' Aunty was a-cryin'— + Sometimes she acts like that, 'cause I got 'Curv'ture of the + Spine!'" +</pre> + <p> + Just in front of me a great broad-shouldered countryman, with a rainy + smell in his cumbrous overcoat, cleared his throat vehemently, looked + startled at the sound, and again settled forward, his weedy chin resting + on the knuckles of his hands as they tightly clutched the seat before him. + And it was like being taken into a childish confidence as the quaint + speech continued: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "I set—while Aunty's washin'—on my little long-leg stool, + An' watch the little boys an' girls 'a-skippin' by to school; + An' I peck on the winder, an' holler out an' say: + 'Who wants to fight The Little Man 'at dares you all to-day?' + An' nen the boys climbs on the fence, an' little girls peeks + through, + An' they all says: 'Cause you're so big, you think we're 'feared o' + you!' + An' nen they yell, an' shake their fist at me, like I shake mine— + They're thist in fun, you know, 'cause I got 'Curv'ture of the + Spine!'" +</pre> + <p> + "Well," whispered my friend, with rather odd irrelevance, I thought, "of + course you see through the scheme of the fellows by this time, don't you?" + </p> + <p> + "I see nothing," said I, most earnestly, "but a poor little wisp of a + child that makes me love him so I dare not think of his dying soon, as he + surely must! There; listen!" And the plaintive gaiety of the homely poem + ran on: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "At evening, when the ironin's done, an' Aunty's fixed the fire, + An' filled an' lit the lamp, an' trimmed the wick an' turned it + higher, + An' fetched the wood all in far night, an' locked the kitchen door, + An' stuffed the ole crack where the wind blows in up through the + floor— + She sets the kittle on the coals, an' biles an' makes the tea, + An' fries the liver an' the mush, an' cooks a egg far me; + An' sometimes—when I cough so hard—her elderberry wine + Don't go so bad far little boys with 'Curv'ture of the Spine!'" +</pre> + <p> + "Look!" whispered my friend, touching me with his elbow. "Look at the + Professor!" + </p> + <p> + "Look at everybody!" said I. And the artless little voice went on again + half quaveringly: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "But Aunty's all so childish-like on my account, you see, + I'm 'most afeared she'll be took down—an' 'at's what bothers + <i>me!</i>— + 'Cause ef my good ole Aunty ever would git sick an' die, + I don't know what she'd do in Heaven—till <i>I</i> come, by an' by:— + Far she's so ust to all my ways, an' ever'thing, you know, + An' no one there like me, to nurse, an' worry over so!— + 'Cause all the little childerns there's so straight an' strong an' + fine, + They's nary angel 'bout the place with 'Curv'ture of the Spine!'" +</pre> + <p> + The old Professor's face was in his handkerchief; so was my friend's in + his; and so was mine in mine, as even now my pen drops and I reach for it + again. + </p> + <p> + I half regret joining the mad party that had gathered an hour later in the + old law-office where these two graceless characters held almost nightly + revel, the instigators and conniving hosts of a reputed banquet whose <i>menu's</i> + range confined itself to herrings, or "blind robins," dried beef, and + cheese, with crackers, gingerbread, and sometimes pie; the whole washed + down with anything but + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "——Wines that heaven knows when + Had sucked the fire of some forgotten sun, + And kept it through a hundred years of gloom + Still glowing in a heart of ruby." +</pre> + <p> + But the affair was memorable. The old Professor was himself lured into it, + and loudest in his praise of Hedrick's realistic art; and I yet recall him + at the orgie's height, excitedly repulsing the continued slurs and + insinuations of the clammy-handed Sweeney, who, still contending against + the old man's fulsome praise of his more fortunate rival, at last openly + declared that Hedrick was <i>not</i> a poet, <i>not</i> a genius, and in + no way worthy to be classed in the same breath with <i>himself</i>—"the + gifted but unfortunate <i>Sweeney</i>, sir—the unacknowledged + author, sir—'y gad, sir!—of the two poems that held you + spell-bound to-night!" + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + DOWN AROUND THE RIVER POEMS + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + DOWN AROUND THE RIVER. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Noon-time and June-time, down around the river! + Have to furse with 'Lizey Ann—but lawzy! I fergive her! + Drives me off the place, and says 'at all 'at she's a-wishin', + Land o' gracious! time'll come I'll git enough o' fishin'! + Little Dave, a-choppin' wood, never 'pears to notice; + Don't know where she's hid his hat, er keerin' where his coat is,— + Specalatin', more 'n like, he haint a-goin' to mind me, + And guessin' where, say twelve o'clock, a feller'd likely find me. + + Noon-time and June-time, down around the river! + Clean out o' sight o' home, and skulkin' under kivver + Of the sycamores, jack-oaks, and swamp-ash and ellum— + Idies all so jumbled up, you kin hardly tell 'em!— + <i>Tired</i>, you know, but <i>lovin'</i> it, and smilin' jest to think 'at + Any sweeter tiredness you'd fairly want to <i>drink</i> it. + Tired o' fishin'—tired o' fun—line out slack and slacker— + All you want in all the world's a little more tobacker! + + Hungry, but <i>a-hidin'</i> it, er jes' a-not a-keerin':- + Kingfisher gittin' up and skootin' out o' hearin'; + Snipes on the t'other side, where the County Ditch is, + Wadin' up and down the aidge like they'd rolled their britches! + Old turkle on the root kindo-sorto drappin' + Intoo th' worter like he don't know how it happen! + Worter, shade and all so mixed, don't know which you'd orter + Say, th' <i>worter</i> in the shadder—<i>shadder</i> in the <i>worter!</i> + + Somebody hollerin'—'way around the bend in + Upper Fork—where yer eye kin jes' ketch the endin' + Of the shiney wedge o' wake some muss-rat's a-makin' + With that pesky nose o' his! Then a sniff o' bacon, + Corn-bread and 'dock-greens—and little Dave a-shinnin' + 'Crost the rocks and mussel-shells, a-limpin' and a-grinnin', + With yer dinner far ye, and a blessin' from the giver. + Noon-time and June-time down around the river! +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + KNEELING WITH HERRICK. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Dear Lord, to Thee my knee is bent.— + Give me content— + Full-pleasured with what comes to me, + What e'er it be: + An humble roof—a frugal board, + And simple hoard; + The wintry fagot piled beside + The chimney wide, + While the enwreathing flames up-sprout + And twine about + The brazen dogs that guard my hearth + And household worth: + Tinge with the ember's ruddy glow + The rafters low; + And let the sparks snap with delight, + As ringers might + That mark deft measures of some tune + The children croon: + Then, with good friends, the rarest few + Thou holdest true, + Ranged round about the blaze, to share + My comfort there,— + Give me to claim the service meet + That makes each seat + A place of honor, and each guest + Loved as the rest. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ROMANCIN'. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I' b'en a-kindo musin', as the feller says, and I'm + About o' the conclusion that they ain't no better time, + When you come to cipher on it, than the times we used to know + When we swore our first "dog-gone-it" sorto solem'-like and low! + + You git my idy, do you?—<i>Little</i> tads, you understand— + Jes' a wishin' thue and thue you that you on'y was a <i>man</i>.— + Yit here I am, this minute, even forty, to a day, + And fergittin' all that's in it, wishin' jes' the other way! + + I hain't no hand to lectur' on the times, er dimonstrate + Whur the trouble is, er hector and domineer with Fate,— + But when I git so flurried, and so pestered-like and blue, + And so rail owdacious worried, let me tell you what I do!— + + I jes' gee-haw the hosses, and unhook the swingle-tree, + Whur the hazel-bushes tosses down their shadders over me, + And I draw my plug o' navy, and I climb the fence, and set + Jes' a-thinkin' here, 'y gravy! till my eyes is wringin'-wet! + + Tho' I still kin see the trouble o' the <i>present</i>, I kin see— + Kindo like my sight was double—all the things that <i>used to be</i>; + And the flutter o' the robin, and the teeter o' the wren + Sets the willer branches bobbin "howdy-do" thum Now to Then! + + The deadnin' and the thicket's jes' a bilin' full of June, + Thum the rattle o' the cricket, to the yallar-hammer's tune; + And the catbird in the bottom, and the sap-suck on the snag, + Seems ef they cain't—od-rot'em!—jes' do nothin' else but brag! + + They's music in the twitter of the bluebird and the jay, + And that sassy little critter jes' a-peckin' all the day; + They's music in the "flicker," and they's music in the thrush, + And they's music in the snicker o' the chipmunk in the brush! + + They's music <i>all around</i> me!—And I go back, in a dream— + Sweeter yit than ever found me fast asleep—and in the stream + That used to split the medder whur the dandylions growed, + I stand knee-deep, and redder than the sunset down the road. + + Then's when I' b'en a-fishin'!—and they's other fellers, too, + With their hickry poles a-swishin' out behind 'em; and a few + Little "shiners" on our stringers, with their tails tiptoein' bloom, + As we dance 'em in our fingers all the happy journey home. + + I kin see us, true to Natur', thum the time we started out + With a biscuit and a 'tater in our little "roundabout!" + I kin see our lines a-tanglin', and our elbows in a jam, + And our naked legs a-danglin' thum the apern of the dam. + + I kin see the honeysuckle climbin' up around the mill; + And kin hear the worter chuckle, and the wheel a-growlin' still; + And thum the bank below it I kin steal the old canoe, + And jes' git in and row it like the miller used to do. + + W'y, I git my fancy focussed on the past so mortal plain + I kin even smell the locus'-blossoms bloomin' in the lane; + And I hear the cow-bells clinkin' sweeter tunes 'n "money musk" + Far the lightnin'-bugs a-blinkin'and a-dancin'in the dusk. + + And so I keep on musin', as the feller says, till I'm + Firm-fixed in the conclusion that they hain't no better time, + When you come to cipher on it, than the <i>old</i> times,—and, I swear, + I kin wake and say "dog-gone-it!" jes' as soft as any prayer! +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + HAS SHE FORGOTTEN. + </h2> + <h3> + I. + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Has she forgotten? On this very May + We were to meet here, with the birds and bees, + As on that Sabbath, underneath the trees + We strayed among the tombs, and stripped away + The vines from these old granites, cold and gray— + And yet, indeed, not grim enough were they + To stay our kisses, smiles and ecstacies, + Or closer voice-lost vows and rhapsodies. + Has she forgotten—that the May has won + Its promise?—that the bird-songs from the tree + Are sprayed above the grasses as the sun + Might jar the dazzling dew down showeringly? + Has she forgotten life—love—everyone— + Has she forgotten me—forgotten me? +</pre> + <h3> + II. + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Low, low down in the violets I press + My lips and whisper to her. Does she hear, + And yet hold silence, though I call her dear, + Just as of old, save for the tearfulness + Of the clenched eyes, and the soul's vast distress? + Has she forgotten thus the old caress + That made our breath a quickened atmosphere + That failed nigh unto swooning with the sheer + Delight? Mine arms clutch now this earthen heap + Sodden with tears that flow on ceaselessly + As autumn rains the long, long, long nights weep + In memory of days that used to be,— + Has she forgotten these? And, in her sleep, + Has she forgotten me—forgotten me? +</pre> + <h3> + III. + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + To-night, against my pillow, with shut eyes, + I mean to weld our faces—through the dense + Incalculable darkness make pretense + That she has risen from her reveries + To mate her dreams with mine in marriages + Of mellow palms, smooth faces, and tense ease + Of every longing nerve of indolence,— + Lift from the grave her quiet lips, and stun + My senses with her kisses—drawl the glee + Of her glad mouth, full blithe and tenderly, + Across mine own, forgetful if is done + The old love's awful dawn-time when said we, + "To-day is ours!".... Ah, Heaven! can it be + She has forgotten me—forgotten me! +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A' OLD PLAYED-OUT SONG. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + It's the curiousest thing in creation, + Whenever I hear that old song, + "Do They Miss Me at Home?" I'm so bothered, + My life seems as short as it's long!— + Far ever'thing 'pears like adzackly + It 'peared, in the years past and gone,— + When I started out sparkin', at twenty, + And had my first neckercher on! + + Though I'm wrinkelder, older and grayer + Right now than my parents was then, + You strike up that song, "Do They Miss Me?" + And I'm jest a youngster again!— + I'm a-standin' back there in the furries + A-wishin' far evening to come, + And a-whisperin' over and over + Them words, "Do They Miss Me at Home?" + + You see, Marthy Ellen she sung it + The first time I heerd it; and so, + As she was my very first sweetheart, + It reminds of her, don't you know,— + How her face ust to look, in the twilight, + As I tuck her to spellin'; and she + Kep' a-hummin' that song 'tel I ast her, + Pine-blank, ef she ever missed me! + + I can shet my eyes now, as you sing it, + And hear her low answerin' words, + And then the glad chirp of the crickets + As clear as the twitter of birds; + And the dust in the road is like velvet, + And the ragweed, and fennel, and grass + Is as sweet as the scent of the lilies + Of Eden of old, as we pass. + + "Do They Miss Me at Home?" Sing it lower— + And softer—and sweet as the breeze + That powdered our path with the snowy + White bloom of the old locus'-trees! + Let the whippoorwills he'p you to sing it, + And the echoes 'way over the hill, + 'Tel the moon boolges out, in a chorus + Of stars, and our voices is still. + + But, oh! "They's a chord in the music + That's missed when <i>her</i> voice is away!" + Though I listen from midnight 'tel morning, + And dawn, 'tel the dusk of the day; + And I grope through the dark, lookin' up'ards + And on through the heavenly dome, + With my longin' soul singin' and sobbin' + The words, "Do They Miss Me at Home?" +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE LOST PATH. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Alone they walked—their fingers knit together, + And swaying listlessly as might a swing + Wherein Dan Cupid dangled in the weather + Of some sun-flooded afternoon of Spring. + + Within the clover-fields the tickled cricket + Laughed lightly as they loitered down the lane, + And from the covert of the hazel-thicket + The squirrel peeped and laughed at them again. + + The bumble-bee that tipped the lily-vases + Along the road-side in the shadows dim, + Went following the blossoms of their faces + As though their sweets must needs be shared with him. + + Between the pasture bars the wondering cattle + Stared wistfully, and from their mellow bells + Shook out a welcoming whose dreamy rattle + Fell swooningly away in faint farewells. + + And though at last the gloom of night fell o'er them, + And folded all the landscape from their eyes, + They only know the dusky path before them + Was leading safely on to Paradise. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE LITTLE TINY KICKSHAW. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "—<i>And any little tiny kickshaws</i>."—Shakespeare. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + O the little tiny kickshaw that Mither sent tae me, + 'Tis sweeter than the sugar-plum that reepens on the tree, + Wi' denty flavorin's o' spice an' musky rosemarie, + The little tiny kickshaw that Mither sent tae me. + + 'Tis luscious wi' the stalen tang o' fruits frae ower the sea, + An' e'en its fragrance gars we laugh wi' langin' lip an' ee, + Till a' its frazen sheen o' white maun melten hinnie be— + Sae weel I luve the kickshaw that Mither sent tae me. + + O I luve the tiny kickshaw, an' I smack my lips wi' glee, + Aye mickle do I luve the taste o' sic a luxourie, + But maist I luve the luvein' han's that could the giftie gie + O' the little tiny kickshaw that Mither sent tae me. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + HIS MOTHER. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + DEAD! my wayward boy—<i>my own</i>— + Not <i>the Law's!</i> but <i>mine</i>—the good + God's free gift to me alone, + Sanctified by motherhood. + + "Bad," you say: Well, who is not? + "Brutal"—"with a heart of stone"— + And "red-handed."—Ah! the hot + Blood upon your own! + + I come not, with downward eyes, + To plead for him shamedly,— + God did not apologize + When He gave the boy to me. + + Simply, I make ready now + For <i>His</i> verdict.—<i>You</i> prepare— + You have killed us both—and how + Will you face us There! +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0012" id="link2H_4_0012"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + KISSING THE ROD. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + O heart of mine, we shouldn't + Worry so! + What we've missed of calm we couldn't + Have, you know! + What we've met of stormy pain, + And of sorrow's driving rain, + We can better meet again, + If it blow! + + We have erred in that dark hour + We have known, + When our tears fell with the shower, + All alone!— + Were not shine and shadow blent + As the gracious Master meant?— + Let us temper our content + With His own. + + For, we know, not every morrow + Can be sad; + So, forgetting all the sorrow + We have had, + Let us fold away our fears, + And put by our foolish tears, + And through all the coming years + Just be glad. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0013" id="link2H_4_0013"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + HOW IT HAPPENED. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I got to thinkin' of her—both her parents dead and gone— + And all her sisters married off, and none but her and John + A-livin' all alone there in that lonesome sort o' way, + And him a blame old bachelor, confirmder ev'ry day! + I'd knowed 'em all from childern, and their daddy from the time + He settled in the neighborhood, and had n't ary a dime + Er dollar, when he married, far to start housekeepin' on!— + So I got to thinkin' of her—both her parents dead and gone! + + I got to thinkin' of her; and a-wundern what she done + That all her sisters kep' a gittin' married, one by one, + And her without no chances—and the best girl of the pack— + An old maid, with her hands, you might say, tied behind her back! + And Mother, too, afore she died, she ust to jes' take on, + When none of 'em was left, you know, but Evaline and John, + And jes' declare to goodness 'at the young men must be bline + To not see what a wife they 'd git if they got Evaline! + + I got to thinkin' of her; in my great affliction she + Was sich a comfert to us, and so kind and neighberly,— + She 'd come, and leave her housework, far to be'p out little Jane, + And talk of <i>her own</i> mother 'at she 'd never see again— + Maybe sometimes cry together—though, far the most part she + Would have the child so riconciled and happy-like 'at we + Felt lonesomer 'n ever when she 'd put her bonnet on + And say she 'd railly haf to be a-gittin' back to John! + + I got to thinkin' of her, as I say,—and more and more + I'd think of her dependence, and the burdens 'at she bore,— + Her parents both a-bein' dead, and all her sisters gone + And married off, and her a-livin' there alone with John— + You might say jes' a-toilin' and a-slavin' out her life + Far a man 'at hadn't pride enough to git hisse'f a wife— + 'Less some one married <i>Evaline</i>, and packed her off some day!— + So I got to thinkin' of her—and it happened thataway. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0014" id="link2H_4_0014"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BABYHOOD. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Heigh-ho! Babyhood! Tell me where you linger: + Let's toddle home again, for we have gone astray; + Take this eager hand of mine and lead me by the finger + Back to the Lotus lands of the far-away. + + Turn back the leaves of life; don't read the story,— + Let's find the <i>pictures</i>, and fancy all the rest:— + We can fill the written pages with a brighter glory + Than Old Time, the story-teller, at his very best! + + Turn to the brook, where the honeysuckle, tipping + O'er its vase of perfume spills it on the breeze, + And the bee and humming-bird in ecstacy are sipping + From the fairy flagons of the blooming locust trees. + + Turn to the lane, where we used to "teeter-totter," + Printing little foot-palms in the mellow mold, + Laughing at the lazy cattle wading in the water + Where the ripples dimple round the buttercups of gold: + + Where the dusky turtle lies basking on the gravel + Of the sunny sandbar in the middle-tide, + And the ghostly dragonfly pauses in his travel + To rest like a blossom where the water-lily died. + + Heigh-ho! Babyhood! Tell me where you linger: + Let's toddle home again, for we have gone astray; + Take this eager hand of mine and lead me by the finger + Back to the Lotus lands of the far-away. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0015" id="link2H_4_0015"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE DAYS GONE BY. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + O the days gone by! O the days gone by! + The apples in the orchard, and the pathway through the rye; + The chirrup of the robin, and the whistle of the quail + As he piped across the meadows sweet as any nightingale; + When the bloom was on the clover, and the blue was in the sky, + And my happy heart brimmed over in the days gone by. + + In the days gone by, when my naked feet were tripped + By the honey-suckle's tangles where the water-lilies dipped, + And the ripples of the river lipped the moss along the brink + Where the placid-eyed and lazy-footed cattle came to drink, + And the tilting snipe stood fearless of the truant's wayward cry + And the splashing of the swimmer, in the days gone by. + + O the days gone by! O the days gone by! + The music of the laughing lip, the luster of the eye; + The childish faith in fairies, and Aladdin's magic ring— + The simple, soul-reposing, glad belief in everything,— + When life was like a story, holding neither sob nor sigh, + In the golden olden glory of the days gone by. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0016" id="link2H_4_0016"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + MRS. MILLER + </h2> + <p> + John B. McKinney, Attorney and Counselor at Law, as his sign read, was, + for many reasons, a fortunate man. For many other reasons he was not. He + was chiefly fortunate in being, as certain opponents often strove to + witheringly designate him, "the son of his father," since that sound old + gentleman was the wealthiest farmer in that section, with but one son and + heir to, in time, supplant him in the role of "county god," and haply + perpetuate the prouder title of "the biggest tax-payer on the assessment + list." And this fact, too, fortunate as it would seem, was doubtless the + indirect occasion of a liberal percentage of all John's misfortunes. From + his earliest school-days in the little town, up to his tardy graduation + from a distant college, the influence of his father's wealth invited his + procrastination, humored its results, encouraged the laxity of his + ambition, "and even now," as John used, in bitter irony, to put it, "it is + aiding and abetting me in the ostensible practice of my chosen profession, + a listless, aimless undetermined man of forty, and a confirmed bachelor at + that!" At the utterance of this self-depreciating statement, John + generally jerked his legs down from the top of his desk; and, rising and + kicking his chair back to the wall, he would stump around his littered + office till the manilla carpet steamed with dust. Then he would wildly + break away, seeking refuge either in the open street, or in his room at + the old-time tavern, The Eagle House, "where," he would say, "I have + lodged and boarded, I do solemnly asseverate, for a long, unbroken, + middle-aged eternity of ten years, and can yet assert, in the words of the + more fortunately-dying Webster, that 'I still live!'" + </p> + <p> + Extravagantly satirical as he was at times, John had always an indefinable + drollery about him that made him agreeable company to his friends, at + least; and such an admiring friend he had constantly at hand in the person + of Bert Haines. Both were Bohemians in natural tendency, and, though John + was far in Bert's advance in point of age, he found the young man "just + the kind of a fellow to have around;" while Bert, in turn, held his senior + in profound esteem—looked up to him, in fact, and in even his + eccentricities strove to pattern after him. And so it was, when summer + days were dull and tedious, these two could muse and doze the hours away + together; and when the nights were long, and dark, and deep, and + beautiful, they could drift out in the noon-light of the stars, and with + "the soft complaining flute" and "warbling lute," "lay the pipes," as John + would say, for their enduring popularity with the girls! And it was + immediately subsequent to one of these romantic excursions, when the + belated pair, at two o'clock in the morning, had skulked up a side + stairway of the old hotel, and gained John's room, with nothing more + serious happening than Bert falling over a trunk and smashing his guitar,—just + after such a night of romance and adventure it was that, in the seclusion + of John's room, Bert had something of especial import to communicate. + </p> + <p> + "Mack," he said, as that worthy anathematized a spiteful match, and then + sucked his finger. + </p> + <p> + "Blast the all-fired old torch!" said John, wrestling with the lamp-flue, + and turning on a welcome flame at last. "Well, you said 'Mack!' Why don't + you go on? And don't bawl at the top of your lungs, either. You've already + succeeded in waking every boarder in the house with that guitar, and you + want to make amends now by letting them go to sleep again!" + </p> + <p> + "But my dear fellow," said Bert, with forced calmness, "you're the fellow + that's making all the noise—and—" + </p> + <p> + "Why, you howling dervish!" interrupted John, with a feigned air of + pleased surprise and admiration. "But let's drop controversy. Throw the + fragments of your guitar in the wood-box there, and proceed with the + opening proposition." + </p> + <p> + "What I was going to say was this," said Bert, with a half-desperate + enunciation; "I'm getting tired of this way of living—clean, + dead-tired, and fagged out, and sick of the whole artificial business!" + </p> + <p> + "Oh, yes!" exclaimed John, with a towering disdain, "you needn't go any + further! I know just what malady is throttling you. It's reform—reform! + You're going to 'turn over a new leaf,' and all that, and sign the pledge, + and quit cigars, and go to work, and pay your debts, and gravitate back + into Sunday-School, where you can make love to the preacher's daughter + under the guise of religion, and desecrate the sanctity of the innermost + pale of the church by confessions at Class of your 'thorough conversion!' + Oh, you're going to—" + </p> + <p> + "No, but I'm going to do nothing of the sort," interrupted Bert, + resentfully. "What I mean—if you'll let me finish—is, I'm + getting too old to be eternally undignifying myself with this 'singing of + midnight strains under Bonnybell's window panes,' and too old to be + keeping myself in constant humiliation and expense by the borrowing and + stringing up of old guitars, together with the breakage of the same, and + the general wear-and-tear on a constitution that is slowly being sapped to + its foundations by exposure in the night-air and the dew." "And while you + receive no further compensation in return," said John, "than, perhaps, the + coy turning up of a lamp at an upper casement where the jasmine climbs; or + an exasperating patter of invisible palms; or a huge dank wedge of + fruit-cake shoved at you by the old man, through a crack in the door." + </p> + <p> + "Yes, and I'm going to have my just reward, is what I mean," said Bert, + "and exchange the lover's life for the benedict's. Going to hunt out a + good, sensible girl and marry her." And as the young man concluded this + desperate avowal he jerked the bow of his cravat into a hard knot, kicked + his hat under the bed, and threw himself on the sofa like an old suit. + </p> + <p> + John stared at him with absolute compassion. "Poor devil," he said, half + musingly, "I know just how he feels— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'Ring in the wind his wedding chimes, + Smile, villagers, at every door; + Old church-yards stuffed with buried crimes, + Be clad in sunshine o'er and o'er.—'" +</pre> + <p> + "Oh, here!" exclaimed the wretched Bert, jumping to his feet; "let up on + that dismal recitative. It would make a dog howl to hear that!" + </p> + <p> + "Then you 'let up' on that suicidal talk of marrying," replied John, "and + all that harangue of incoherency about your growing old. Why, my dear + fellow, you're at least a dozen years my junior, and look at me!" and John + glanced at himself in the glass with a feeble pride, noting the gray + sparseness of his side-hair, and its plaintive dearth on top. "Of course + I've got to admit," he continued, "that my hair is gradually evaporating; + but for all that, I'm 'still in the ring,' don't you know; as young in + society, for the matter of that, as yourself! And this is just the reason + why I don't want you to blight every prospect in your life by marrying at + your age—especially a woman—I mean the kind of woman you'd be + sure to fancy at your age." + </p> + <p> + "Didn't I say 'a good, sensible girl' was the kind I had selected?" Bert + remonstrated. + </p> + <p> + "Oh!" exclaimed John, "you've selected her, then?—and without one + word to me!" he ended, rebukingly. + </p> + <p> + "Well, hang it all!" said Bert, impatiently; "I knew how <i>you</i> were, + and just how you'd talk me out of it; and I made up my mind that for once, + at least, I'd follow the dictations of a heart that—however + capricious in youthful frivolties—should beat, in manhood, loyal to + itself and loyal to its own affinity." + </p> + <p> + "Go it! Fire away! Farewell, vain world!" exclaimed the excited John.—"Trade + your soul off for a pair of ear-bobs and a button-hook—a hank of + jute hair and a box of lily-white! I've buried not less than ten old chums + this way, and here's another nominated for the tomb." + </p> + <p> + "But you've got no <i>reason</i> about you," began Bert,—"I want to"— + </p> + <p> + "And so do <i>I</i> 'want to,'" broke in John, finally,—"I want to + get some sleep.—So 'register' and come to bed.—And lie up on + edge, too, when you <i>do</i> come—'cause this old + catafalque-of-a-bed is just about as narrow as your views of single + blessedness! Peace! Not another word! Pile in! Pile in! I'm three-parts + sick, anyhow, and I want rest!" And very truly he spoke. + </p> + <p> + It was a bright morning when the slothful John was aroused by a long, + vociferous pounding on the door. He started up in bed to find himself + alone—the victim of his wrathful irony having evidently risen and + fled away while his pitiless tormentor slept—"Doubtless to at once + accomplish that nefarious intent as set forth by his unblushing confession + of last night," mused the miserable John. And he ground his fingers in the + corners of his swollen eyes, and leered grimly in the glass at the + feverish orbs, blood-shotten, blurred and aching. + </p> + <p> + The pounding on the door continued. John looked at his watch; it was only + 8 o'clock. + </p> + <p> + "Hi, there!" he called viciously. "What do you mean, anyhow?" he went on, + elevating his voice again; "shaking a man out of bed when he's just + dropping into his first sleep?" + </p> + <p> + "I mean that you're going to get up; that's what!" replied a firm female + voice. "It's 8 o'clock, and I want to put your room in order; and I'm not + going to wait all day about it, either! Get up and go down to your + breakfast, and let me have the room!" And the clamor at the door was + industriously renewed. + </p> + <p> + "Say!" called John, querulously, hurrying on his clothes, "Say! you!" + </p> + <p> + "There's no 'say' about it!" responded the determined voice: "I've heard + about you and your ways around this house, and I'm not going to put up + with it! You'll not lie in bed till high noon when I've got to keep your + room in proper order!" + </p> + <p> + "Oh ho!" bawled John, intelligently: "reckon you're the new invasion here? + Doubtless you're the girl that's been hanging up the new window-blinds + that won't roll, and disguising the pillows with clean slips, and 'hennin' + round among my books and papers on the table here, and ageing me generally + till I don't know my own handwriting by the time I find it! Oh, yes! + you're going to revolutionize things here; you're going to introduce + promptness, and system, and order. See you've even filled the wash-pitcher + and tucked two starched towels through the handle. Haven't got any tin + towels, have you? I rather like this new soap, too! So solid and durable, + you know; warranted not to raise a lather. Might as well wash one's hands + with a door-knob!" And as John's voice grumbled away into the sullen + silence again, the determined voice without responded: "Oh, you can growl + away to your heart's content, Mr. McKinney, but I want you to distinctly + understand that I'm not going to humor you in any of your old bachelor, + sluggardly, slovenly ways, and whims and notions. And I want you to + understand, too, that I'm not hired help in this house, nor a chambermaid, + nor anything of the kind. I'm the landlady here; and I'll give you just + ten minutes more to get down to your breakfast, or you'll not get any—that's + all!" And as the reversed cuff John was in the act of buttoning slid from + his wrist and rolled under the dresser, he heard a stiff rustling of + starched muslin flouncing past the door, and the quick italicized patter + of determined gaiters down the hall. + </p> + <p> + "Look here," said John to the bright-faced boy in the hotel office, a half + hour later. "It seems the house here's been changing hands again." + </p> + <p> + "Yes, sir," said the boy, closing the cigar case, and handing him a + lighted match. "Well, the new landlord, whoever he is," continued John, + patronizingly, "is a good one. Leastwise, he knows what's good to eat, and + how to serve it." + </p> + <p> + The boy laughed timidly,—"It aint a landlord,' though—it's a + landlady; it's my mother." + </p> + <p> + "Ah," said John, dallying with the change the boy had pushed toward him. + "Your mother, eh?" And where's your father?" + </p> + <p> + "He's dead," said the boy. + </p> + <p> + "And what's this for?" abruptly asked John, examining his change. + </p> + <p> + "That's your change," said the boy: "You got three for a quarter, and gave + me a half." + </p> + <p> + "Well, <i>you</i> just keep it," said John, sliding back the change. "It's + for good luck, you know, my boy. Same as drinking your long life and + prosperity. And, Oh yes, by the way, you may tell your mother I'll have a + friend to dinner with me to-day." + </p> + <p> + "Yes, sir, and thank you, sir," said the beaming boy. + </p> + <p> + "Handsome boy!" mused John, as he walked down street. "Takes that from his + father, though, I'll wager my existence!" + </p> + <p> + Upon his office desk John found a hastily written note. It was addressed + in the well-known hand of his old chum. He eyed the missive + apprehensively, and there was a positive pathos in his voice as he said + aloud, "It's our divorce. I feel it!" The note, headed, "At the Office, 4 + in Morning," ran like this: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "Dear Mack—I left you slumbering so soundly that, by noon, + when you waken, I hope, in your refreshed state, you will + look more tolerantly on my intentions as partially confided + to you this night. I will not see you here again to say + good-bye. I wanted to, but was afraid to 'rouse the sleeping + lion.' I will not close my eyes to-night—fact is, I haven't + time. Our serenade at Josie's was a pre-arranged signal by + which she is to be ready and at the station for the 5 + morning train. You may remember the lighting of three + consecutive matches at her window before the igniting of her + lamp. That meant, 'Thrice dearest one, I'll meet thee at the + depot at 4:30 sharp.' So, my dear Mack, this is to inform + you that, even as you read, Josie and I have eloped. It is + all the old man's fault, yet I forgive him. Hope he'll + return the favor. Josie predicts he will, inside of a + week—or two weeks, anyhow. Good-bye, Mack, old boy; and let + a fellow down as easy as you can. + + Affectionately, + + BERT." +</pre> + <p> + "Heavens!" exclaimed John, stifling the note in his hand and stalking + tragically around the room. "Can it be possible that I have nursed a + frozen viper? An ingrate? A wolf in sheep's clothing? An orang-outang in + gent's furnishings?" + </p> + <p> + "Was you callin' me, sir?" asked a voice at the door. It was the janitor. + </p> + <p> + "No!" thundered John; "Quit my sight! get out of my way! No, no, Thompson, + I don't mean that," he called after him. "Here's a half dollar for you, + and I want you to lock up the office, and tell anybody that wants to see + me that I've been set upon, and sacked and assassinated in cold blood; and + I've fled to my father's in the country, and am lying there in the + convulsions of dissolution, babbling of green fields and running brooks, + and thirsting for the life of every woman that comes in gunshot!" And + then, more like a confirmed invalid than a man in the strength and pride + of his prime, he crept down into the street again, and thence back to his + hotel. + </p> + <p> + Dejectedly and painfully climbing to his room, he encountered, on the + landing above, a little woman in a jaunty dusting-cap and a trim habit of + crisp muslin. He tried to evade her, but in vain. She looked him squarely + in the face—occasioning him the dubious impression of either needing + shaving very badly, or having egg-stains on his chin. + </p> + <p> + "You're the gentleman in No. 11, I believe?" she said. + </p> + <p> + He nodded confusedly. + </p> + <p> + "Mr. McKinney is your name, I think?" she queried, with a pretty elevation + of the eyebrows. + </p> + <p> + "Yes, ma'am," said John, rather abjectly. "You see, ma'am—But I beg + pardon," he went on stammeringly, and with a very awkward bow—"I beg + pardon, but I am addressing—ah—the—ah—the—" + </p> + <p> + "You are addressing the new landlady," she interpolated, pleasantly. "Mrs. + Miller is my name. I think we should be friends, Mr. McKinney, since I + hear that you are one of the oldest patrons of the house." + </p> + <p> + "Thank you—thank you!" said John, completely embarrassed. "Yes, + indeed!—ha, ha. Oh, yes—yes—really, we must be quite old + friends, I assure you, Mrs.—Mrs.—" + </p> + <p> + "Mrs. Miller," smilingly prompted the little woman. + </p> + <p> + "Yes, ah, yes,—Mrs. Miller. Lovely morning, Mrs. Miller," said John, + edging past her and backing toward his room. + </p> + <p> + But as Mrs. Miller was laughing outright, for some mysterious reason, and + gave no affirmation in response to his proposition as to the quality of + the weather, John, utterly abashed and nonplussed, darted into his room + and closed the door. "Deucedly extraordinary woman!" he thought; "wonder + what's her idea!" + </p> + <p> + He remained locked in his room till the dinner-hour; and, when he promptly + emerged for that occasion, there was a very noticeable improvement in his + personal appearance, in point of dress, at least, though there still + lingered about his smoothly-shaven features a certain haggard, care-worn, + anxious look that would not out. + </p> + <p> + Next his own place at the table he found a chair tilted forward, as though + in reservation for some honored guest. What did it mean? Oh, he remembered + now. Told the boy to tell his mother he would have a friend to dine with + him. Bert—and, blast the fellow! he was, doubtless, dining then with + a far preferable companion—his wife—in a palace-car on the P., + C. & St. L., a hundred miles away. The thought was maddening. Of + course, now, the landlady would have material for a new assault. And how + could he avert it? A despairing film blurred his sight for the moment—then + the eyes flashed daringly. "I will meet it like a man!" he said, mentally—"like + a State's Attorney,—I will invite it! Let her do her worst!" + </p> + <p> + He called a servant, directing some message in an undertone. + </p> + <p> + "Yes, sir," said the agreeable servant, "I'll go right away, sir," and + left the room. + </p> + <p> + Five minutes elapsed, and then a voice at his shoulder startled him: + </p> + <p> + "Did you send for me, Mr. McKinney? What is it I can do?" + </p> + <p> + "You are very kind, Mrs.—Mrs.—" + </p> + <p> + "Mrs. Miller," said the lady, with a smile that he remembered. + </p> + <p> + "Now, please spare me even the mildest of rebukes. I deserve your censure, + but I can't stand it—I can't positively!" and there was a pleading + look in John's lifted eyes that changed the little woman's smile to an + expression of real solicitude. "I have sent for you," continued John, "to + ask of you three great favors. Please be seated while I enumerate them. + First—I want you to forgive and forget that ill-natured, + uncalled-for grumbling of mine this morning when you wakened me." + </p> + <p> + "Why, certainly," said the landlady, again smiling, though quite + seriously. + </p> + <p> + "I thank you," said John, with dignity. "And, second," he continued—"I + want your assurance that my extreme confusion and awkwardness on the + occasion of our meeting later were rightly interpreted." + </p> + <p> + "Certainly—certainly," said the landlady, with the kindliest + sympathy. + </p> + <p> + "I am grateful—utterly," said John, with newer dignity. "And then," + he went on,—after informing you that it is impossible for the best + friend I have in the world to be with me at this hour, as intended, I want + you to do me the very great honor of dining with me. Will you?" + </p> + <p> + "Why, certainly," said the charming little landlady—"and a thousand + thanks beside! But tell me something of your friend," she continued, as + they were being served. "What is he like—and what is his name—and + where is he?" + </p> + <p> + "Well," said John, warily,—"he's like all young fellows of his age. + He's quite young, you know—not over thirty, I should say—a + mere boy, in fact, but clever—talented—versatile." + </p> + <p> + "—Unmarried, of course," said the chatty little woman. + </p> + <p> + "Oh, yes!" said John, in a matter-of-course tone—but he caught + himself abruptly—then stared intently at his napkin—glanced + evasively at the side-face of his questioner, and said,—"Oh yes! + Yes, indeed! He's unmarried.—Old bachelor like myself, you know. Ha! + Ha!" + </p> + <p> + "So he's not like the young man here that distinguished himself last + night?" said the little woman, archly. + </p> + <p> + The fork in John's hand, half-lifted to his lips, faltered and fell back + toward his plate. + </p> + <p> + "Why, what's that?" said John, in a strange voice; "I hadn't heard + anything about it—I mean I haven't heard anything about any young + man. What was it?" + </p> + <p> + "Haven't heard anything about the elopement?" exclaimed the little woman, + in astonishment.—"Why, it's been the talk of the town all morning. + Elopement in high life—son of a grain-dealer, name of Hines, or + Himes, or something, and a preacher's daughter—Josie somebody—didn't + catch her last name. Wonder if you don't know the parties—Why, Mr. + McKinney, are you ill?" + </p> + <p> + "Oh, no—not at all!" said John: "Don't mention it. Ha—ha! Just + eating too rapidly, that's all. Go on with—you were saying that Bert + and Josie had really eloped." + </p> + <p> + "What 'Bert'?" asked the little woman quickly. + </p> + <p> + "Why, did I say Bert?" said John, with a guilty look. "I meant Haines, of + course, you know—Haines and Josie.—And did they really elope?" + </p> + <p> + "That's the report," answered the little woman, as though deliberating + some important evidence; "and they say, too, that the plot of the runaway + was quite ingenious. It seems the young lovers were assisted in their + flight by some old fellow—friend of the young man's—Why, Mr. + McKinney, you <i>are</i> ill, surely?" + </p> + <p> + John's face was ashen. + </p> + <p> + "No—no!" he gasped, painfully: "Go on—go on! Tell me more + about the—the—the old fellow—the old reprobate! And is + he still at large?" + </p> + <p> + "Yes," said the little womon, anxiously regarding the strange demeanor of + her companion. "They say, though, that the law can do nothing with him, + and that this fact only intensifies the agony of the broken-hearted + parents—for it seems they have, till now, regarded him both as a + gentleman and family friend in whom"— + </p> + <p> + "I really am ill," moaned John, waveringly rising to his feet; "but I beg + you not to be alarmed. Tell your little boy to come to my room, where I + will retire at once, if you'll excuse me, and send for my physician. It is + simply a nervous attack. I am often troubled so; and only perfect quiet + and seclusion restores me. You have done me a great honor, Mrs."—("Mrs.—Miller," + sighed the sympathetic little woman)—"Mrs. Miller,—and I thank + you more than I have words to express." He bowed limply, turned through a + side door opening on a stair, and tottered to his room. + </p> + <p> + During the three weeks' illness through which he passed, John had every + attention—much more, indeed, than he had consciousness to + appreciate. For the most part his mind wandered, and he talked of curious + things, and laughed hysterically, and serenaded mermaids that dwelt in + grassy seas of dew, and were bald-headed like himself. He played upon a + fourteen-jointed flute of solid gold, with diamond holes, and keys carved + out of thawless ice. His old father came at first to take him home; but he + could not be moved, the doctor said. + </p> + <p> + Two weeks of John's illness had worn away, when a very serious looking + young man, in a traveling duster, and a high hat, came up the stairs to + see him. A handsome young lady was clinging to his arm. It was Bert and + Josie. She had guessed the very date of their forgiveness. John wakened + even clearer in mind than usual that afternoon. He recognized his old chum + at a glance, and Josie—now Bert's wife. Yes, he comprehended that. + He was holding a hand of each when another figure entered. His thin, white + fingers loosened their clasp, and he held a hand toward the new comer. + "Here," he said, "is my best friend in the world—Bert, you and Josie + will love her, I know; for this is Mrs.—Mrs."—"Mrs. Miller," + said the radiant little woman.—"Yes,—Mrs. Miller," said John, + very proudly. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0017" id="link2H_4_0017"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + RHYMES OF RAINY DAYS + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0018" id="link2H_4_0018"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE TREE-TOAD. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "'Scurious-like," said the tree-toad, + "I've twittered far rain all day; + And I got up soon, + And I hollered till noon— + But the sun, hit blazed away, + Till I jest clumb down in a crawfish-hole, + Weary at heart, and sick at soul! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"Dozed away far an hour, + And I tackled the thing agin; + And I sung, and sung, + Till I knowed my lung + Was jest about give in; + And then, thinks I, ef hit don't rain now. + There're nothin' in singin', anyhow! + + "Once in awhile some + Would come a drivin' past; + And he'd hear my cry, + And stop and sigh— + Till I jest laid back, at last, + And I hollered rain till I thought my th'oat + Would bust right open at ever' note! + + "But <i>I fetched</i> her! O <i>I fetched</i> her!— + 'Cause a little while ago, + As I kindo' set, + With one eye shet, + And a-singin' soft and low, + A voice drapped down on my fevered brain, + Sayin',—' Ef you'll jest hush I'll rain!'" +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0019" id="link2H_4_0019"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A WORN-OUT PENCIL. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Welladay! + Here I lay + You at rest—all worn away, + O my pencil, to the tip + Of our old companionship! + + Memory + Sighs to see + What you are, and used to be, + Looking backward to the time + When you wrote your earliest rhyme!— + + When I sat + Filing at + Your first point, and dreaming that + Your initial song should be + Worthy of posterity. + + With regret + I forget + If the song be living yet, + Yet remember, vaguely now, + It was honest, anyhow. + + You have brought + Me a thought— + Truer yet was never taught,— + That the silent song is best, + And the unsung worthiest. + + So if I, + When I die, + May as uncomplainingly + Drop aside as now you do, + Write of me, as I of you:— + + Here lies one + Who begun + Life a-singing, heard of none; + And he died, satisfied, + With his dead songs by his side. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0020" id="link2H_4_0020"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE STEPMOTHER. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + First she come to our house, + Tommy run and hid; + And Emily and Bob and me + We cried jus' like we did + When Mother died,—and we all said + 'At we all wisht 'at we was dead! + + And Nurse she couldn't stop us, + And Pa he tried and tried,— + We sobbed and shook and wouldn't look, + But only cried and cried; + And nen someone—we couldn't jus' + Tell who—was cryin' same as us! + + Our Stepmother! Yes, it was her, + Her arms around us all— + 'Cause Tom slid down the bannister + And peeked in from the hall.— + And we all love her, too, because + She's purt nigh good as Mother was! +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0021" id="link2H_4_0021"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE RAIN. + </h2> + <h3> + I. + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The rain! the rain! the rain! + It gushed from the skies and streamed + Like awful tears; and the sick man thought + How pitiful it seemed! + And he turned his face away, + And stared at the wall again, + His hopes nigh dead and his heart worn out. + O the rain! the rain! the rain! +</pre> + <h3> + II. + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The rain! the rain! the rain! + And the broad stream brimmed the shores; + And ever the river crept over the reeds + And the roots of the sycamores: + A corpse swirled by in a drift + Where the boat had snapt its chain— + And a hoarse-voiced mother shrieked and raved. + O the rain! the rain! the rain! +</pre> + <h3> + III. + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The rain! the rain! the rain!— + Pouring, with never a pause, + Over the fields and the green byways— + How beautiful it was! + And the new-made man and wife + Stood at the window-pane + Like two glad children kept from school.— + O the rain! the rain! the rain! +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0022" id="link2H_4_0022"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE LEGEND GLORIFIED. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "I deem that God is not disquieted"— + This in a mighty poet's rhymes I read; + And blazoned so forever doth abide + Within my soul the legend glorified. + + Though awful tempests thunder overhead, + I deem that God is not disquieted,— + The faith that trembles somewhat yet is sure + Through storm and darkness of a way secure. + + Bleak winters, when the naked spirit hears + The break of hearts, through stinging sleet of tears, + I deem that God is not disquieted; + Against all stresses am I clothed and fed. + + Nay, even with fixed eyes and broken breath, + My feet dip down into the tides of death, + Nor any friend be left, nor prayer be said, + I deem that God is not disquieted. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0023" id="link2H_4_0023"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + WANT TO BE WHUR MOTHER IS. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "Want to be whur mother is! Want to be whur mother is!" + Jeemses Rivers! won't some one ever shet that howl o' his? + That-air yellin' drives me wild! + Cain't none of ye stop the child? + Want jer Daddy? "Naw." Gee whizz! + "Want to be whur mother is!" + + "Want to be whur mother is! Want to be whur mother is!" + Coax him, Sairy! Mary, sing somepin far him! Lift him, Liz— + Bang the clock-bell with the key— + Er the <i>meat-ax!</i> Gee-mun-nee! + Listen to them lungs o' his! + "Want to be whur mother is!" + + "Want to be whur mother is! Want to be whur mother is!" + Preacher guess'll pound all night on that old pulpit o' his; + 'Pears to me some wimmin jest + Shows religious interest + Mostly 'fore their fambly's riz! + "Want to be whur mother is!" + +</pre> + <hr /> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "Want to be whur mother is! Want to be whur mother is!" + Nights like these and whipperwills allus brings that voice of his! + Sairy; Mary; 'Lizabeth; + Don't set there and ketch yer death + In the dew—er rheumatiz— + Want to be whur mother is? +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0024" id="link2H_4_0024"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + OLD MAN'S NURSERY RHYME. + </h2> + <h3> + I. + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + In the jolly winters + Of the long-ago, + It was not so cold as now— + O! No! No! + Then, as I remember, + Snowballs, to eat, + Were as good as apples now, + And every bit as sweet! +</pre> + <h3> + II. + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + In the jolly winters + Of the dead-and-gone, + Bub was warm as summer, + With his red mitts on,— + Just in his little waist- + And-pants all together, + Who ever heard him growl + About cold weather? +</pre> + <h3> + III. + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + In the jolly winters of the long-ago— + Was it <i>half</i> so cold as now? + O! No! No! + Who caught his death o' cold, + Making prints of men + Flat-backed in snow that now's + Twice as cold again? +</pre> + <h3> + IV. + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + In the jolly winters + Of the dead-and-gone, + Startin' out rabbit-hunting + Early as the dawn,— + Who ever froze his fingers, + Ears, heels, or toes,— + Or'd a cared if he had? + Nobody knows! +</pre> + <h3> + V. + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Nights by the kitchen-stove, + Shelling white and red + Corn in the skillet, and + Sleepin' four abed! + Ah! the jolly winters + Of the long-ago! + We were not so old as now— + O! No! No! +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0025" id="link2H_4_0025"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THREE DEAD FRIENDS. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Always suddenly they are gone— + The friends we trusted and held secure— + Suddenly we are gazing on, + Not a <i>smiling</i> face, but the marble-pure + Dead mask of a face that nevermore + To a smile of ours will make reply— + The lips close-locked as the eyelids are— + Gone—swift as the flash of the molten ore + A meteor pours through a midnight sky, + Leaving it blind of a single star. + + Tell us, O Death, Remorseless Might! + What is this old, unescapable ire + You wreak on us?—from the birth of light + Till the world be charred to a core of fire! + We do no evil thing to you— + We seek to evade you—that is all— + That is your will—you will not be known + Of men. What, then, would you have us do?— + Cringe, and wait till your vengeance fall, + And your graves be fed, and the trumpet blown? + + You desire no friends; but <i>we</i>—O we + Need them so, as we falter here, + Fumbling through each new vacancy, + As each is stricken that we hold dear. + One you struck but a year ago; + And one not a month ago; and one— + (God's vast pity!)—and one lies now + Where the widow wails, in her nameless woe, + And the soldiers pace, with the sword and gun, + Where the comrade sleeps, with the laureled brow. + + And what did the first?—that wayward soul, + Clothed of sorrow, yet nude of sin, + And with all hearts bowed in the strange control + Of the heavenly voice of his violin. + Why, it was music the way he <i>stood</i>, + So grand was the poise of the head and so + Full was the figure of majesty!— + One heard with the eyes, as a deaf man would, + And with all sense brimmed to the overflow + With tears of anguish and ecstasy. + + And what did the girl, with the great warm light + Of genius sunning her eyes of blue, + With her heart so pure, and her soul so white— + What, O Death, did she do to you? + Through field and wood as a child she strayed, + As Nature, the dear sweet mother led; + While from her canvas, mirrored back, + Glimmered the stream through the everglade + Where the grapevine trailed from the trees to wed + Its likeness of emerald, blue and black. + + And what did he, who, the last of these, + Faced you, with never a fear, O Death? + Did you hate <i>him</i> that he loved the breeze, + And the morning dews, and the rose's breath? + Did you hate him that he answered not + Your hate again—but turned, instead, + His only hate on his country's wrongs? + Well—you possess him, dead!—but what + Of the good he wrought? With laureled head + He bides with us in his deeds and songs. + + Laureled, first, that he bravely fought, + And forged a way to our flag's release; + Laureled, next—for the harp he taught + To wake glad songs in the days of peace— + Songs of the woodland haunts he held + As close in his love as they held their bloom + In their inmost bosoms of leaf and vine— + Songs that echoed, and pulsed and welled + Through the town's pent streets, and the sick child's room, + Pure as a shower in soft sunshine. + + Claim them, Death; yet their fame endures, + What friend next will you rend from us + In that cold, pitiless way of yours, + And leave us a grief more dolorous? + Speak to us!—tell us, O Dreadful Power!— + Are we to have not a lone friend left?— + Since, frozen, sodden, or green the sod,— + In every second of every hour, + <i>Some one</i>, Death, you have left thus bereft, + Half inaudibly shrieks to God. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0026" id="link2H_4_0026"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IN BOHEMIA. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Ha! My dear! I'm back again— + Vendor of Bohemia's wares! + Lordy! How it pants a man + Climbing up those awful stairs! + Well, I've made the dealer say + Your sketch <i>might</i> sell, anyway! + And I've made a publisher + Hear my poem, Kate, my dear. + + In Bohemia, Kate, my dear— + Lodgers in a musty flat + On the top floor—living here + Neighborless, and used to that,— + Like a nest beneath the eaves, + So our little home receives + Only guests of chirping cheer— + We'll be happy, Kate, my dear! + + Under your north-light there, you + At your easel, with a stain + On your nose of Prussian blue, + Paint your bits of shine and rain; + With my feet thrown up at will + O'er my littered window-sill, + I write rhymes that ring as clear + As your laughter, Kate, my dear. + + Puff my pipe, and stroke my hair— + Bite my pencil-tip and gaze + At you, mutely mooning there + O'er your "Aprils" and your "Mays!" + Equal inspiration in + Dimples of your cheek and chin, + And the golden atmosphere + Of your paintings, Kate, my dear! + + <i>Trying</i>! Yes, at times it is, + To clink happy rhymes, and fling + On the canvas scenes of bliss, + When we are half famishing!— + When your "jersey" rips in spots, + And your hat's "forget-me-nots" + Have grown tousled, old and sere— + It is trying, Kate, my dear! + + But—as sure—<i>some</i> picture sells, + And—sometimes—the poetry— + Bless us! How the parrot yells + His acclaims at you and me! + How we revel then in scenes + Of high banqueting!—sardines— + Salads—olives—and a sheer + Pint of sherry, Kate, my dear! + + Even now I cross your palm, + With this great round world of gold!— + "Talking wild?" Perhaps I am— + Then, this little five-year-old!— + Call it anything you will, + So it lifts your face until + I may kiss away that tear + Ere it drowns me, Kate, my dear. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0027" id="link2H_4_0027"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IN THE DARK. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + O in the depths of midnight + What fancies haunt the brain! + When even the sigh of the sleeper + Sounds like a sob of pain. + + A sense of awe and of wonder + I may never well define,— + For the thoughts that come in the shadows + Never come in the shine. + + The old clock down in the parlor + Like a sleepless mourner grieves, + And the seconds drip in the silence + As the rain drips from the eaves. + + And I think of the hands that signal + The hours there in the gloom, + And wonder what angel watchers + Wait in the darkened room. + + And I think of the smiling faces + That used to watch and wait, + Till the click of the clock was answered + By the click of the opening gate.— + + They are not there now in the evening— + Morning or noon—not there; + Yet I know that they keep their vigil, + And wait for me Somewhere. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0028" id="link2H_4_0028"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + WET WEATHER TALK. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + It ain't no use to grumble and complain; + It's jest as cheap and easy to rejoice: + When God sorts out the weather and sends rain, + W'y, rain's my choice. + + Men giner'ly, to all intents— + Although they're ap' to grumble some— + Puts most their trust in Providence, + And takes things as they come;— + That is, the commonality + Of men that's lived as long as me, + Has watched the world enough to learn + They're not the boss of the concern. + + With <i>some</i>, of course, it's different— + I've seed <i>young</i> men that knowed it all, + And didn't like the way things went + On this terrestial ball! + But, all the same, the rain some way + Rained jest as hard on picnic-day; + Er when they railly wanted it, + It maybe wouldn't rain a bit! + + In this existence, dry and wet + Will overtake the best of men— + Some little skift o' clouds'll shet + The sun off now and then; + But maybe, while you're wondern' who + You've fool-like lent your umbrell' to, + And <i>want</i> it—out'll pop the sun, + And you'll be glad you ain't got none! + + It aggervates the farmers, too— + They's too much wet, er too much sun, + Er work, er waiting round to do + Before the plowin''s done; + And maybe, like as not, the wheat, + Jest as it's lookin' hard to beat, + Will ketch the storm—and jest about + The time the corn 's a-jintin' out! + + These here cy-clones a-foolin' round— + And back'ard crops—and wind and rain, + And yit the corn that's wallered down + May elbow up again! + They ain't no sense, as I kin see, + In mortals, sich as you and me, + A-faultin' Nature's wise intents, + And lockin' horns with Providence! + + It ain't no use to grumble and complain; + It's jest as cheap and easy to rejoice: + When God sorts out the weather and sends rain, + W'y, rain's my choice. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0029" id="link2H_4_0029"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + WHERE SHALL WE LAND. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "<i>Where shall we land you, sweet</i>?"—Swinburne. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + All listlessly we float + Out seaward in the boat + That beareth Love. + Our sails of purest snow + Bend to the blue below + And to the blue above. + Where shall we land? + + We drift upon a tide + Shoreless on every side, + Save where the eye + Of Fancy sweeps far lands + Shelved slopingly with sands + Of gold and porphyry. + Where shall we land? + + The fairy isles we see, + Loom up so mistily— + So vaguely fair, + We do not care to break + Fresh bubbles in our wake + To bend our course for there. + Where shall we land? + + The warm winds of the deep + Have lulled our sails to sleep, + And so we glide + Careless of wave or wind, + Or change of any kind, + Or turn of any tide. + Where shall we land? + + We droop our dreamy eyes + Where our reflection lies + Steeped in the sea, + And, in an endless fit + Of languor, smile on it + And its sweet mimicry. + Where shall we land? + + "Where shall we land?" God's grace! + I know not any place + So fair as this— + Swung here between the blue + Of sea and sky, with you + To ask me, with a kiss, + "Where shall we land?" +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0030" id="link2H_4_0030"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + AN OLD SETTLER'S STORY + </h2> + <p> + William Williams his name was—or so he said;—Bill Williams + they called him, and them 'at knowed him best called him Bill Bills. + </p> + <p> + The first I seed o' Bills was about two weeks after he got here. The + Settlement wasn't nothin' but a baby in them days, far I mind 'at old Ezry + Sturgiss had jist got his saw and griss-mill a-goin', and Bills had come + along and claimed to know all about millin', and got a job with him; and + millers in them times was wanted worse'n congerss-men, and I reckon got + better wages; far afore Ezry built, ther wasn't a dust o' meal er flour to + be had short o' the White Water, better'n sixty mild from here, the way we + had to fetch it. And they used to come to Ezry's far ther grindin' as far + as that; and one feller I knowed to come from what used to be the old + South Fork, over eighty mild from here, and in the wettest, rainyest + weather; and mud! <i>Law!</i> + </p> + <p> + Well, this-here Bills was a-workin' far Ezry at the time—part the + time a-grindin', and part the time a-lookin' after the sawin', and gittin' + out timber and the like. Bills was a queer-lookin' feller, shore! About as + tall a build man as Tom Carter—but of course you don't know nothin' + o' Tom Carter. A great big hulk of a feller, Tom was; and as far back as + Fifty-eight used to make his brags that he could cut and put up his seven + cord a day. + </p> + <p> + Well, what give Bills this queer look, as I was a-goin' on to say, was a + great big ugly scar a-runnin' from the corner o' one eye clean down his + face and neck, and I don't know how far down his breast—awful + lookin'; and he never shaved, and ther wasn't a hair a-growin' in that + scar, and it looked like a—some kind o' pizen snake er somepin' a + crawlin' in the grass and weeds. I never seed sich a' out-an'-out + onry-lookin' chap, and I'll never fergit the first time I set eyes on him. + </p> + <p> + Steve and me—Steve was my youngest brother; Steve's be'n in + Californy now far, le' me see,—well, anyways, I reckon, over thirty + year.—Steve was a-drivin' the team at the time—I allus let + Steve drive; 'peared like Steve was made a-purpose far hosses. The + beatin'est hand with hosses 'at ever you <i>did</i> see-an'-I-know! W'y, a + hoss, after he got kind o' used to Steve a-handlin' of him, would do + anything far <i>him</i>! And I've knowed that boy to swap far hosses 'at + cou'dn't hardly make a shadder; and, afore you knowed it, Steve would have + 'em a-cavortin' around a-lookin' as peert and fat and slick! + </p> + <p> + Well, we'd come over to Ezry's far some grindin' that day; and Steve + wanted to price some lumber far a house, intendin' to marry that Fall—and + would a-married, I reckon, ef the girl hadn't a-died jist as she'd got her + weddin' clothes done, and that set hard on Steve far awhile. Yit he + rallied, you know, as a youngster will; but he never married, someway—never + married. Reckon he never found no other woman he could love well enough, + 'less it was—well, no odds.—The Good Bein's jedge o' what's + best far each and all. + </p> + <p> + We lived <i>then</i> about eight mild from Ezry's, and it tuck about a day + to make the trip; so you kin kind o' git an idee o' how the roads was in + them days. + </p> + <p> + Well, on the way over I noticed Steve was mighty quiet-like, but I didn't + think nothin' of it, tel at last he says, says he, "Tom, I want you to + kind o' keep an eye out far Ezry's new hand," meanin Bills. And then I + kind o' suspicioned somepin' o' nother was up betwixt 'em; and shore + enough ther was, as I found out afore the day was over. + </p> + <p> + I knowed 'at Bills was a mean sort of a man, from what I'd heerd. His name + was all over the neighborhood afore he'd be'n here two weeks. + </p> + <p> + In the first place, he come in a suspicious sort o' way. Him and his wife, + and a little baby only a few months old, come through in a kivvered wagon + with a fambly a-goin' som'ers in The Illinoy; and they stopped at the + mill, far some meal er somepin', and Bills got to talkin' with Ezry 'bout + millin', and one thing o' nother, and said he was expeerenced some 'bout a + mill hisse'f, and told Ezry ef he'd give him work he'd stop; said his wife + and baby wasn't strong enough to stand trav'lin', and ef Ezry'd give him + work he was ready to lick into it then and there; said his woman could pay + her board by sewin' and the like, tel they got ahead a little; and then, + ef he liked the neighberhood, he said he'd as leave settle there as + anywheres; he was huntin' a home, he said, and the outlook kind o' struck + him, and his woman railly needed rest, and wasn't strong enough to go much + furder. And old Ezry kind o' tuck pity on the feller; and havin' houseroom + to spare, and railly in need of a good hand at the mill, he said all + right; and so the feller stopped and the wagon druv ahead and left 'em; + and they didn't have no things ner nothin'—not even a + cyarpet-satchel, ner a stitch o' clothes, on'y what they had on their + backs. And I think it was the third er fourth day after Bills stopped 'at + he whirped Tomps Burk, the bully o' here them days, tel you would n't + a-knowed him! + </p> + <p> + Well, I'd heerd o' this, and the fact is I'd made up my mind 'at Bills was + a bad stick, and the place was n't none the better far his bein' here. + But, as I was a-goin' on to say,—as Steve and me driv up to the + mill, I ketched sight o' Bills the first thing, a-lookin' out o' where + some boards was knocked off, jist over the worter-wheel; and he knowed + Steve—I could see that by his face; and he hollered somepin', too, + but what it was I couldn't jist make out, far the noise o' the wheel; but + he looked to me as ef he'd hollered somepin' mean a-purpose so's Steve <i>wouldn't</i> + hear it, and <i>he'd</i> have the consolation o' knowin' 'at he'd called + Steve some onry name 'thout givin' him a chance to take it up. Steve was + allus quiet like, but ef you raised his dander one't—and you could + do that 'thout much trouble, callin' him names er somepin', particular' + anything 'bout his mother. Steve loved his mother—allus loved his + mother, and would fight far her at the drap o' the hat. And he was her + favo-<i>rite</i>—allus a-talkin' o' "her boy, Steven," as she used + to call him, and so proud of him, and so keerful of him allus, when he 'd + be sick er anything; nuss him like a baby, she would. + </p> + <p> + So when Bills hollered, Steve didn't pay no attention; and I said nothin', + o' course, and didn't let on like I noticed him. So we druv round to the + south side and hitched; and Steve 'lowed he'd better feed; so I left him + with the hosses and went into the mill. + </p> + <p> + They was jist a-stoppin' far dinner. Most of 'em brought ther dinners—lived + so far away, you know. The two Smith boys lived on what used to be the old + Warrick farm, five er six mild, anyhow, from wher' the mill stood. Great + stout fellers, they was; and little Jake, the father of 'em, wasn't no man + at all—not much bigger'n you, I rickon. Le' me see, now:—Ther + was Tomps Burk, Wade Elwood, and Joe and Ben Carter, and Wesley Morris, + John Coke—wiry little cuss, he was, afore he got his leg sawed off—and + Ezry, and—Well, I don't jist mind all the boys—'s a long time + ago, and I never was much of a hand far names.—Now, some folks'll + hear a name and never fergit it, but I can't boast of a good ricollection, + 'specially o' names; and far the last thirty year my mem'ry's be'n + a-failin' me, ever sence a spell o' fever 'at I brought on onc't—fever + and rheumatiz together. You see, I went a-sainin' with a passel o' the + boys, fool-like, and let my clothes freeze on me a-comin' home. Wy, my + breeches was like stove-pipes when I pulled 'em off. 'Ll, ef I didn't pay + far that spree! Rheumatiz got a holt o' me and helt me there flat o' my + back far eight weeks, and couldn't move hand er foot 'thout a-hollerin' + like a' Injun. And I'd a-be'n there yit, I reckon, ef it had n't a-be'n + far a' old hoss-doctor, name o' Jones; and he gits a lot o' sod and steeps + it in hot whisky and pops it on me, and I'll-be-switched-to-death ef it + didn't cuore me up, far all I laughed and told him I'd better take the + whisky inardly and let him keep the grass far his doctor bill. But that's + nuther here ner there:—As I was a-saying 'bout the mill: As I went + in, the boys had stopped work and was a-gittin' down ther dinners, and + Bills amongst 'em, and old Ezry a-chattin' away—great hand, he was, + far his joke, and allus a-cuttin' up and a-gittin' off his odd-come-shorts + on the boys. And that day he was in particular good humor. He'd brought + some liquor down far the boys, and he'd be'n drinkin' a little hisse'f, + enough to feel it. He didn't drink much—that is to say, he didn't + git drunk adzactly; but he tuck his dram, you understand. You see, they + made ther own whisky in them days, and it was n't nothin' like the bilin' + stuff you git now. Old Ezry had a little still, and allus made his own + whisky, enough far fambly use, and jist as puore as worter, and as + harmless. But now-a-days the liquor you git's rank pizen. They say they + put tobacker in it, and strychnine, and the Lord knows what; ner I never + knowed why, 'less it was to give it a richer-lookin' flavor, like. Well, + Ezry he 'd brought up a jug, and the boys had be'n a-takin' it purty free; + I seed that as quick as I went in. And old Ezry called out to me to come + and take some, the first thing. Told him I did n't b'lieve I keered about + it; but nothin' would do but I must take a drink with the boys; and I was + tired anyhow and I thought a little would n't hurt; so I takes a swig; and + as I set the jug down Bills spoke up and says, "You're a stranger to me, + and I'm a stranger to you, but I reckon we can drink to our better + acquaintance," er somepin' to that amount, and poured out another snifter + in a gourd he'd be'n a-drinkin' coffee in, and handed it to me. Well, I + could n't well refuse, of course, so I says, "Here 's to us," and drunk + her down—mighty nigh a half pint, I reckon. Now, I railly did n't + want it, but, as I tell you, I was obleeged to take it, and I downed her + at a swaller and never batted an eye, far, to tell the fact about it, I + liked the taste o' liquor; and I do yit, only I know when I' got enough. + Jist then I didn't want to drink on account o' Steve. Steve couldn't abide + liquor in no shape ner form—far medicine ner nothin', and I 've + allus thought it was his mother's doin's. + </p> + <p> + Now, a few months afore this I 'd be'n to Vincennes, and I was jist + a-tellin' Ezry what they was a-astin' far ther liquor there—far I 'd + fetched a couple o' gallon home with me 'at I 'd paid six bits far, and + pore liquor at that: And I was a-tellin' about it, and old Ezry was + a-sayin' what an oudacious figger that was, and how he could make money + a-sellin' it far half that price, and was a-goin' on a-braggin' about his + liquor—and it was a good article—far new whisky,—and + jist then Steve comes in, jist as Bills was a-sayin' 'at a man 'at + wouldn't drink that whisky wasn't no man at all. So, of course, when they + ast Steve to take some and he told 'em no, 'at he was much obleeged, Bills + was kind o' tuck down, you understand, and had to say somepin'; and says + he, "I reckon you ain't no better 'n the rest of us, and <i>we 've</i> + be'n a-drinkin' of it." But Steve did n't let on like he noticed Bills at + all, and rech and shuck hands with the other boys and ast how they was all + a-comin' on. + </p> + <p> + I seed Bills was riled, and more 'n likely wanted trouble; and shore + enough, he went on to say, kind o' snarlin' like, 'at "he'd knowed o' men + in his day 'at had be'n licked far refusin' to drink when their betters + ast 'em;" and said furder 'at "a lickin' wasn't none too good far anybody + 'at would refuse liquor like that o' Ezry's, and in his own house too"—er + <i>buildin'</i>, ruther. Ezry shuck his head at him, but I seed 'at Bills + was bound far a quarrel, and I winks at Steve, as much as to say, "Don't + you let him bully you; you'll find your brother here to see you have fair + play!" <i>I</i> was a-feelin' my oats some about then, and Steve seed I + was, and looked so sorry like, and like his mother, 'at I jist thought, "I + kin fight far you, and die far you, 'cause you're wuth it!"—And I + didn't someway feel like it would amount to much ef I did die er git + killed er somepin' on his account. I seed Steve was mighty white around + the mouth and his eyes was a glitterin' like a snake's; but Bills didn't + seem to take warnin', but went on to say 'at he'd knowed boys 'at loved + the'r mothers so well they couldn't drink nothin' stronger 'n milk.—And + then you'd ort o' seed Steve's coat fly off, jist like it wanted to git + out of his way, and give the boy room accordin' to his stren'th. I seed + Bills grab a piece o' scantlin' jist in time to ketch his arm as he struck + at Steve,—far Steve was a-comin' far him dangerss. But they'd + ketched Steve from behind jist then; and Bills turned far me. I seed him + draw back, and I seed Steve a-scufflin' to ketch his arm; but he didn't + reach it quite in time to do me no good. It must a-come awful suddent. The + first I ricollect was a roarin' and a buzzin' in my ears, and when I kind + o' come a little better to, and crawled up and peeked over the saw-log I + was a-layin' the other side of, I seed a couple clinched and a rollin' + over and over, and a-makin' the chips and saw-dust fly, now I tell you! + Bills and Steve it was—head and tail, tooth and toenail, and + a-bleedin' like good fellers. I seed a gash o' some kind in Bills's head, + and Steve was purty well tuckered, and a-pantin' like a lizard; and I made + a rush in, and one o' the Carter boys grabbed me and told me to jist keep + cool; 'at Steve didn't need no he'p, and they might need me to keep + Bills's friends off ef they made a rush. By this time Steve had whirlt + Bills, and was a-jist a-gittin' in a fair way to finish him up in good + style, when Wesley Morris run in—I seed him do it—run in, and + afore we could ketch him he struck Steve a deadener in the butt o' the ear + and knocked him as limber as a rag. And then Bills whirlt Steve and got + him by the throat, and Ben Carter and me and old Ezry closed in—Carter + tackled Morris, and Ezry and me grabs Bills—and as old Ezry grabbed + him to pull him off, Bills kind o' give him a side swipe o' some kind and + knocked him—I don't know how far! And jist then Carter and Morris + come a-scufflin' back'ards right amongst us, and Carter throwed him right + acrost Bills and Steve. Well, it ain't fair, and I don't like to tell it, + but I seed it was the last chance and I tuck advantage of it:—As + Wesley and Ben fell it pulled Bills down in a kind o' twist, don't you + understand, so's he couldn't he'p hisse'f, yit still a-clinchin' Steve by + the throat, and him black in the face: Well, as they fell I grabbed up a + little hick'ry limb, not bigger 'n my two thumbs, and I struck Bills a + little tap kind o' over the back of his head like, and blame me ef he + didn't keel over like a stuck pig—and not any too soon, nuther, far + he had Steve's chunk as nigh put out as you ever seed a man's, to come to + agin. But he was up th'reckly and ready to a-went at it ef Bills could + a-come to the scratch; but Mister Bills he wasn't in no fix to try it + over! After a-waitin' awhile far him to come to, and him not a-comin' to, + we concluded 'at we'd better he'p him, maybe. And we worked with him, and + washed him, and drenched him with whisky, but it 'peared like it wasn't no + use: He jist laid there with his eyes about half shet, and a-breathin' + like a hoss when he's bad sceart; and I'll be dad-limbed ef I don't + believe he'd a-died on our hands ef it hadn't a-happened old Doc Zions + come a-ridin' past on his way home from the Murdock neighberhood, where + they was a-havin' sich a time with the milk-sick. And he examined Bills, + and had him laid on a plank and carried down to the house—'bout a + mild, I reckon, from the mill. Looked kind o' curous to see Steve + a-heppin' pack the feller, after his nearly chokin' him to death. Oh, it + was a bloody fight, I tell you! W'y, ther wasn't a man in the mill 'at + didn't have a black eye er somepin'; and old Ezry, where Bills hit him, + had his nose broke, and was as bloody as a butcher. And you'd ort a-seed + the women-folks when our p'session come a-bringin' Bills in. I never seed + anybody take on like Bills's woman. It was distressin'; it was, indeed.—Went + into hysterics, she did; and we thought far awhile she'd gone plum crazy, + far she cried so pitiful over him, and called him "Charley! Charley!" + 'stid of his right name, and went on, clean out of her head, tel she + finally jist fainted clean away. + </p> + <p> + Far three weeks Bills laid betwixt life and death, and that woman set by + him night and day, and tended him as patient as a' angel—and she was + a' angel, too; and he'd a-never lived to bother nobody agin ef it hadn't + a-be'n far Annie, as he called her. Zions said ther was a 'brazure of the—some + kind o' p'tubernce, and ef he'd a-be'n struck jist a quarter of a' inch + below—jist a quarter of a' inch—he'd a-be'n a dead man. And + I've sence wished—not 'at I want the life of a human bein' to + account far, on'y, well, no odds—I've sence wished 'at I had a-hit + him jist a quarter of a' inch below! + </p> + <p> + Well, of course, them days ther wasn't no law o' no account, and nothin' + was ever done about it. So Steve and me got our grindin', and talked the + matter over with Ezry and the boys. Ezry said he was a-goin' to do all he + could far Bills, 'cause he was a good hand, and when he wasn't drinkin' + ther wasn't no peaceabler man in the settlement. I kind o' suspicioned + what was up, but I said nothin' then. And Ezry said furder, as we was + about drivin' off, that Bills was a despert feller, and it was best to + kind o' humor him a little. "And you must kind o' be on your guard," he + says, "and I'll watch him and ef anything happens 'at I git wind of I'll + let you know," he says; and so we put out far home. + </p> + <p> + Mother tuck on awful about it. You see, she thought she'd be'h the whole + blame of it, 'cause the Sunday afore that her and Steve had went to + meetin', and they got there late, and the house was crowded, and Steve had + ast Bills to give up his seat to Mother, and he wouldn't do it, and said + somepin' 'at disturbed the prayin', and the preacher prayed 'at the feller + 'at was a-makin' the disturbance might be forgive; and that riled Bills so + he got up and left, and hung around till it broke up, so's he could git a + chance at Steve to pick a fight. And he did try it, and dared Steve and + double-dared him far a fight, but Mother begged so hard 'at she kep' him + out of it. Steve said 'at he'd a-told me all about it on the way to + Ezry's, on'y he'd promised Mother, you know, not to say nothin' to me. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + Ezry was over at our house about six weeks after the fight, appearantly as + happy as you please. We ast him how him and Bills was a-makin' it, and he + said firstrate; said 'at Bills was jist a-doin' splendid; said he'd got + moved in his new house 'at he'd fixed up far him, and ever'thing was + a-goin' on as smooth as could be; and Bills and the boys was on better + terms 'n ever; and says he, "As far as you and Steve 's concerned, Bills + don't 'pear to bear you no ill feelin's, and says as far as he 's + concerned the thing 's settled." "Well," says I, "Ezry, I hope so; but I + can't he'p but think ther 's somepin' at the bottom of all this;" and says + I, "I do n't think it's in Bills to ever amount to anything good;" and + says I, "It's my opinion ther 's a dog in the well, and now you mark it!" + </p> + <p> + Well, he said he <i>wasn't</i> jist easy, but maybe he 'd come out all + right; said he couldn't turn the feller off—he hadn't the heart to + do that, with that-air pore, dilicate woman o' his, and the baby. And then + he went on to tell what a smart sort o' woman Bills's wife was,—one + of the nicest little women he 'd ever laid eyes on, said she was; said she + was the kindest thing, and the sweetest-tempered, and all—and the + handiest woman 'bout the house, and 'bout sewin', and cookin', and the + like, and all kinds o' housework; and so good to the childern, and all; + and how they all got along so well; and how proud she was of her baby, and + allus a-goin' on about it and a-cryin' over it and a-carryin' on, and + wouldn't leave it out of her sight a minute. And Ezry said 'at she could + write so purty, and made sich purty pictures far the childern; and how + they all liked her better'n ther own mother. And, sence she'd moved, he + said it seemed so lonesome like 'thout <i>her</i> about the house—like + they'd lost one o' ther own fambly; said they didn't git to see her much + now, on'y sometimes, when her man would be at work, she'd run over far + awhile, and kiss all the childern and women-folks about the place,—the + greatest hand far the childern, she was; tell 'em all sorts o'little + stories, you know, and sing far 'em; said 'at she could sing so + sweet-like,'at time and time agin she'd break clean down in some song + o'nuther, and her voice would trimble so mournful-like 'at you'd find + yourse'f a-cryin' afore you knowed it. And she used to coax Ezry's woman + to let her take the childern home with her; and they used to allus want to + go, 'tel Bills come onc't while they was there, and they said he got to + jawin' her far a-makin' some to-do over the baby, and swore at her and + tuck it away from her and whipped it far cryin', and she cried and told + him to whip her and not little Annie, and he said that was jist what he + was a-doin'. And the childern was allus afear'd to go there any more after + that—'fear'd he'd come home and whip little Annie agin. Ezry said he + jist done that to skeer 'em away—'cause he didn't want a passel o' + childern a-whoopin' and a-howlin' and a-trackin' 'round the house all the + time. + </p> + <p> + But, shore enough, Bills, after the fight, 'peared like he 'd settled + down, and went 'bout his business so stiddy-like, and worked so well, the + neighbors begin to think he was all right after all, and railly <i>some</i> + got to <i>likin'</i> him. But far me, well, I was a leetle slow to argy + 'at the feller wasn't "a-possumin'." But the next time I went over to the + mill—and Steve went with me—old Ezry come and met us, and said + 'at Bills didn't have no hard feelin's ef <i>we</i> didn't, and 'at he + wanted us to fergive him; said 'at Bills wanted him to tell us 'at he was + sorry the way he'd acted, and wanted us to fergive him. Well, I looked at + Ezry, and we both looked at him, jist perfectly tuck back—the idee + o' Bills a-wantin' anybody to fergive him! And says I, "Ezry, what in the + name o' common sense do you mean?" And says he, "I mean jist what I say; + Bills jined meetin' last night and had 'em all a-prayin' far him; and we + all had <i>a glorious time</i>," says old Ezry; "and his woman was there + and jined, too, and prayed and shouted and tuck on to beat all; and Bills + got up and spoke and give in his experience, and said he'd be'n a bad man, + but, glory to God, them times was past and gone; said 'at he wanted all of + 'em to pray far him, and he wanted to prove faithful, and wanted all his + inemies to fergive him; and prayed 'at you and Steve and your folks would + fergive him, and ever'body 'at he ever wronged anyway." And old Ezry was + a-goin' on, and his eyes a-sparklin', and a-rubbin' his hands, he was so + excited and tickled over it, 'at Steve and me we jist stood there + a-gawkin' like, tel Bills hisse'f come up and rech out one hand to Steve + and one to me; and Steve shuck with him kind o' oneasy like, and I—well, + sir, I never felt cur'oser in my born days than I did that minute. The + cold chills crep' over me, and I shuck as ef I had the agur, and I folded + my hands behind me and I looked that feller square in the eye, and I tried + to speak three or four times afore I could make it, and when I did, my + voice wasn't natchurl—sounded like a feller a-whisperin' through a + tin horn er somepin'.—and I says, says I, "You're a liar," slow and + delibert. That was all. His eyes blazed a minute, and drapped; and he + turned, 'thout a word, and walked off. And Ezry says, "He's in airnest; I + know he's in airnest, er he'd a-never a-tuck that!" And so he went on, tel + finally Steve jined in, and betwixt 'em they p'suaded me 'at I was in the + wrong and the best thing to do was to make it all up, which I finally did. + And Bills said 'at he'd a-never a-felt jist right 'thout <i>my</i> + friendship, far he'd wronged me, he said, and he'd wronged Steve and + Mother, too, and he wanted a chance, he said, o' makin' things straight + agin. + </p> + <p> + Well, a-goin' home, I don't think Steve and me talked o' nothin' else but + Bills—how airnest the feller acted 'bout it, and how, ef he <i>wasn't</i> + in airnest he'd a-never a-swallered that 'lie,' you see. That's what + walked my log, far he could a-jist as easy a-knocked me higher 'n + Kilgore's kite as he could to walk away 'thout a-doin' of it. + </p> + <p> + Mother was awful tickled when she heerd about it, far she'd had an idee + 'at we'd have trouble afore we got back, and a-gitten home safe, and + a-bringin' the news 'bout Bills a-jinin' church and all, tickled her so + 'at she mighty nigh shouted far joy. You see, Mother was a' old + church-member all her life; and I don't think she ever missed a sermont er + a prayer-meetin' 'at she could possibly git to—rain er shine, wet er + dry. When ther was a meetin' of any kind a-goin' on, go she would, and + nothin' short o' sickness in the fambly, er knowin' nothin' of it would + stop <i>her</i>! And clean up to her dyin' day she was a God-fearin' and + consistent Christian ef ther ever was one. I mind now when she was tuck + with her last spell and laid bedfast far eighteen months, she used to tell + the preacher, when he 'd come to see her and pray and go on, 'at she could + die happy ef she could on'y be with 'em all agin in their love-feasts and + revivals. She was purty low then, and had be'n a-failin' fast far a day er + two; and that day they'd be'n a-holdin' service at the house. It was her + request, you know, and the neighbers had congergated and was a-prayin' and + a-singin' her favorite hymns—one in p'tickler, "God moves in a + mysterous way his wunders to p'form," and 'bout his "Walkin' on the sea + and a-ridin' of the storm."—Well, anyway, they'd be'n a-singin' that + hymn far her—she used to sing that 'n so much, I ricollect as far + back as I kin remember; and I mind how it used to make me feel so + lonesome-like and solemn, don't you know,—when I'd be a-knockin' + round the place along of evenin's, and she'd be a-milkin', and I'd hear + her, at my feedin', way off by myse'f, and it allus somehow made me feel + like a feller'd ort o' try and live as nigh right as the law allows, and + that's about my doctern yit. Well, as I was a-goin' on to say, they'd jist + finished that old hymn, and Granny Lowry was jist a-goin to lead in + prayer, when I noticed mother kind o' tried to turn herse'f in bed, and + smiled so weak and faint-like, and looked at me, with her lips a-kind o' + movin'; and I thought maybe she wanted another dos't of her syrup 'at + Ezry's woman had fixed up far her, and I kind o' stooped down over her and + ast her if she wanted anything. "Yes," she says, and nodded, and her voice + sounded so low and solemn and so far away-like 'at I knowed she'd never + take no more medicine on this airth. And I tried to ast her what it was + she wanted, but I couldn't say nothin'; my throat hurt me, and I felt the + warm tears a-boolgin' up, and her kind old face a-glimmerin' a-way so + pale-like afore my eyes, and still a-smilin' up so lovin' and forgivin' + and so good 'at it made me think so far back in the past I seemed to be a + little boy agin; and seemed like her thin gray hair was brown, and + a-shinin' in the sun as it used to do when she helt me on her shoulder in + the open door, when Father was a-livin' and we used to go to meet him at + the bars; seemed like her face was young agin, and a-smilin' like it allus + used to be, and her eyes as full o' hope and happiness as afore they ever + looked on grief er ever shed a tear. And I thought of all the trouble they + had saw on my account, and of all the lovin' words her lips had said, and + of all the thousand things her pore old hands had done far me 'at I never + even thanked her far; and how I loved her better 'n all the world besides, + and would be so lonesome ef she went away—Lord! I can't tell you + what I didn't think and feel and see. And I knelt down by her, and she + whispered then far Steven, and he come, and we kissed her—and she + died—a smilin' like a child—jist like a child. + </p> + <p> + Well—well! 'Pears like I'm allus a-runnin' into somepin' else. I + wisht I could tell a story 'thout driftin' off in matters 'at hain't no + livin' thing to do with what I started out with. I try to keep from + thinkin' of afflictions and the like, 'cause sich is bound to come to the + best of us; but a feller's ricollection will bring 'em up, and I reckon + it'd ort 'o be er it wouldn't be; and I've thought, sometimes, it was done + may be to kind o' admonish a feller, as the Good Book says, of how good a + world 'd be 'thout no sorrow in it. + </p> + <p> + Where was I? Oh, yes, I ricollect;—about Bills a-jinin' church. + Well, sir, ther' wasn't a better-actin' feller and more religious-like in + all the neighberhood. Spoke in meetin's, he did, and tuck a' active part + in all religious doin's, and, in fact, was jist as square a man, + appearantly, as the preacher hisse'f. And about six er eight weeks after + he'd jined, they got up another revival, and things run high. Ther' was a + big excitement, and ever'body was a'tendin' from far and near. Bills and + Ezry got the mill-hands to go, and didn't talk o' nothin' but religion. + People thought awhile 'at old Ezry 'd turn preacher, he got so interested + 'bout church matters. He was easy excited 'bout anything; and when he went + into a thing it was in dead earnest, shore!—"jist flew off the + handle," as I heerd a comical feller git off onct. And him and Bills was + up and at it ever' night—prayin' and shoutin' at the top o' the'r + voice. Them railly did seem like good times—when ever'body jined + together, and prayed and shouted ho-sanner, and danced around together, + and hugged each other like they was so full o' glory they jist couldn't + he'p theirse'v's—that's the reason I jined; it looked so kind o' + whole-souled-like and good, you understand. But la! I didn't hold out on'y + far a little while, and no wunder! + </p> + <p> + Well, about them times Bills was tuck down with the agur; first got to + chillin' ever'-other-day, then ever' day, and harder and harder, tel + sometimes he 'd be obleeged to stay away from meetin' on account of it. + And one't I was at meetin' when he told about it, and how when he couldn't + be with 'em he allus prayed at home, and he said 'at he believed his + prayers was answered, far onc't he'd prayed far a new outpourin' of the + Holy Sperit, and that very night ther' was three new jiners. And another + time he said 'at he 'd prayed 'at Wesley Morris would jine, and lo and + behold you! he <i>did</i> jine, and the very night 'at he prayed he would. + </p> + <p> + Well, the night I'm a-speakin' of he'd had a chill the day afore and + couldn't go that night, and was in bed when Ezry druv past far him; said + he'd like to go, but had a high fever and couldn't. And then Ezry's woman + ast him ef he was too sick to spare Annie; and he said no, they could take + her and the baby: and told her to fix his medicine so's he could reach it + 'thout gittin' out o' bed, and he'd git along 'thout her. And so she tuck + the baby and went along with Ezry and his folks. + </p> + <p> + I was at meetin' that night and ricollect 'em comin' in. Annie got a seat + jist behind me—Steve give her his'n and stood up; and I ricollect + a-astin' her how Bills was a-gittin' along with the agur; and little + Annie, the baby, kep' a-pullin' my hair and a-crowin' tel finally she went + to sleep; and Steve ast her mother to let <i>him</i> hold her—cutest + little thing you ever laid eyes on, and the very pictur' <i>of</i> her + mother. + </p> + <p> + Old Daddy Barker preached that night, and a mighty good sermont. His text, + ef I ricollect right, was "workin' out your own salvation;" and when I + listen to preachers nowadays in ther big churches and ther fine pulpits, I + allus think o' Daddy Barker, and kind o' some way wisht the old times + could come agin, with the old log meetin'-house with its puncheon floor + and the chinkin' in the walls, and old Daddy Barker in the pulpit. He'd + make you feel 'at the Lord could make hissef at home there, and find jist + as abundant comfort in the old log house as he could in any of your + fine-furnished churches 'at you can't set down in 'thout payin' far the + privilege, like it was a theater. + </p> + <p> + Ezry had his two little girls jine that night, and I ricollect the + preacher made sich a purty prayer about the Savior a-cotin' from the Bible + 'bout "Suffer little childern to come unto me" and all; and talked so + purty about the jedgment day, and mothers a-meetin' the'r little ones + there and all; and went on tel ther wasn't a dry eye in the house—and + jist as he was a-windin' up, Abe Riggers stuck his head in at the door and + hollered "fire" loud as he could yell. We all rushed out, a-thinkin' it + was the meetin'-house; but he hollered it was the mill; and shore enough, + away off to the southards we could see the light acrost the woods, and see + the blaze a-lickin' up above the trees. I seed old Ezry as he come + a-scufflin' through the crowd; and we put out together far it. Well, it + was two mild to the mill, but by the time we'd half way got there, we + could tell it wasn't the mill a-burnin', 'at the fire was furder to the + left, and that was Ezry's house; and by the time we got there it wasn't + much use. We pitched into the household goods, and got out the beddin', + and the furnitur' and cheers and the like o' that; saved the clock and a + bedstid, and got the bureau purt' nigh out when they hollered to us 'at + the roof was a cavin' in, and we had to leave it; well, we'd tuck the + drawers out, all but the big one, and that was locked; and it and all in + it went with the buildin', and that was a big loss: All the money 'at Ezry + was a-layin' by was in that-air drawer, and a lot o' keepsakes and + trinkets 'at Ezry's woman said she wouldn't a-parted with far the world + and all. + </p> + <p> + I never seed a troubleder fambly than they was. It jist 'peared like old + Ezry give clean down, and the women and childern a-cryin' and a-takin' on. + It looked jist awful—shore's you're born!—Losin' ever'thing + they'd worked so hard far—and there it was, purt' nigh midnight, and + a fambly, jist a little while ago all so happy, and now with no home to go + to ner nothin'! + </p> + <p> + It was arranged far Ezry's to move in with Bills—that was about the + on'y chance—on'y one room and a loft; but Bills said they could + manage <i>some</i> way, far a while anyhow. + </p> + <p> + Bills said he seed the fire when it first started, and could a-put it out + ef he'd on'y be'n strong enough to git there; said he started twic't to + go, but was too weak and had to go back to bed agin; said it was a-blazin' + in the kitchen roof when he first seed it. So the gineral conclusion 'at + we all come to was—it must a-ketched from the flue. + </p> + <p> + It was too late in the Fall then to think o' buildin' even the onryest + kind o' shanty, and so Ezry moved in with Bills. And Bills used to say ef + it had n't a-be'n far Ezry <i>he'd</i> a-never a-had no house, ner nuthin' + to put in it, nuther. You see, all the household goods 'at Bills had in + the world he'd got of Ezry, and he 'lowed he'd be a triflin' whelp ef he + didn't do all in his power to make Ezry perfeckly at home 's long as he + wanted to stay there. And together they managed to make room far 'em all, + by a-buildin' a kind o' shed-like to the main house, intendin' to build + when Spring come. And ever'thing went along first-rate, I guess; never + heerd no complaints—that is, p'ticular. + </p> + <p> + Ezry was kind o' down far a long time, though; didn't like to talk about + his trouble much, and didn't 'tend meetin' much, like he used to; said it + made him think 'bout his house burnin', and he didn't feel safe to lose + sight o' the mill. And the meetin's kind o' broke up altogether that + winter. Almost broke up religious doin's, it did. 'S long as I've lived + here I never seed jist sich a slack in religion as ther' was that winter; + and 'fore then, I kin mind the time when ther' wasn't a night the whole + endurin' winter when they didn't have preachin' er prayer-meetin' o' some + kind a-goin' on. W'y, I ricollect one night in p'ticular—<i>the + coldest</i> night, <i>whooh!</i> And somebody had stold the meetin'-house + door, and they was obleeged to preach 'thout it. And the wind blowed in so + they had to hold the'r hats afore the candles, and then one't-in-a-while + they'd git sluffed out. And the snow drifted in so it was jist like + settin' out doors; and they had to stand up when they prayed—yessir! + stood up to pray. I noticed that night they was a' oncommon lot o' jiners, + and I believe to this day 'at most of 'em jined jist to git up wher' the + stove was. Lots o' folks had the'r feet froze right in meetin'; and Steve + come home with his ears froze like they was whittled out o' bone; and he + said 'at Mary Madaline Wells's feet was froze, and she had two pair o' + socks on over her shoes. Oh, it was cold, now I tell you! + </p> + <p> + They run the mill part o' that winter—part they couldn't. And they + didn't work to say stiddy tel along in Aprile, and then ther' was snow on + the ground yit—in the shadders—and the ground froze, so you + couldn't hardly dig a grave. But at last they got to kind o' jiggin' along + agin. Plenty to do ther' was; and old Ezry was mighty tickled, too; + 'peared to recruit right up like. Ezry was allus best tickled when things + was a-stirrin', and then he was a-gittin' ready far buildin', you know, + wanted a house of his own, he said—and of course it wasn't adzackly + like home, all cluttered up as they was there at Bills's. They got along + mighty well, though, together; and the women-folks and childern got along + the best in the world. Ezry's woman used to say she never laid eyes on + jist sich another woman as Annie was. Said it was jist as good as a + winter's schoolin' far the childern; said her two little girls had learnt + to read, and didn't know the'r a-b abs afore Annie learnt 'em; well, the + oldest one, Mary Patience, she did know her letters, I guess—fourteen + year old, she was; but Mandy, the youngest, had never seed inside a book + afore that winter; and the way she learnt was jist su'prisin'. She was + puny-like and frail-lookin' allus, but ever'body 'lowed she was a heap + smarter 'n Mary Patience, and she was; and in my opinion she railly had + more sense 'n all the rest o' the childern put together, 'bout books and + cipherin' and arethmetic, and the like; and John Wesley, the oldest of + 'em, he got to teachin' at last, when he growed up,—but, la! he + couldn't write his own name so 's you could read it. I allus thought ther + was a good 'eal of old Ezry in John Wesley. Liked to romance 'round with + the youngsters 'most too well.—Spiled him far teachin', I allus + thought; far instance, ef a scholard said somepin' funny in school, + John-Wes he'd jist have to have his laugh out with the rest, and it was + jist fun far the boys, you know, to go to school to him. Allus in far + spellin'-matches and the like, and learnin' songs and sich. I ricollect he + give a' exhibition onc't, one winter, and I'll never fergit it, I reckon. + </p> + <p> + The school-house would on'y hold 'bout forty, comfortable, and that night + ther' was up'ards of a hunderd er more—jist crammed and jammed! And + the benches was piled back so's to make room far the flatform they'd built + to make the'r speeches and dialogues on; and fellers a-settin' up on them + back seats, the'r heads was clean aginst the j'ist. It was a low ceilin', + anyhow, and o' course them 'at tuck a part in the doin's was way up, too. + Janey Thompson had to give up her part in a dialogue, 'cause she looked so + tall she was afeard the congergation would laugh at her; and they couldn't + git her to come out and sing in the openin' song 'thout lettin' her set + down first and git ready 'fore they pulled the curtain. You see, they had + sheets sewed together, and fixed on a string some way, to slide back'ards + and for'ards, don't you know. But they was a big bother to 'em—couldn't + git 'em to work like. Ever' time they'd git 'em slid 'bout half way + acrost, somepin' would ketch, and they'd have to stop and fool with 'em + awhile 'fore they could git 'em the balance o' the way acrost. Well, + finally, t'ords the last, they jist kep' 'em drawed back all the time. It + was a pore affair, and spiled purt nigh ever' piece; but the scholards all + wanted it fixed thataway, the teacher said, in a few appropert remarks he + made when the thing was over. Well, I was a settin' in the back part o' + the house on them high benches, and my head was jist even with them on the + flatform, and the lights was pore, wher' the string was stretched far the + curtain to slide on it looked like the p'formers was strung on it. And + when Lige Boyer's boy was a-speakin'—kind o' mumbled it, you know, + and you couldn't half hear—it looked far the world like he was + a-chawin' on that-air string; and some devilish feller 'lowed ef he'd chaw + it clean in two it'd be a good thing far the balance. After that they all + sung a sleigh-ridin' song, and it was right purty, the way they got it + off. Had a passel o' sleigh-bells they'd ring ever' onc't-in-a-while, and + it sounded purty—shore! + </p> + <p> + Then Hunicut's girl, Marindy, read a letter 'bout winter, and what fun the + youngsters allus had in winter-time, a-sleighin' and the like, and + spellin'-matches, and huskin'-bees, and all. Purty good, it was, and made + a feller think o' old times. Well, that was about the best thing ther' was + done that night; but ever'body said the teacher wrote it far her; and I + wouldn't be su'prised much, far they was married not long afterwards. I + expect he wrote it far her.—Wouldn't put it past Wes! + </p> + <p> + They had a dialogue, too, 'at was purty good. Little Bob Arnold was all + fixed up—had on his pap's old bell-crowned hat, the one he was + married in. Well, I jist thought die I would when I seed that old hat and + called to mind the night his pap was married, and we all got him a little + how-come-you-so on some left-handed cider 'at had be'n a-layin' in a + whisky-bar'l tel it was strong enough to bear up a' egg. I kin ricollect + now jist how he looked in that hat, when it was all new, you know, and + a-settin on the back of his head, and his hair in his eyes; and sich hair!—as + red as git-out—and his little black eyes a-shinin' like beads. Well + sir, you'd a-died to a-seed him a-dancin'. We danced all night that night, + and would a-be'n a-dancin' yit, I reckon, ef the fiddler hadn't a-give + out. Wash Lowry was a-fiddlin' far us; and along to'rds three or four in + the mornin' Wash was purty well fagged out. You see, Wash could never play + far a dance er nothin' 'thout a-drinkin' more er less, and when he got to + a certain pitch you couldn't git nothin' out o' him but "Barbary Allan;" + so at last he struck up on that, and jist kep' it up and <i>kep</i>' it + up, and nobody couldn't git nothin' else out of him! + </p> + <p> + Now, anybody 'at ever danced knows 'at "Barbary Allan" hain't no tune to + dance by, no way you can fix it; and, o' course, the boys seed at onc't + the'r fun was gone ef they could n't git him on another tune.—And + they 'd coax and beg and plead with him, and maybe git him started on "The + Wind Blows over the Barley," and 'bout the time they'd git to knockin' it + down agin purty lively, he'd go to sawin' away on "Barbary Allan"—and + I'll-be-switched-to-death ef that feller didn't set there and play hisse'f + sound asleep on "Barbary Allan," and we had to wake him up afore he'd + quit! Now, that's jes' a plum' facts. And ther' wasn't a better fiddler + nowheres than Wash Lowry, when he was at hisse'f. I've heerd a good many + fiddlers in my day, and I never heerd one yit 'at could play my style o' + fiddlin' ekal to Wash Lowry. You see, Wash didn't play none o' this-here + newfangled music—nothin' but the old tunes, you understand, "The + Forkéd Deer," and "Old Fat Gal," and "Gray Eagle," and the like. Now, + them's music! Used to like to hear Wash play "Gray Eagle." He could come + as nigh a-makin' that old tune talk as ever you heerd! Used to think a + heap o' his fiddle—and he had a good one, shore. I've heard him say, + time and time agin, 'at a five-dollar gold-piece wouldn't buy it, and I + knowed him my-se'f to refuse a calf far it onc't—yessir, a yearland + calf—and the feller offered him a double-bar'l'd pistol to boot, and + blame ef he'd take it; said he'd ruther part with anything else he owned + than his fiddle.—But here I am, clean out o' the furry agin. Oh, + yes; I was a-tellin' about little Bob, with that old hat; and he had on a + swaller-tail coat and a lot o' fixin's, a-actin' like he was 'squire; and + he had him a great long beard made out o' corn-silks, and you wouldn't + a-knowed him ef it wasn't far his voice. Well, he was a-p'tendin' he was a + 'squire a-tryin' some kind o' law-suit, you see; and John Wesley he was + the defendunt, and Joney Wiles, I believe it was, played like he was the + plaintive. And they'd had a fallin' out 'bout some land, and was a-lawin' + far p'session, you understand. Well, Bob he made out it was a mighty bad + case when John-Wes comes to consult him about it, and tells <i>him</i> ef + a little p'int o' law was left out he thought he could git the land far + him. And then John-Wes bribes him, you understand, to leave out the p'int + o' law, and the 'squire says he'll do all he kin, and so John-Wes goes out + a feelin' purty good. Then <i>Wiles</i> comes in to consult the 'squire + don't you see. And the 'squire tells <i>him</i> the same tale he told <i>John + Wesley</i>. So <i>Wiles</i> bribes him to leave out the p'int o' law in <i>his</i> + favor, don't you know. So when the case is tried he decides in favor o' + John-Wes, a-tellin' Wiles some cock-and-bull story 'bout havin' to manage + it thataway so 's to git the case mixed so's he could git it far him + shore; and posts him to sue far change of venue er somepin',—anyway, + Wiles gits a new trial, and then the 'squire decides in <i>his</i> favor, + and tells John-Wes another trial will fix it in <i>his</i> favor, and so + on.—And so it goes on tel, anyway, he gits holt o' the land hisse'f + and all ther money besides, and leaves them to hold the bag! Wellsir, it + was purty well got up; and they said it was John-Wes's doin's, and I 'low + it was—he was a good hand at anything o' that sort, and knowed how + to make fun.—But I've be'n a tellin' you purty much ever'thing but + what I started out with, and I'll try and hurry through, 'cause I know + you're tired. + </p> + <p> + 'Long 'bout the beginin' o' summer, things had got back to purty much the + old way. The boys round was a-gittin' devilish, and o' nights 'specially + ther' was a sight o' meanness a-goin' on. The mill-hands, most of'em, was + mixed up in it—Coke and Morris, and them 'at had jined meetin' 'long + in the winter, had all backslid, and was a-drinkin' and carousin' 'round + worse 'n ever. + </p> + <p> + People perdicted 'at Bills would backslide, but he helt on faithful, to + all appearance; said he liked to see a feller when he made up his mind to + do right, he liked to see him do it, and not go back on his word; and even + went so far as to tell Ezry ef they didn't put a stop to it he'd quit the + neighberhood and go some'rs else. And Bills was Ezry's head man then, and + he couldn't a-got along 'thout him; and I b'lieve ef Bills had a-said the + word old Ezry would a-turned off ever' hand he had. He got so he jist left + ever'thing to Bills. Ben Carter was turned off far somepin', and nobody + ever knowed what. Bills and him had never got along jist right sence the + fight. + </p> + <p> + Ben was with this set I was a-tellin' you 'bout, and they'd got him to + drinkin' and in trouble, o' course. I'd knowed Ben well enough to know he + wouldn't do nothin' onry ef he wasn't agged on, and ef he ever was mixed + up in anything o' the kind Wes Morris and John Coke was at the bottom of + it, and I take notice they wasn't turned off when Ben was. + </p> + <p> + One night the crowd was out, and Ben amongst 'em, o' course.—Sence + he'd be'n turned off he'd be'n a-drinkin',—and I never blamed him + much; he was so good-hearted like and easy led off, and I allus b'lieved + it wasn't his own doin's. + </p> + <p> + Well, this night they cut up awful, and ef ther was one fight ther was a + dozend; and when all the devilment was done they <i>could</i> do, they + started on a stealin' expedition, and stold a lot o' chickens and tuck 'em + to the mill to roast'em; and, to make a long story short, that night the + mill burnt clean to the ground. And the whole pack of 'em cologued + together aginst Carter to saddle it onto him; claimed 'at they left Ben + there at the mill 'bout twelve o'clock—which was a fact, far he was + dead drunk and couldn't git away. Steve stumbled over him while the mill + was a-burnin' and drug him out afore he knowed what was a-goin' on, and it + was all plain enough to Steve 'at Ben didn't have no hand in the firm' of + it. But I'll tell you he sobered up mighty suddent when he seed what was + a-goin' on, and heerd the neighbors a-hollerin', and a-threatenin', and + a-goin' on!—far it seemed to be the ginerl idee 'at the buildin' was + fired a-purpose. And says Ben to Steve, says he, "I expect I'll have to + say good-bye to you, far they've got me in a ticklish place! I kin see + through it all now, when it's too late!" And jist then Wesley Morris + hollers out, "Where's Ben Carter?" and started to'rds where me and Ben and + Steve was a-standin'; and Ben says, wild like, "Don't you two fellers ever + think it was my doin's," and whispers "Good-bye," and started off, and + when we turned, Wesley Morris was a-layin' flat of his back, and we heerd + Carter yell to the crowd 'at "that man"—meanin' Morris—" + needed lookin' after worse than <i>he</i> did," and another minute he + plunged into the river and swum acrost; and we all stood and watched him + in the flickerin' light tel he clum out on t'other bank; and 'at was last + anybody ever seed o' Ben Carter! + </p> + <p> + It must a-be'n about three o'clock in the mornin' by this time, and the + mill then was jist a-smoulderin' to ashes—far it was as dry as + tinder and burnt like a flash—and jist as a party was a-talkin' o' + organizin' and follerin' Carter, we heerd a yell 'at I'll never fergit ef + I'd live tel another flood. Old Ezry, it was, as white as a corpse, and + with the blood a-streamin' out of a gash in his forehead, and his clothes + half on, come a-rushin' into the crowd and a-hollerin' fire and murder + ever' jump. "My house is a-burnin', and my folks is all a-bein' murdered + while you 're a-standin' here! And Bills done it! Bills done it!" he + hollered, as he headed the crowd and started back far home. "Bills done + it! I caught him at it; and he would a-murdered me in cold blood ef it had + n't a-be'n far his woman. He knocked me down, and had me tied to a + bed-post in the kitchen afore I come to. And his woman cut me loose and + told me to run far he'p; and says I, 'Where's Bills?' and she says, 'He's + after me by this time.' And jist then we heerd Bills holler, and we + looked, and he was a-standin' out in the clearin' in front o' the house, + with little Annie in his arms; and he hollered wouldn't she like to kiss + the baby good-bye." + </p> + <p> + "And she hollered My God! far me to save little Annie, and fainted clean + dead away. And I heerd the roof a-crackin', and grabbed her up and packed + her out jist in time. And when I looked up, Bills hollered out agin, and + says, 'Ezry,' he says, 'You kin begin to kind a' git an idee o' what a + good feller I am! And ef you hadn't a-caught me you 'd a-never a-knowed + it, and 'Brother Williams' wouldn't a-be'n called away to another + app'intment like he is.' And says he, 'Now, ef you foller me I'll finish + you shore!—You're safe now, far I hain't got time to waste on you + furder.' And jist then his woman kind o' come to her senses agin and + hollered far little Annie, and the child heerd her and helt out its little + arms to go to her, and hollered 'Mother! Mother!' And Bills says, Dam your + mother! ef it hadn't a-be'n far <i>her</i> I'd a-be'n all right. And dam + you too!' he says to me,—'This'll pay you far that lick you struck + me; and far you a-startin' reports when I first come 'at more 'n likely + I'd done somepin' mean over east and come out west to reform! And I wonder + ef I <i>didn't</i> do somepin' mean afore I come here?' he went on; 'kill + somebody er somepin'? And I wonder ef I ain't reformed enough to go back? + Good-bye, Annie!' he hollered; 'and you needn't fret about your baby, I + 'll be the same indulgent father to it I 've allus be'n!' And the baby was + a-cryin' and a-reachin' out its little arms to'rds its mother, when Bills + he turned and struck oft' in the dark to'rds the river." + </p> + <p> + This was about the tale 'at Ezry told us, as nigh as I can ricollect, and + by the time he finished, I never want to see jist sich another crowd o' + men as was a-swarmin' there. Ain't it awful when sich a crowd gits + together? I tell you it makes my flesh creep to think about it! + </p> + <p> + As Bills had gone in the direction of the river, we wasn't long in makin' + our minds up 'at he'd have to cross it, and ef he done <i>that</i> he'd + have to use the boat 'at was down below the mill, er wade it at the ford, + a mild er more down. So we divided in three sections, like—one to go + and look after the folks at the house, and another to the boat, and + another to the ford. And Steve and me and Ezry was in the crowd 'at struck + far the boat, and we made time a-gittin' there! It was awful dark, and the + sky was a-cloudin'up like a storm; but we wasn't long a-gittin' to the + p'int where the boat was allus tied; but ther' wasn't no boat there! Steve + kind o' tuck the lead, and we all talked in whispers. And Steve said to + kind o' lay low and maybe we could hear somepin', and some feller said he + thought he heerd somepin' strange like, but the wind was kind o' raisin' + and kep' up sich a moanin' through the trees along the bank 't we couldn't + make out nothin'. "Listen!" says Steve, suddent like, "I hear somepin!" We + was all still again—and we all heerd a moanin' 'at was sadder 'n the + wind—sounded mournfuller to me 'cause I knowed it in a minute, and I + whispered, "Little Annie." And 'way out acrost the river we could hear the + little thing a-sobbin', and we all was still 's death; and we heerd a + voice we knowd was Bills's say, "Dam ye! Keep still, or I'll drownd ye!" + And the wind kind o' moaned agin and we could hear the trees a-screechin' + together in the dark, and the leaves a-rustlin'; and when it kind o' + lulled agin, we heerd Bills make a kind o' splash with the oars; and jist + then Steve whispered far to lay low and be ready—he was a-goin' to + riconnitre; and he tuck his coat and shoes off, and slid over the bank and + down into the worter as slick as a' eel. Then ever'thing was still agin, + 'cept the moanin' o' the child, which kep' a-gittin' louder and louder; + and then a voice whispered to us, "He's a-comin' back; the crowd below has + sent scouts up, and they're on t' other side. Now watch clos't, and he's + our meat." We could hear Bills, by the moanin' o' the baby, a-comin' + nearder and nearder, tel suddently he made a sort o' miss-lick with the + oar, I reckon, and must a splashed the baby, far she set up a loud cryin; + and jist then old Ezry, who was a-leanin' over the bank, kind o' lost his + grip some way o' nuther, and fell kersplash in the worter like a' old + chunk. "Hello!" says Bills, through the dark, "you're there, too, air ye?" + as old Ezry splashed up the bank agin. And "Cuss you!" he says then, to + the baby—"ef it hadn't be'n far your infernal squawkin' I'd a-be'n + all right; but you've brought the whole neighberhood out, and, dam you, + I'll jist let you swim out to 'em!" And we heerd a splash, then a kind o' + gurglin', and then Steve's voice a-hollerin', "Close in on him, boys; I've + got the baby!" And about a dozend of us bobbed off the bank like so many + bull-frogs, and I'll tell you the worter b'iled! We could jist make out + the shape o' the boat, and Bills a-standin' with a' oar drawed back to + smash the first head 'at come in range. It was a mean place to git at him. + We knowed he was despert, and far a minute we kind o' helt back. Fifteen + foot o' worter 's a mighty onhandy place to git hit over the head in! And + Bills says, "You hain't afeard, I reckon—twenty men agin one!" + "You'd better give your se'f up!" hollered Ezry from the shore. "No, + Brother Sturgiss," says Bills, "I can't say 'at I'm at all anxious 'bout + bein' borned agin, jist yit awhile," he says; "I see you kind o' 'pear to + go in far babtism; guess you'd better go home and git some dry clothes on; + and, speakin' o' home, you'd ort 'o be there by all means—your house + might catch afire and burn up while you're gone!" And jist then the boat + give a suddent shove under him—some feller'd div under and tilted it—and + far a minute it throwed him off his guard and the boys closed in. Still he + had the advantage, bein' in the boat, and as fast as a feller would climb + in he'd git a whack o' the oar, tel finally they got to pilin' in a little + too fast far him to manage, and he hollered then 'at we'd have to come to + the bottom ef we got him, and with that he div out o' the end o' the boat, + and we lost sight of him; and I'll be blame ef he didn't give us the slip + after all. + </p> + <p> + Wellsir, we watched far him, and some o' the boys swum on down stream, + expectin' he'd raise, but couldn't find hide ner hair of him; so we left + the boat a-driftin' off down stream and swum ashore, a-thinkin' he'd jist + drownded hisse'f a-purpose. But ther' was more su'prise waitin' far us + yit,—for lo-and-behold-you, when we got ashore ther' wasn't no trace + o' Steve er the baby to be found. Ezry said he seed Steve when he fetched + little Annie ashore, and she was all right on'y she was purt nigh past + cryin'; and he said Steve had lapped his coat around her and give her to + him to take charge of, and he got so excited over the fight he laid her + down betwixt a couple o' logs and kind o' forget about her tel the thing + was over, and he went to look far her, and she was gone. Couldn't a-be'n + 'at she'd a-wundered off her-own-se'f; and it couldn't a-be'n 'at Steve'd + take her, 'thout a-lettin us know it. It was a mighty aggervatin' + conclusion to come to, but we had to do it, and that was, Bills must a got + ashore unbeknownst to us and packed her off. Sich a thing wasn't hardly + probable, yit it was a thing 'at might be; and after a-talkin' it over we + had to admit 'at it must a-be'n the way of it. But where was Steve? W'y, + we argied, he'd discivvered she was gone, and had put out on track of her + 'thout losin' time to stop and explain the thing. The next question was, + what did Bills want with her agin? He'd tried to drownd her onc't. We + could ast questions enough, but c'rect answers was mighty skearce, and we + jist concluded 'at the best thing to do was to put out far the ford, far + that was the nighdest place Bills could cross 'thout a boat, and ef it was + him tuck the child he was still on our side o' the river, o' course. So we + struck out far the ford, a-leav-in' a couple o' men to search up the + river. A drizzlin' sort o' rain had set in by this time, and with that and + the darkness and the moanin' of the wind, it made 'bout as lonesome a + prospect as a feller ever wants to go through agin. + </p> + <p> + It was jist a-gittin' a little gray-like in the mornin' by the time we + reached the ford, but you couldn't hardly see two rods afore you far the + mist and the fog 'at had settled along the river. We looked far tracks, + but couldn't make out nuthin'. Thereckly old Ezry punched me and p'inted + out acrost the river. "What's that?" he whispers. Jist 'bout half way + acrost was somepin' white-like in the worter—couldn't make out what—perfeckly + still it was. And I whispered back and told him I guess it wasn't nothin' + but a sycamore snag. "Listen!" says he; "Sycamore snags don't make no + noise like that!" And, shore enough, it was the same moanin' noise we'd + heerd the baby makin' when we first got on the track. Sobbin' she was, as + though nigh about dead. "Well, ef that's Bills," says I—"and I + reckon ther' hain't no doubt but it is—what in the name o' all + that's good and bad's the feller a-standin' there far?" And a-creep-in' + clos'ter, we could make him out plainer and plainer. It was him; and there + he stood breast-high in the worter, a-holdin' the baby on his shoulder + like, and a lookin' up stream, and a-waitin'. + </p> + <p> + "What do you make out of it?" says Ezry. "What's he waitin' far?" + </p> + <p> + And a strainin' my eyes in the direction he was a-lookin' I seed somepin' + a-movin' down the river, and a minute later I'd made out the old boat + a-driftin' down stream; and then of course ever'thing was plain enough: He + was waitin' far the boat, and ef he got <i>that</i> he'd have the same + advantage on us he had afore. + </p> + <p> + "Boys," says I, "he mustn't git that boat agin! Foller me, and don't let + him git to the shore alive." And in we plunged. He seed us, but he never + budged, on'y to grab the baby by its little legs, and swing it out at + arms-len'th. "Stop, there," he hollered. "Stop jist where you air! Move + another inch and I'll drownd this dam young-un afore your eyes!" he says.—And + he 'd a done it. "Boys," says I, "he's got us. Don't move! This thing'll + have to rest with a higher power 'n our 'n! Ef any of you kin pray," says + I, "now's a good time to do it!" + </p> + <p> + Jist then the boat swung up, and Bills grabbed it and rech 'round and set + the baby in it, never a-takin' his eye off o' us, though, far a minute. + "Now," says he, with a sort o' snarlin' laugh, "I've on'y got a little + while to stay with you, and I want to say a few words afore I go. I want + to tell you fellers, in the first place, 'at you've be'n <i>fooled</i> in + me: I <i>hain't</i> a good feller, now, honest! And ef you're a little the + worse far findin' it out so late in the day, you hain't none the worse far + losin' me so soon—far I'm a-goin' away now, and any interference + with my arrangements 'll on'y give you more trouble; so it's better all + around to let me go peaceable and jist while I'm in the notion. I expect + it'll be a disapp'intment to some o' you that my name hain't 'Williams,' + but it hain't. And maybe you won't think nigh as much o' me when I tell + you furder 'at I was obleeged to 'dopt the name o' 'Williams' onc't to + keep from bein' strung up to a lamp-post, but sich is the facts. I was so + extremely unfortunit onc't as to kill a p'ticular friend o' mine, and he + forgive me with his dyin' breath, and told me to run while I could, and be + a better man. But he'd spotted me with a' ugly mark 'at made it kind o' + onhandy to git away, but I did at last; and jist as I was a-gittin' + reformed-like, you fellers had to kick in the traces, and I've made up my + mind to hunt out a more moraler community, where they don't make sich a + fuss about trifles. And havin' nothin' more to say, on'y to send Annie + word 'at I'll still be a father to her youngun here, I'll bid you all + good-bye." And with that he turned and clum in the boat—or ruther + fell in,—far somepin' black-like had riz up in it, with a' awful + lick—my—God!—and, a minute later, boat and baggage was + a-gratin' on the shore, and a crowd come thrashin' 'crost from tother side + to jine us, and 'peared like wasn't a <i>second</i> longer tel a feller + was a-swingin' by his neck to the limb of a scrub-oak, his feet clean off + the ground, and his legs a-jerkin' up and down like a limber-jack's. + </p> + <p> + And Steve it was a-layin' in the boat, and he'd rid a mild or more 'thout + knowin' of it. Bills had struck and stunt him as he clum in while the + rumpus was a-goin' on, and he'd on'y come to in time to hear Bills's + farewell address to us there at the ford. + </p> + <p> + Steve tuck charge o' little Annie agin, and ef she'd a-be'n his own child + he wouldn't a-went on more over her than he did; and said nobody but her + mother would git her out o' his hands agin. And he was as good as his + word; and ef you could a-seed him a half hour after that, when he <i>did</i> + give her to her mother—all lapped up in his coat and as drippin'-wet + as a little drownded angel—it would a-made you wish't you was him to + see that little woman a caperin' round him, and a-thankin' him, and + a-cryin' and a-laughin', and almost a-huggin' him, she was so tickled,—Well, + I thought in my soul she'd die! And Steve blushed like a girl to see her + a-taking' on, and a-thankin' him, and a-cryin', and a-kissin' little + Annie, and a-goin' on. And when she inquired 'bout Bills, which she did + all suddent like, with a burst o' tears, we jist didn't have the heart to + tell her—on'y we said he'd crossed the river and got away. And he + had! + </p> + <p> + And now comes a part o' this thing 'at 'll more 'n like tax you to believe + it: Williams and her wasn't man and wife—and you needn't look + su'prised, nuther, and I'll tell you far why—They was own brother + and sister; and that brings me to <i>her</i> part of the story, which + you'll have to admit beats anything 'at you ever read about in books. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + Her and Williams—that <i>wasn't</i> his name, like he acknowledged, + hisse'f, you ricollect—ner she didn't want to tell his right name; + and we forgive her far that. Her and 'Williams' was own brother and + sister, and the'r parents lived in Ohio some'ers. The'r mother had be'n + dead five year' and better—grieved to death over her onnachurl + brother's recklessness, which Annie hinted had broke her father up in some + way, in tryin' to shield him from the law. And the secret of her bein' + with him was this: She had married a man o' the name of Curtis or Custer, + I don't mind which, adzackly—but no matter; she'd married a + well-to-do young feller 'at her brother helt a' old grudge agin, she never + knowed what; and sence her marriage her brother had went on from bad to + worse tel finally her father jist give him up and told him to go it his + own way—he'd killed his mother and ruined him, and he'd jist give up + all hopes. But Annie—you know how a sister is—she still clung + to him and done ever'thing far him, tel finally, one night about three + years after she was married she got word some way that he was in trouble + agin, and sent her husband to he'p him; and a half hour after he'd gone, + her brother come in, all excited and bloody, and told her to git the baby + and come with him, 'at her husband had got in a quarrel with a friend o' + his and was bad hurt. And she went with him, of course, and he tuck her in + a buggy, and lit out with her as tight as he could go all night; and then + told her 'at <i>he</i> was the feller 'at had quarreled with her husband, + and the officers was after him and he was obleeged to leave the country, + and far fear he hadn't made shore work o' him, he was a-takin' her along + to make shore of his gittin' his revenge; and he swore he'd kill her and + the baby too ef she dared to whimper. And so it was, through a hunderd + hardships he'd made his way at last to our section o' the country, givin' + out 'at they was man and wife, and keepin' her from denyin' of it by + threats, and promises of the time a-comin' when he'd send her home to her + man agin in case he hadn't killed him. And so it run on tel you'd a-cried + to hear her tell it, and still see her sister's love far the feller + a-breakin' out by a-declarin' how kind he was to her <i>at times</i>, and + how he wasn't railly bad at heart, on'y far his ungov'nable temper. But I + couldn't he'p but notice, when she was a tellin' of her hist'ry, what a + quiet sort o' look o' satisfaction settled on the face o' Steve and the + rest of 'em, don't you understand. + </p> + <p> + And now ther' was on'y one thing she wanted to ast, she said; and that + was, could she still make her home with us tel she could git word to her + friends?—and there she broke down agin, not knowin', of course, + whether <i>they</i> was dead er alive; far time and time agin she said + somepin' told her she'd never see her husband agin on this airth; and then + the women-folks would cry with her and console her, and the boys would + speak hopeful—all but Steve; some way o' nuther Steve was never like + hisse'f from that time on. + </p> + <p> + And so things went far a month and better. Ever'thing had quieted down, + and Ezry and a lot o' hands, and me and Steve amongst 'em, was a-workin' + on the frame-work of another mill. It was purty weather, and we was all in + good sperits, and it 'peared like the whole neighberhood was interested—and + they <i>-was</i>, too—women-folks and ever'body. And that day Ezry's + woman and amongst 'em was a-gittin' up a big dinner to fetch down to us + from the house; and along about noon a spruce-lookin' young feller, with a + pale face and a black beard, like, come a-ridin' by and hitched his hoss, + and comin' into the crowd, said "Howdy," pleasant like, and we all stopped + work as he went on to say 'at he was on the track of a feller o' the name + o' 'Williams,' and wanted to know ef we could give him any infermation + 'bout sich a man. Told him maybe,—'at a feller bearin' that name + desappeared kind o' myster'ous from our neighberhood 'bout five weeks + afore that. "My God!" says he, a-turnin' paler'n ever, "am I too late? + Where did he go, and was his sister and her baby with him?" Jist then I + ketched sight o' the women-folks a-comin' with the baskets, and Annie with + 'em, with a jug o' worter in her hand; so I spoke up quick to the + stranger, and says I, "I guess 'his sister and baby' wasn't along," says + I, "but his <i>wife</i> and <i>baby's</i> some'eres here in the + neighberhood yit." And then a-watchin' him clos't, I says, suddent, + a-pin'tin' over his shoulder, "There his woman is now—that one with + the jug, there." Well, Annie had jist stooped to lift up one o' the little + girls, when the feller turned, and the'r eyes met, "Annie! My wife!" he + says; and Annie she kind o' give a little yelp like and come a-flutterin' + down in his arms; and the jug o' worter rolled clean acrost the road, and + turned a somerset and knocked the cob out of its mouth and jist laid back + and hollered "Good—good—good—good—good!" like as + ef it knowed what was up and was jist as glad and tickled as the rest of + us. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0031" id="link2H_4_0031"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SWEET-KNOT AND GALAMUS + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0032" id="link2H_4_0032"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + AN OLD SWEETHEART. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + As one who cons at evening o'er an album all alone, + And muses on the faces of the friends that he has known, + So I turn the leaves of fancy till, in shadowy design, + I find the smiling features of an old sweetheart of mine. + + The lamplight seems to glimmer with a flicker of surprise, + As I turn it low to rest me of the dazzle in my eyes, + And light my pipe in silence, save a sigh that seems to yoke + Its fate with my tobacco and to vanish with the smoke. + + 'Tis a fragrant retrospection—for the loving thoughts that start + Into being are like perfumes from the blossom of the heart; + And to dream the old dreams over is a luxury divine— + When my truant fancy wanders with that old sweeheart of mine. + + Though I hear, beneath my study, like a fluttering of wings, + The voices of my children, and the mother as she sings, + I feel no twinge of conscience to deny me any theme + When care has cast her anchor in the harbor of a dream + + In fact, to speak in earnest, I believe it adds a charm + To spice the good a trifle with a little dust of harm— + For I find an extra flavor in Memory's mellow wine + That makes me drink the deeper to that old sweetheart of mine. + + A face of lily-beauty, with a form of airy grace, + Floats out of my tobacco as the genii from the vase; + And I thrill beneath the glances of a pair of azure eyes + As glowing as the summer and as tender as the skies. + + I can see the pink sunbonnet and the little checkered dress + She wore when first I kissed her and she answered the caress + With the written declaration that, "as surely as the vine + Grew 'round the stump," she loved me—that old sweetheart of mine. + + And again I feel the pressure of her slender little hand, + As we used to talk together of the future we had planned— + When I should be a poet, and with nothing else to do + But write the tender verses that she set the music to: + + When we should live together in a cozy little cot + Hid in a nest of roses, with a fairy garden-spot, + Where the vines were ever fruited, and the weather ever fine, + And the birds were ever singing for that old sweetheart of mine: + + When I should be her lover forever and a day, + And she my faithful sweetheart till the golden hair was gray; + And we should be so happy that when either's lips were dumb + They would not smile in Heaven till the other's kiss had come. + +</pre> + <hr /> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + But, ah! my dream is broken by a step upon the stair, + And the door is softly opened, and—my wife is standing there; + Yet with eagerness and rapture all my visions I resign + To greet the living presence of that old sweetheart of mine. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0033" id="link2H_4_0033"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + MARTHY ELLEN. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + They's nothin' in the name to strike + A feller more'n common like! + 'Taint liable to git no praise + Ner nothin' like it nowadays; + An' yit that name o' her'n is jest + As purty as the purtiest— + And more 'n that, I'm here to say + I'll live a-thinkin' thataway + And die far Marthy Ellen! + + It may be I was prejudust + In favor of it from the fust— + 'Cause I kin ricollect jest how + We met, and hear her mother now + A-callin' of her down the road— + And, aggervatin' little toad!— + I see her now, jes' sort o' half- + Way disapp'inted, turn and laugh + And mock her—"Marthy Ellen!" + + Our people never had no fuss, + And yit they never tuck to us; + We neighbered back and foreds some; + Until they see she liked to come + To our house—and me and her + Were jest together ever'whur + And all the time—and when they'd see + That I liked her and she liked me, + They'd holler "Marthy Ellen!" + + When we growed up, and they shet down + On me and her a-runnin' roun' + Together, and her father said + He'd never leave her nary red, + So he'p him, ef she married me, + And so on—and her mother she + Jest agged the gyrl, and said she 'lowed + She'd ruther see her in her shroud, + I <i>writ</i> to Marthy Ellen— + + That is, I kindo' tuck my pen + In hand, and stated whur and when + The undersigned would be that night, + With two good hosses saddled right + Far lively travelin' in case + Her folks 'ud like to jine the race. + She sent the same note back, and writ + "The rose is red!" right under it— + "Your 'n allus, Marthy Ellen." + + That's all, I reckon—Nothin' more + To tell but what you've heerd afore— + The same old story, sweeter though + Far all the trouble, don't you know. + Old-fashioned name! and yit it's jest + As purty as the purtiest; + And more 'n that, I'm here to say + I'll live a-thinking thataway, + And die far Marthy Ellen! +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0034" id="link2H_4_0034"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + MOON-DROWNED. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'Twas the height of the fete when we quitted the riot, + And quietly stole to the terrace alone, + Where, pale as the lovers that ever swear by it, + The moon it gazed down as a god from his throne. + We stood there enchanted.—And O the delight of + The sight of the stars and the moon and the sea, + And the infinite skies of that opulent night of + Purple and gold and ivory! + + The lisp of the lip of the ripple just under— + The half-awake nightingale's dream in the yews— + Came up from the water, and down from the wonder + Of shadowy foliage, drowsed with the dews,— + Unsteady the firefly's taper—unsteady + The poise of the stars, and their light in the tide, + As it struggled and writhed in caress of the eddy, + As love in the billowy breast of a bride. + + The far-away lilt of the waltz rippled to us, + And through us the exquisite thrill of the air: + Like the scent of bruised bloom was her breath, and its dew was + Not honier-sweet than her warm kisses were. + We stood there enchanted.—And O the delight of + The sight of the stars and the moon and the sea, + And the infinite skies of that opulent night of + Purple and gold and ivory! +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0035" id="link2H_4_0035"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LONG AFORE HE KNOWED WHO SANTY-CLAUS WUZ. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Jes' a little bit o' feller—I remember still,— + Ust to almost <i>cry</i> far Christmas, like a youngster will. + Fourth o' July's nothin' to it!—New-Year's ain't a smell: + Easter-Sunday—Circus-day—jes' all dead in the shell! + Lordy, though! at night, you know, to set around and hear + The old folks work the story off about the sledge and deer, + And "Santy" skootin' round the roof, all wrapped in fur and fuzz— + Long afore + I knowed who + "Santy-Claus" wuz! + + Ust to wait, and set up late, a week er two ahead: + Couldn't hardly keep awake, ner wouldn't go to bed: + Kittle stewin' on the fire, and Mother settin' here + Darnin' socks, and rockin' in the skreeky rockin'-cheer; + Pap gap', and wunder where it wuz the money went, + And quar'l with his frosted heels, and spill his liniment: + And me a-dreamin' sleigh-bells when the clock 'ud whir and buzz, + Long afore + I knowed who + "Santy-Claus" wuz! + + Size the fire-place up, and figger how "Old Santy" could + Manage to come down the chimbly, like they said he would: + Wisht that I could hide and see him—wundered what he 'd say + Ef he ketched a feller layin' far him thataway! + But I <i>bet</i> on him, and <i>liked</i> him, same as ef he had + Turned to pat me on the back and <i>say</i>, "Look here, my lad, + Here's my pack,—jes' he'p yourse'f, like all good boys does!" + Long afore + I knowed who + "Santy-Claus" wuz! + + Wisht that yarn was <i>true</i> about him, as it 'peared to be— + Truth made out o' lies like that-un's good enough far me!— + Wisht I still wuz so confidin' I could jes' go wild + Over hangin' up my stockin's, like the little child + Climbin' in my lap to-night, and beggin' me to tell + 'Bout them reindeers, and "Old Santy" that she loves so well + I'm half sorry far this little-girl-sweetheart of his— + Long afore + She knows who + "Santy-Claus" is! +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0036" id="link2H_4_0036"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + DEAR HANDS. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The touches of her hands are like the fall + Of velvet snowflakes; like the touch of down + The peach just brushes 'gainst the garden wall; + The flossy fondlings of the thistle-wisp + Caught in the crinkle of a leaf of brown + The blighting frost hath turned from green to crisp. + + Soft as the falling of the dusk at night, + The touches of her hands, and the delight— + The touches of her hands! + The touches of her hands are like the dew + That falls so softly down no one e'er knew + The touch thereof save lovers like to one + Astray in lights where ranged Endymion. + + O rarely soft, the touches of her hands, + As drowsy zephyrs in enchanted lands; + Or pulse of dying fay; or fairy sighs, + Or—in between the midnight and the dawn, + When long unrest and tears and fears are gone— + Sleep, smoothing down the lids of weary eyes. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0037" id="link2H_4_0037"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THIS MAN JONES. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + This man Jones was what you'd call + A feller 'at had no sand at all; + Kind o' consumpted, and undersize, + And sailor-complected, with big sad eyes, + And a kind-of-a sort-of-a hang-dog style, + And a sneakin' sort-of-a half-way smile + 'At kind o' give him away to us + As a preacher, maybe, er somepin' wuss. + + Didn't take with the gang—well, no— + But still we managed to use him, though,— + Coddin' the gilly along the rout', + And drivin' the stakes 'at he pulled out— + Far I was one of the bosses then, + And of course stood in with the canvasmen; + And the way we put up jobs, you know, + On this man Jones jes' beat the show! + + Ust to rattle him scandalous, + And keep the feller a-dodgin' us, + And a-shyin' round half skeered to death, + And afeerd to whimper above his breath; + Give him a cussin', and then a kick, + And then a kind-of-a back-hand lick— + Jes' far the fun of seem' him climb + Around with a head on most the time. + + But what was the curioust thing to me, + Was along o' the party—let me see,— + Who was our "Lion Queen" last year?— + Mamzelle Zanty, or De La Pierre?— + Well, no matter—a stunnin' mash, + With a red-ripe lip, and a long eye-lash, + And a figger sich as the angels owns— + And one too many far this man Jones. + + He'd allus wake in the afternoon, + As the band waltzed in on the lion-tune, + And there, from the time 'at she'd go in + Till she'd back out of the cage agin, + He'd stand, shaky and limber-kneed— + 'Specially when she come to "feed + The beasts raw meat with her naked hand"— + And all that business, you understand. + + And it <i>was</i> resky in that den— + Far I think she juggled three cubs then, + And a big "green" lion 'at used to smash + Collar-bones far old Frank Nash; + And I reckon now she hain't fergot + The afternoon old "Nero" sot + His paws on <i>her</i>!—but as far me, + It's a sort-of-a mixed-up mystery:— + + Kind o' remember an awful roar, + And see her back far the bolted door— + See the cage rock—heerd her call + "God have mercy!" and that was all— + Far they ain't no livin' man can tell + <i>What</i> it's like when a thousand yell + In female tones, and a thousand more + Howl in bass till their throats is sore! + + But the keeper said 'at dragged her out, + They heerd some feller laugh and shout— + "Save her! Quick! I've got the cuss!" + And yit she waked and smiled on <i>us!</i> + And we daren't flinch, far the doctor said, + Seein' as this man Jones was dead, + Better to jes' not let her know + Nothin' o' that far a week er so. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0038" id="link2H_4_0038"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + TO MY GOOD MASTER. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + In fancy, always, at thy desk, thrown wide, + Thy most betreasured books ranged neighborly— + The rarest rhymes of every land and sea + And curious tongue—thine old face glorified,— + Thou haltest thy glib quill, and, laughing-eyed, + Givest hale welcome even unto me, + Profaning thus thine attic's sanctity, + To briefly visit, yet to still abide + Enthralled there of thy sorcery of wit, + And thy songs' most exceeding dear conceits. + O lips, cleft to the ripe core of all sweets, + With poems, like nectar, issuing therefrom, + Thy gentle utterances do overcome + My listening heart and all the love of it! +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0039" id="link2H_4_0039"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + WHEN THE GREEN GITS BACK IN THE TREES. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + In spring, when the green gits back in the trees, + And the sun comes out and stays, + And yer boots pulls on with a good tight squeeze, + And you think of yer barefoot days; + When you ort to work and you want to not, + And you and yer wife agrees + It's time to spade up the garden lot, + When the green gits back in the trees— + Well! work is the least o' <i>my</i> idees + When the green, you know, gits back in the trees! + + When the green gits back in the trees, and bees + Is a-buzzin' aroun' agin, + In that kind of a lazy go-as-you-please + Old gait they bum roun' in; + When the groun's all bald where the hay-rick stood, + And the crick 's riz, and the breeze + Coaxes the bloom in the old dogwood, + And the green gits back in the trees,— + I like, as I say, in sich scenes as these, + The time when the green gits back in the trees! + + When the whole tail-feathers o' wintertime + Is all pulled out and gone! + And the sap it thaws and begins to climb, + And the sweat it starts out on + A feller's forred, a-gittin' down + At the old spring on his knees— + I kind o' like jes' a-loaferin' roun' + When the green gits back in the trees— + Jes' a-potterin' roun' as I—durn—please— + When the green, you know, gits back in the trees! +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0040" id="link2H_4_0040"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + AT BROAD RIPPLE. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Ah, Luxury! Beyond the heat + And dust of town, with dangling feet, + Astride the rock below the dam, + In the cool shadows where the calm + Rests on the stream again, and all + Is silent save the waterfall,— + bait my hook and cast my line, + And feel the best of life is mine. + + No high ambition may I claim— + angle not for lordly game + Of trout, or bass, or wary bream— + black perch reaches the extreme + Of my desires; and "goggle-eyes" + Are not a thing that I despise; + A sunfish, or a "chub," or "cat"— + A "silver-side"—yea, even that! + + In eloquent tranquility + The waters lisp and talk to me. + Sometimes, far out, the surface breaks, + As some proud bass an instant shakes + His glittering armor in the sun, + And romping ripples, one by one, + Come dallying across the space + Where undulates my smiling face. + + The river's story flowing by, + Forever sweet to ear and eye, + Forever tenderly begun— + Forever new and never done. + Thus lulled and sheltered in a shade + Where never feverish cares invade, + I bait my hook and cast my line, + And feel the best of life is mine. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0041" id="link2H_4_0041"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + WHEN OLD JACK DIED. + </h2> + <h3> + I. + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + When old Jack died, we staid from school (they said, + At home, we needn't go that day), and none + Of us ate any breakfast—only one, + And that was Papa—and his eyes were red + When he came round where we were, by the shed + Where Jack was lying, half way in the sun + And half way in the shade. When we begun + To cry out loud, Pa turned and dropped his head + And went away; and Mamma, she went back + Into the kitchen. Then, for a long while, + All to ourselves, like, we stood there and cried. + We thought so many good things of Old Jack, + And funny things—although we didn't smile—We + couldn't only cry when Old Jack died. +</pre> + <h3> + II. + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + When Old Jack died, it seemed a human friend + Had suddenly gone from us; that some face + That we had loved to fondle and embrace + From babyhood, no more would condescend + To smile on us forever. We might bend + With tearful eyes above him, interlace + Our chubby fingers o'er him, romp and race, + Plead with him, call and coax—aye, we might send + The old halloo up for him, whistle, hist, + (If sobs had let us) or, as wildly vain, + Snapped thumbs, called "speak," and he had not replied; + We might have gone down on our knees and kissed + The tousled ears, and yet they must remain + Deaf, motionless, we knew—when Old Jack died. +</pre> + <h3> + III. + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + When Old Jack died, it seemed to us, some way, + That all the other dogs in town were pained + With our bereavement, and some that were chained, + Even, unslipped their collars on that day + To visit Jack in state, as though to pay + A last, sad tribute there, while neighbors craned + Their heads above the high board fence, and deigned + To sigh "Poor dog!" remembering how they + Had cuffed him, when alive, perchance, because, + For love of them he leaped to lick their hands— + Now, that he could not, were they satisfied? + We children thought that, as we crossed his paws, + And o'er his grave, 'way down the bottom-lands, + Wrote "Our First Love Lies Here," when Old Jack died. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0042" id="link2H_4_0042"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + DOC SIFERS. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Of all the doctors I could cite you to in this-'ere town + Doc Sifers is my favorite, jes' take him up and down! + Count in the Bethel Neighberhood, and Rollins, and Big Bear, + And Sifers' standin's jes' as good as ary doctor's there! + + There's old Doc Wick, and Glenn, and Hall, and Wurgler, and McVeigh, + But I'll buck Sifers 'ginst 'em all and down 'em any day! + Most old Wick ever knowed, I s'pose, was <i>whisky!</i> Wurgler—well, + He et morphine—ef actions shows, and facts' reliable! + + But Sifers—though he ain't no sot, he's got his faults; and yit + When you <i>git</i> Sifers one't, you've got <i>a doctor</i>, don't fergit! + He ain't much at his office, er his house, er anywhere + You'd natchurly think certain far to ketch the feller there.— + + But don't blame Doc: he's got all sorts o' cur'ous notions—as + The feller says; his odd-come-shorts, like smart men mostly has. + He'll more'n like be potter'n 'round the Blacksmith Shop; er in + Some back lot, spadin' up the ground, er gradin' it agin. + + Er at the workbench, planin' things; er buildin' little traps + To ketch birds; galvenizin' rings; er graftin' plums, perhaps. + Make anything! good as the best!—a gunstock—er a flute; + He whittled out a set o' chesstmen one't o' laurel root, + + Durin' the Army—got his trade o' surgeon there—I own + To-day a finger-ring Doc made out of a Sesesh bone! + An' glued a fiddle one't far me—jes' all so busted you + 'D a throwed the thing away, but he fixed her as good as new! + + And take Doc, now, in <i>ager</i>, say, er <i>biles</i>, er <i>rheumatiz</i>, + And all afflictions thataway, and he's the best they is! + Er janders—milksick—I don't keer—k-yore anything he tries— + A abscess; getherin' in yer yeer; er granilated eyes! + + There was the Widder Daubenspeck they all give up far dead; + A blame cowbuncle on her neck, and clean out of her head! + First had this doctor, what's-his-name, from "Puddlesburg," and then + This little red-head, "Burnin' Shame" they call him—Dr. Glenn. + + And they "consulted" on the case, and claimed she'd haf to die,— + I jes' was joggin' by the place, and heerd her dorter cry, + And stops and calls her to the fence; and I-says-I, "Let me + Send Sifers—bet you fifteen cents he'll k-yore her!" "Well," says + she, + + "Light out!" she says: And, lipp-tee-cut! I loped in town, and rid + 'Bout two hours more to find him, but I kussed him when I did! + He was down at the Gunsmith Shop a-stuffin' birds! Says he, + "My sulky's broke." Says I, "You hop right on and ride with me!" + + I got him there.—"Well, Aunty, ten days k-yores you," Sifers said, + "But what's yer idy livin' when yer jes' as good as dead?" + And there's Dave Banks—jes' back from war without a scratch—one + day + Got ketched up in a sickle-bar, a reaper runaway.— + + His shoulders, arms, and hands and legs jes' sawed in strips! And + Jake + Dunn starts far Sifers—feller begs to shoot him far God-sake. + Doc, 'course, was gone, but he had penned the notice, "At Big Bear— + Be back to-morry; Gone to 'tend the Bee Convention there." + + But Jake, he tracked him—rid and rode the whole endurin' night! + And 'bout the time the roosters crowed they both hove into sight. + Doc had to ampitate, but 'greed to save Dave's arms, and swore + He could a-saved his legs ef he'd ben there the day before. + + Like when his wife's own mother died 'fore Sifers could be found, + And all the neighbors far and wide a' all jes' chasin' round; + Tel finally—I had to laugh—it's jes' like Doc, you know,— + Was learnin' far to telegraph, down at the old deepo. + + But all they're faultin' Sifers far, there's none of 'em kin say + He's biggoty, er keerless, er not posted anyway; + He ain't built on the common plan of doctors now-a-days, + He's jes' a great, big, brainy man—that's where the trouble lays! +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0043" id="link2H_4_0043"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + AT NOON—AND MIDNIGHT. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Far in the night, and yet no rest for him! The pillow next his own + The wife's sweet face in slumber pressed—yet he awake—alone! + alone! + In vain he courted sleep;—one thought would ever in his heart + arise,— + The harsh words that at noon had brought the teardrops to her eyes. + + Slowly on lifted arm he raised and listened. All was still as death; + He touched her forehead as he gazed, and listened yet, with bated + breath: + Still silently, as though he prayed, his lips moved lightly as she + slept— + For God was with him, and he laid his face with hers and wept. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0044" id="link2H_4_0044"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A WILD IRISHMAN. + </h2> + <p> + Not very many years ago the writer was for some months stationed at South + Bend, a thriving little city of northern Indiana, its main population on + the one side of the St. Joseph river, but quite a respectable fraction + thereof taking its industrial way to the opposite shore, and there gaining + an audience and a hearing in the rather imposing growth and hurly-burly of + its big manufactories, and the consequent rapid appearance of + multitudinous neat cottages, tenement houses and business blocks. A + stranger, entering South Bend proper on any ordinary day, will be at some + loss to account for its prosperous appearance—its flagged and + bowldered streets—its handsome mercantile blocks, banks, and + business houses generally. Reasoning from cause to effect, and seeing but + a meager sprinkling of people on the streets throughout the day, and these + seeming, for the most part, merely idlers, and in no wise accessory to the + evident thrift and opulence of their surroundings, the observant stranger + will be puzzled at the situation. But when evening comes, and the outlying + foundries, sewing-machine, wagon, plow, and other "works," together with + the paper-mills and all the nameless industries—when the operations + of all these are suspended for the day, and the workmen and workwomen + loosed from labor—then, as this vast army suddenly invades and + overflows bridge, roadway, street and lane, the startled stranger will + fully comprehend the why and wherefore of the city's high prosperity. And, + once acquainted with the people there, the fortunate sojourner will find + no ordinary culture and intelligence, and, as certainly, he will meet with + a social spirit and a wholesouled heartiness that will make the place a + lasting memory. The town, too, is the home of many world-known notables, + and a host of local celebrities, the chief of which latter class I found, + during my stay there, in the person of Tommy Stafford, or "The Wild + Irishman" as everybody called him. + </p> + <p> + "Talk of odd fellows and eccentric characters," said Major Blowney, my + employer, one afternoon, "you must see our 'Wild Irishman' here before you + say you've yet found the queerest, brightest, cleverest chap in all your + travels. What d'ye say, Stockford?" And the Major paused in his work of + charging cartridges for his new breech-loading shotgun and turned to await + his partner's response. + </p> + <p> + Stockford, thus addressed, paused above the shield-sign he was lettering, + slowly smiling as he dipped and trailed his pencil through the ivory black + upon a bit of broken glass and said, in his deliberate, half-absent-minded + way,—"Is it Tommy you're telling him about?" and then, with a + gradual broadening of the smile, he went on, "Well, I should say so. + Tommy! What's come of the fellow, anyway? I haven't seen him since his + last bout with the mayor, on his trial for shakin' up that fast-horse + man." + </p> + <p> + "The fast-horse man got just exactly what he needed, too," said the genial + Major, laughing, and mopping his perspiring brow. "The fellow was barkin' + up the wrong stump when he tackled Tommy! Got beat in the trade, at his + own game, you know, and wound up by an insult that no Irishman would take; + and Tommy just naturally wore out the hall carpet of the old hotel with + him!" + </p> + <p> + "And then collared and led him to the mayor's office himself, they say!" + </p> + <p> + "Oh, he did!" said the Major, with a dash of pride in the confirmation; + "that's Tommy all over!" + </p> + <p> + "Funny trial, wasn't it?" continued the ruminating Stockford. + </p> + <p> + "Wasn't it though?" laughed the Major. + </p> + <p> + "The porter's testimony: You see, he was for Tommy, of course, and on + examination testified that the horse-man struck Tommy first. And there + Tommy broke in with: 'He's a-meanin' well, yer Honor, but he's lyin' to ye—he's + lyin' to ye. No livin' man iver struck me first—nor last, nayther, + for the matter o' that!' And I thought—the—court—would—die!" + concluded the Major, in a like imminent state of merriment. + </p> + <p> + "Yes, and he said if he struck him first," supplemented Stockford, "he'd + like to know why the horseman was 'wearin' all the black eyes, and the + blood, and the boomps on the head of um!' And it's that talk of his that + got him off with so light a fine!" + </p> + <p> + "As it always does," said the Major, coming to himself abruptly and + looking at his watch. "Stock', you say you're not going along with our + duck-shooting party this time? The old Kankakee is just lousy with 'em + this season!" + </p> + <p> + "Can't go possibly," said Stockford, "not on account of the work at all, + but the folks at home ain't just as well as I'd like to see them, and I'll + stay here till they're better. Next time I'll try and be ready for you. + Going to take Tommy, of course?" + </p> + <p> + "Of course! Got to have 'The Wild Irishman' with us! I'm going around to + find him now." Then turning to me the Major continued, "Suppose you get on + your coat and hat and come along? It's the best chance you'll ever have to + meet Tommy. It's late anyhow, and Stockford'll get along without you. Come + on." + </p> + <p> + "Certainly," said Stockford; "go ahead. And you can take him ducking, too, + if he wants to go." + </p> + <p> + "But he doesn't want to go—and won't go," replied the Major with a + commiserative glance at me. "Says he doesn't know a duck from a + poll-parrot—nor how to load a shotgun—and couldn't hit a house + if he were inside of it and the door shut. Admits that he nearly killed + his uncle once, on the other side of a tree, with a squirrel runnin' down + it. Don't want him along!" + </p> + <p> + Reaching the street with the genial Major, he gave me this advice: "Now, + when you meet Tommy, you mustn't take all he says for dead earnest, and + you mustn't believe, because he talks loud, and in italics every other + word, that he wants to do all the talking and won't be interfered with. + That's the way he's apt to strike folks at first—but it's their + mistake, not his. Talk back to him—controvert him whenever he's + aggressive in the utterance of his opinions, and if you're only honest in + the announcement of your own ideas and beliefs, he'll like you all the + better for standing by them. He's quick-tempered, and perhaps a trifle + sensitive, so share your greater patience with him, and he'll pay you back + by fighting for you at the drop of the hat. In short, he's as nearly + typical of his gallant country's brave, impetuous, fun-loving + individuality as such a likeness can exist." + </p> + <p> + "But is he quarrelsome?" I asked. + </p> + <p> + "Not at all. There's the trouble. If he'd only quarrel there'd be no harm + done. Quarreling's cheap, and Tommy's extravagant. A big blacksmith here, + the other day, kicked some boy out of his shop, and Tommy, on his cart, + happened to be passing at the time; and he just jumped off without a word, + and went in and worked on that fellow for about three minutes, with such + disastrous results that they couldn't tell his shop from a + slaughter-house; paid an assault and battery fine, and gave the boy a + dollar beside, and the whole thing was a positive luxury to him. But I + guess we'd better drop the subject, for here's his cart, and here's Tommy. + Hi! there, you Far-down 'Irish Mick!" called the Major, in affected + antipathy, "been out raiding the honest farmers' hen-roosts again, have + you?" + </p> + <p> + We had halted at a corner grocery and produce store, as I took it, and the + smooth-faced, shave-headed man in woolen shirt, short vest, and + suspenderless trousers so boisterously addressed by the Major, was just + lifting from the back of his cart a coop of cackling chickens. + </p> + <p> + "Arrah! ye blasted Kerryonian!" replied the handsome fellow, depositing + the coop on the curb and straightening his tall, slender figure; "I were + jist thinking of yez and the ducks, and here ye come quackin' into the + prisence of r'yalty, wid yer canvas-back suit upon ye and the shwim-skins + bechuxt yer toes! How air yez, anyhow—and air we startin' for the + Kankakee by the nixt post?" + </p> + <p> + "We're to start just as soon as we get the boys together," said the Major, + shaking hands. "The crowd's to be at Andrews' by 4, and it's fully that + now; so come on at once. We'll go 'round by Munson's and have Hi send a + boy to look after your horse. Come; and I want to introduce my friend here + to you, and we'll all want to smoke and jabber a little in appropriate + seclusion. Come on." And the impatient Major had linked arms with his + hesitating ally and myself, and was turning the corner of the street. + </p> + <p> + "It's an hour's work I have yet wid the squawkers," mildly protested + Tommy, still hanging back and stepping a trifle high; "but, as one + Irishman would say til another, 'Ye're wrong, but I'm wid ye!'" + </p> + <p> + And five minutes later the three of us had joined a very jolly party in a + snug back room, with + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "The chamber walls depicted all around + With portraitures of huntsman, hawk, and hound, + And the hurt deer," +</pre> + <p> + and where, as well, drifted over the olfactory intelligence a certain + subtle, warm-breathed aroma, that genially combatted the chill and + darkness of the day without, and, resurrecting long-dead Christmases, + brimmed the grateful memory with all comfortable cheer. + </p> + <p> + A dozen hearty voices greeted the appearance of Tommy and the Major, the + latter adroitly pushing the jovial Irishman to the front, with a + mock-heroic introduction to the general company, at the conclusion of + which Tommy, with his hat tucked under the left elbow, stood bowing with a + grace of pose and presence Lord Chesterfield might have applauded. + </p> + <p> + "Gintlemen," said Tommy, settling back upon his heels and admiringly + contemplating the group; "Gintlemen, I congratu-late yez wid a pride that + shoves the thumbs o' me into the arrum-holes of me weshkit! At the + inshtigation of the bowld O'Blowney—axin' the gintleman's pardon—I + am here wid no silver tongue of illoquence to para-lyze yez, but I am + prisent, as has been ripresinted, to jine wid yez in a stupendeous waste + of gun-powder, and duck-shot, and 'high-wines,' and ham sand-witches, upon + the silvonian banks of the ragin' Kankakee, where the 'di-dipper' tips ye + good-bye wid his tail, and the wild loon skoots like a sky-rocket for his + exiled home in the alien dunes of the wild morass—or, as Tommy Moore + so illegantly describes the blashted birrud,— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'Away to the dizhmal shwamp he shpeeds— + His path is rugged and sore, + Through tangled juniper, beds of reeds, + And many a fen where the serpent feeds, + <i>And birrud niver flew before— + And niver will fly any more</i> +</pre> + <p> + if iver he arrives back safe into civilization again—and I've been + in the poultry business long enough to know the private opinion and + personal integrity of ivery fowl that flies the air or roosts on poles. + But, changin' the subject of my few small remarks here, and thankin yez + wid an overflowin' heart but a dhry tongue, I have the honor to propose, + gintlemen, long life and health to ivery mother's o' yez, and success to + the 'Duck-hunters of Kankakee.'" + </p> + <p> + "The duck-hunters of the Kankakee!" chorussed the elated party in such + musical uproar that for a full minute the voice of the enthusiastic Major—who + was trying to say something—could not be heard. Then he said: + </p> + <p> + "I want to propose that theme—'The Duck-hunters of the Kankakee', + for one of Tommy's improvizations. I move we have a song now from Tommy on + the 'Duck-hunters of the Kankakee.'" + </p> + <p> + "Hurra! Hurra! A song from Tommy," cried the crowd. "Make us up a song, + and put us all into it! A song from Tommy! A song! A song!" + </p> + <p> + There was a queer light in the eye of the Irishman. I observed him + narrowly—expectantly. Often I had read of this phenomenal art of + improvised ballad-singing, but had always remained a little skeptical in + regard to the possibility of such a feat. Even in the notable instances of + this gift as displayed by the very clever Theodore Hook, I had always half + suspected some prior preparation—some adroit forecasting of the + sequence that seemed the instant inspiration of his witty verses. + </p> + <p> + Here was evidently to be a test example, and I was all alert to mark its + minutest detail. + </p> + <p> + The clamor had subsided, and Tommy had drawn a chair near to and directly + fronting the Major's. His right hand was extended, closely grasping the + right hand of his friend which he scarce perceptibly, though measuredly, + lifted and let fall throughout the length of all the curious performance. + The voice was not unmusical, nor was the quaint old ballad-air adopted by + the singer unlovely in the least; simply a monotony was evident that + accorded with the levity and chance-finish of the improvisation—and + that the song was improvised on the instant I am certain—though in + no wise remarkable, for other reasons, in rhythmic worth or finish. And + while his smiling auditors all drew nearer, and leant, with parted lips to + catch every syllable, the words of the strange melody trailed + unhesitatingly into the lines literally as here subjoined: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "One gloomy day in the airly Fall, + Whin the sunshine had no chance at all— + No chance at all for to gleam and shine + And lighten up this heart of mine: + + "'Twas in South Bend, that famous town, + Whilst I were a-strollin' round and round, + I met some friends and they says to me: + 'It's a hunt we'll take on the Kankakee!'" +</pre> + <p> + "Hurra for the Kankakee! Give it to us, Tommy!" cried an enthused voice + between verses. "Now give it to the Major!" And the song went on:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "There's Major Blowney leads the van, + As crack a shot as an Irishman,— + For its the duck is a tin decoy + That his owld shotgun can't destroy!" +</pre> + <p> + And a half a dozen jubilant palms patted the Major's shoulders, and his + ruddy, good-natured face beamed with delight. "Now give it to the rest of + 'em, Tommy!" chuckled the Major. And the song continued:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "And along wid 'Hank' is Mick Maharr, + And Barney Pince, at 'The Shamrock' bar— + There's Barney Pinch, wid his heart so true; + And the Andrews Brothers they'll go too." +</pre> + <p> + "Hold on, Tommy!" chipped in one of the Andrews; "you must give 'the + Andrews Brothers' a better advertisement than that! Turn us on a full + verse, can't you?" + </p> + <p> + "Make 'em pay for it if you do!" said the Major, in an undertone. And + Tommy promptly amended:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "O, the Andrews Brothers, they'll be there, + Wid good se-gyars and wine to shpare,— + They'll treat us here on fine champagne, + And whin we're there they 'll treat us again." +</pre> + <p> + The applause here was vociferous, and only discontinued when a box of + Havanas stood open on the table. During the momentary lull thus + occasioned, I caught the Major's twinkling eyes glancing evasively toward + me, as he leant whispering some further instructions to Tommy, who again + took up his desultory ballad, while I turned and fled for the street, + catching, however, as I went, and high above the laughter of the crowd, + the satire of this quatrain to its latest line— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "But R-R-Riley he 'll not go, I guess, + Lest he'd get lost in the wil-der-ness, + And so in the city he will shtop + For to curl his hair in the barber shop." +</pre> + <p> + It was after six when I reached the hotel, but I had my hair trimmed + before I went in to supper. The style of trimming adopted then I still + rigidly adhere to, and call it "the Tommy Stafford stubble-crop." + </p> + <p> + Ten days passed before I again saw the Major. Immediately upon his return—it + was late afternoon when I heard of it—I determined to take my + evening walk out the long street toward his pleasant home and call upon + him there. This I did, and found him in a wholesome state of fatigue, + slippers and easy chair, enjoying his pipe on the piazza. Of course, he + was overflowing with happy reminiscences of the hunt—the + wood-and-water-craft—boats—ambushes—decoys, and tramp, + and camp, and so on, without end;—but I wanted to hear him talk of + "The Wild Irishman"—Tommy; and I think, too, now, that the sagacious + Major secretly read my desires all the time. To be utterly frank with the + reader I will admit that I not only think the Major divined my interest in + Tommy, but I know he did; for at last, as though reading my very thoughts, + he abruptly said, after a long pause, in which he knocked the ashes from + his pipe and refilled and lighted it:—"Well, all I know of 'The Wild + Irishman' I can tell you in a very few words—that is, if you care at + all to listen?" And the crafty old Major seemed to hesitate. + </p> + <p> + "Go on—go on!" I said, eagerly. + </p> + <p> + "About forty years ago," resumed the Major, placidly, "in the little, old, + unheard-of town Karnteel, County Tyrone, Province Ulster, Ireland, Tommy + Stafford—in spite of the contrary opinion of his wretchedly poor + parents—was fortunate enough to be born. And here, again, as I + advised you the other day, you must be prepared for constant surprises in + the study of Tommy's character." + </p> + <p> + "Go on," I said; "I'm prepared for anything." + </p> + <p> + The Major smiled profoundly and continued:— + </p> + <p> + "Fifteen years ago, when he came to America—and the Lord only knows + how he got the passage-money—he brought his widowed mother with him + here, and has supported, and is still supporting her. Besides," went on + the still secretly smiling Major, "the fellow has actually found time, + through all his adversities, to pick up quite a smattering of education, + here and there—" + </p> + <p> + "Poor fellow!" I broke in, sympathizingly, "what a pity it is that he + couldn't have had such advantages earlier in life," and as I recalled the + broad brogue of the fellow, together with his careless dress, recognizing + beneath it all the native talent and brilliancy of a mind of most uncommon + worth, I could not restrain a deep sigh of compassion and regret. + </p> + <p> + The Major was leaning forward in the gathering dusk, and evidently + studying my own face, the expression of which, at that moment, was very + grave and solemn, I am sure. He suddenly threw himself backward in his + chair, in an uncontrollable burst of laughter. "Oh, I just can't keep it + up any longer," he exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + "Keep what up?" I queried, in a perfect maze of bewilderment and surprise. + "Keep what up?" I repeated. + </p> + <p> + "Why, all this twaddle, farce, travesty and by-play regarding Tommy! You + know I warned you, over and over, and you mustn't blame me for the + deception. I never thought you'd take it so in earnest!" and here the + jovial Major again went into convulsions of laughter. + </p> + <p> + "But I don't understand a word of it all," I cried, half frenzied with the + gnarl and tangle of the whole affair. "What 'twaddle, farce and by-play,' + is it anyhow?" And in my vexation, I found myself on my feet and striding + nervously up and down the paved walk that joined the street with the + piazza, pausing at last and confronting the Major almost petulantly. + "Please explain," I said, controlling my vexation with an effort. + </p> + <p> + The Major arose. "Your striding up and down there reminds me that a little + stroll on the street might do us both good," he said. "Will you wait until + I get a coat and hat?" + </p> + <p> + He rejoined me a moment later, and we passed through the open gate; and + saying, "Let's go down this way," he took my arm and turned into a street, + where, cooling as the dusk was, the thick maples lining the walk, seemed + to throw a special shade of tranquility upon us. + </p> + <p> + "What I meant was"—began the Major, in low, serious voice,—"What + I meant was—simply this: Our friend Tommy, though the truest + Irishman in the world, is a man quite the opposite everyway of the + character he has appeared to you. All that rich brogue of his is assumed. + Though he's poor, as I told you, when he came here, his native quickness, + and his marvelous resources, tact, judgment, business qualities—all + have helped him to the equivalent of a liberal education. His love of the + humorous and the ridiculous is unbounded; but he has serious moments, as + well, and at such times is as dignified and refined in speech and manner + as any man you'd find in a thousand. He is a good speaker, can stir a + political convention to fomentation when he gets fired up; and can write + an article for the press that goes spang to the spot. He gets into a great + many personal encounters of a rather undignified character; but they are + almost invariably bred of his innate interest in the 'under dog,' and the + fire and tow of his impetuous nature." + </p> + <p> + My companion had paused here, and was looking through some printed slips + in his pocket-book. "I wanted you to see some of the fellow's articles in + print, but I have nothing of importance here—only some of his + 'doggerel,' as he calls it, and you've had a sample of that. But here's a + bit of the upper spirit of the man—and still another that you should + hear him recite. You can keep them both if you care to. The boys all fell + in love with that last one, particularly, hearing his rendition of it. So + we had a lot printed, and I have two or three left. Put these two in your + pocket and read at your leisure." + </p> + <p> + But I read them there and then, as eagerly, too, as I append them here and + now. The first is called— + </p> + <h3> + SAYS HE. + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "Whatever the weather may be," says he— + "Whatever the weather may be, + It's plaze, if ye will, an' I'll say me say,— + Supposin' to-day was the winterest day, + Wud the weather be changing because ye cried, + Or the snow be grass were ye crucified? + The best is to make your own summer," says he, + "Whatever the weather may be," says he— + "Whatever the weather may be! + + "Whatever the weather may be," says he— + "Whatever the weather may be, + It's the songs ye sing, an' the smiles ye wear, + That's a-makin' the sunshine everywhere, + An' the world of gloom is a world of glee, + Wid the bird in the bush, an' the bud in the tree, + An' the fruit on the stim of the bough," says he, + "Whatever the weather may be," says he— + "Whatever the weather may be! + + "Whatever the weather may be," says he— + "Whatever the weather may be, + Ye can bring the Spring, wid its green an' gold, + An' the grass in the grove where the snow lies cold, + An' ye'll warm yer back, wid a smiling face, + As ye sit at yer heart like an owld fire-place, + An' toast the toes o' yer soul," says he, + "Whatever the weather may be," says he— + "Whatever the weather may be!" +</pre> + <p> + "Now" said the Major, peering eagerly above my shoulder, "go on with the + next. To my liking, it is even better than the first. A type of character + you'll recognize.—The same 'broth of a boy,' only <i>Americanized</i>, + don't you know." + </p> + <p> + And I read the scrap entitled— + </p> + <h3> + CHAIRLEY BURKE. + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + It's Chairley Burke's in town, b'ys! He's down til "Jamesy's Place," + Wid a bran' new shave upon 'um, an' the fhwhuskers aff his face; + He's quit the Section Gang last night, and yez can chalk it down, + There's goin' to be the divil's toime, sence Chairley Burke's in + town. + + It's treatin' iv'ry b'y he is, an' poundin' on the bar + Till iv'ry man he 's drinkin' wid must shmoke a foine cigar; + An' Missus Murphy's little Kate, that's comin' there for beer, + Can't pay wan cint the bucketful, the whilst that Chairley's here! + + He's joompin' oor the tops o' sthools, the both forninst an' back! + He'll lave yez pick the blessed flure, an' walk the straightest + crack! + He's liftin' barrels wid his teeth, and singin' "Garry Owen," + Till all the house be strikin' hands, sence Chairley Burke's in + town. + + The Road-Yaird hands comes dhroppin' in, an' niver goin' back; + An' there 's two freights upon the switch—the wan on aither track— + An' Mr. Gearry, from The Shops, he's mad enough to swear, + An' durst n't spake a word but grin, the whilst that Chairley's + there! + + Oh! Chairley! Chairley! Chairley Burke! ye divil, wid yer ways + O' dhrivin' all the throubles aff, these dark an' gloomy days! + Ohone! that it's meself, wid all the griefs I have to drown, + Must lave me pick to resht a bit, sence Chairley Burke's in town! +</pre> + <p> + "Before we turn back, now," said the smiling Major, as I stood lingering + over the indefinable humor of the last refrain, "before we turn back I + want to show you something eminently characteristic. Come this way a half + dozen steps." + </p> + <p> + As he spoke I looked up, to first observe that we had paused before a + handsome square brick residence, centering a beautiful smooth lawn, its + emerald only littered with the light gold of the earliest autumn leaves. + On either side of the trim walk that led up from the gate to the carved + stone ballusters of the broad piazza, with its empty easy chairs, were + graceful vases, frothing over with late blossoms, and wreathed with + laurel-looking vines; and, luxuriantly lacing the border of the pave that + turned the further corner of the house, blue, white and crimson, pink and + violet, went fading in perspective as my gaze followed the gesture of the + Major's. + </p> + <p> + "Here, come a little further. Now do you see that man there?" + </p> + <p> + Yes, I could make out a figure in the deepening dusk—the figure of a + man on the back stoop—a tired looking man, in his shirt-sleeves, who + sat upon a low chair—no, not a chair—an empty box. He was + leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, and the hands dropped limp. + He was smoking, too, I could barely see his pipe, and but for the odor of + very strong tobacco, would not have known he had a pipe. Why does the + master of the house permit his servants to so desecrate this beautiful + home? I thought. + </p> + <p> + "Well, shall we go now?" said the Major. + </p> + <p> + I turned silently and we retraced our steps. I think neither of us spoke + for the distance of a square. + </p> + <p> + "Guess you didn't know the man there on the back porch?" said the Major. + </p> + <p> + "No; why?" I asked dubiously. + </p> + <p> + "I hardly thought you would, and besides the poor fellow's tired, and it + was best not to disturb him," said the Major. + </p> + <p> + "Why; who was it—some one I know?" + </p> + <p> + "It was Tommy." + </p> + <p> + "Oh," said I, inquiringly, "he's employed there in some capacity?" + </p> + <p> + "Yes, as master of the house." + </p> + <p> + "You don't mean it?" + </p> + <p> + "I certainly do. He owns it, and made every cent of the money that paid + for it!" said the Major proudly. "That's why I wanted you particularly to + note that 'eminent characteristic' I spoke of. Tommy could just as well be + sitting, with a fine cigar, on the front piazza in an easy chair, as, with + his dhudeen, on the back porch, on an empty box, where every night you'll + find him. Its the unconscious dropping back into the old ways of his + father, and his father's father, and his father's father's father. In + brief, he sits there the poor lorn symbol of the long oppression of his + race." + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0045" id="link2H_4_0045"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + RAGWEED AND FENNEL + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0046" id="link2H_4_0046"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + WHEN MY DREAMS COME TRUE. + </h2> + <h3> + I. + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + When my dreams come true—when my dreams come true— + Shall I lean from out my casement, in the starlight and the dew, + To listen—smile and listen to the tinkle of the strings + Of the sweet guitar my lover's fingers fondle, as he sings? + And as the nude moon slowly, slowly shoulders into view, + Shall I vanish from his vision—when my dreams come true? + + When my dreams come true—shall the simple gown I wear + Be changed to softest satin, and my maiden-braided hair + Be raveled into flossy mists of rarest, fairest gold, + To be minted into kisses, more than any heart can hold?— + Or "the summer of my tresses" shall my lover liken to + "The fervor of his passion"—when my dreams come true? +</pre> + <h3> + II. + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + When my dreams come true—I shall bide among the sheaves + Of happy harvest meadows; and the grasses and the leaves + Shall lift and lean between me and the splendor of the sun, + Till the noon swoons into twilight, and the gleaners' work is done— + Save that yet an arm shall bind me, even as the reapers do + The meanest sheaf of harvest—when my dreams come true. + + When my dreams come true! when my dreams come true! + True love in all simplicity is fresh and pure as dew;— + The blossom in the blackest mold is kindlier to the eye + Than any lily born of pride that looms against the sky: + And so it is I know my heart will gladly welcome you, + My lowliest of lovers, when my dreams come true. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0047" id="link2H_4_0047"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A DOS'T O' BLUES. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I' got no patience with blues at all! + And I ust to kindo talk + Aginst 'em, and claim, 'tel along last Fall, + They was none in the fambly stock; + But a nephew of mine, from Eelinoy, + That visited us last year, + He kindo convinct me differunt + While he was a-stayin' here. + + Frum ever'-which way that blues is from, + They'd tackle him ever' ways; + They'd come to him in the night, and come + On Sundays, and rainy days; + They'd tackle him in corn-plantin' time, + And in harvest, and airly Fall, + But a dose 't of blues in the wintertime, + He 'lowed, was the worst of all! + + Said all diseases that ever he had— + The mumps, er the rheumatiz— + Er ever'-other-day-aigger's bad + Purt' nigh as anything is!— + Er a cyarbuncle, say, on the back of his neck, + Er a felon on his thumb,— + But you keep the blues away from him, + And all o' the rest could come! + + And he'd moan, "They's nary a leaf below! + Ner a spear o' grass in sight! + And the whole wood-pile's clean under snow! + And the days is dark as night! + You can't go out—ner you can't stay in— + Lay down—stand up—ner set!" + And a tetch o' regular tyfoid-blues + Would double him jest clean shet! + + I writ his parents a postal-kyard, + He could stay 'tel Spring-time come; + And Aprile first, as I rickollect, + Was the day we shipped him home! + Most o' his relatives, sence then, + Has either give up, er quit, + Er jest died off; but I understand + He's the same old color yit! +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0048" id="link2H_4_0048"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE BAT. + </h2> + <h3> + I. + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Thou dread, uncanny thing, + With fuzzy breast and leathern wing, + In mad, zigzagging flight, + Notching the dusk, and buffeting + The black cheeks of the night, + With grim delight! +</pre> + <h3> + II. + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + What witch's hand unhasps + Thy keen claw-cornered wings + From under the barn roof, and flings + Thee forth, with chattering gasps, + To scud the air, + And nip the lady-bug, and tear + Her children's hearts out unaware? +</pre> + <h3> + III. + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The glow-worm's glimmer, and the bright, + Sad pulsings of the fire-fly's light, + Are banquet lights to thee. + O less than bird, and worse than beast, + Thou Devil's self, or brat, at least, + Grate not thy teeth at me! +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0049" id="link2H_4_0049"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE WAY IT WUZ. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Las' July—an', I persume + 'Bout as hot + As the ole Gran'-Jury room + Where they sot!— + Fight 'twixt Mike an' Dock McGriff— + 'Pears to me jes' like as if + I'd a dremp' the whole blame thing— + Allus ha'nts me roun' the gizzard + When they're nightmares on the wing, + An' a feller's blood's jes' friz! + Seed the row from a to izzard— + 'Cause I wuz a-standin' as clost to 'em + As me an' you is! + + Tell you the way it wuz— + An' I do n't want to see, + Like <i>some</i> fellers does, + When they 're goern to be + Any kind o' fuss— + On'y makes a rumpus wuss + Far to interfere + When their dander's riz— + But I wuz a-standin' as clost to 'em + As me an' you is! + + I wuz kind o' strayin' + Past the blame saloon— + Heerd some fiddler playin' + That "ole hee-cup tune!" + Sort o' stopped, you know, + Far a minit er so, + And wuz jes' about + + Settin' down, when—<i>Jeemses-whizz!</i> + Whole durn winder-sash fell out! + An' there laid Doc McGriff, and Mike + A-straddlin' him, all bloody-like, + An' both a-gittin' down to biz!— + An' I wuz a-standin' as clost to 'em + As me an' you is! + + I wuz the on'y man aroun'— + (Durn old-fogy town! + 'Peared more like, to me, + <i>Sund'y</i> 'an <i>Saturd'y!)</i> + Dog come 'crost the road + An' tuck a smell + An' put right back; + Mishler driv by 'ith a load + O' cantalo'pes he couldn't sell— + Too mad, 'y jack! + To even ast + What wuz up, as he went past! + Weather most outrageous hot!— + Fairly hear it sizz + Roun' Dock an' Mike—till Dock he shot, + An' Mike he slacked that grip o' his + An' fell, all spraddled out. Dock riz + 'Bout half up, a-spittin' red, + An' shuck his head— + An' I wuz a-standin' as clost to 'em + As me an' you is! + + An' Dock he says, + A-whisperin'-like,— + "It hain't no use + A-tryin'!—Mike + He's jes' ripped my daylights loose!— + Git that blame-don fiddler to + Let up, an' come out here—You + Got some burryin' to do,— + Mike makes <i>one</i>, an' I expects + In ten seconds I'll make <i>two</i>!" + And he drapped back, where he riz, + 'Crost Mike's body, black and blue, + Like a great big letter X!— + An' I wuz a-standin' as clost to 'em + As me an' you is! +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0050" id="link2H_4_0050"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE DRUM. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + O the drum! + There is some + Intonation in thy grum + Monotony of utterance that strikes the spirit dumb, + As we hear + Through the clear + And unclouded atmosphere, + Thy palpitating syllables roll in upon the car! + + There's a part + Of the art + Of thy music-throbbing heart + That thrills a something in us that awakens with a start, + And in rhyme + With the chime + And exactitude of time, + Goes marching on to glory to thy melody sublime. + + And the guest + Of the breast + That thy rolling robs of rest + Is a patriotic spirit as a Continental dressed; + And he looms + From the glooms + Of a century of tombs, + And the blood he spilled at Lexington in living beauty blooms. + + And his eyes + Wear the guise + Of a purpose pure and wise, + As the love of them is lifted to a something in the skies + That is bright + Red and white, + With a blur of starry light, + As it laughs in silken ripples to the breezes day and night. + + There are deep + Hushes creep + O'er the pulses as they leap, + As thy tumult, fainter growing, on the silence falls asleep, + While the prayer + Rising there + Wills the sea and earth and air + As a heritage to Freedom's sons and daughters everywhere. + + Then, with sound + As profound + As the thunderings resound, + Come thy wild reverberations in a throe that shakes the ground, + And a cry + Flung on high, + Like the flag it flutters by, + Wings rapturously upward till it nestles in the sky. + + O the drum! + There is some + Intonation in thy grum + Monotony of utterance that strikes the spirit dumb, + As we hear + Through the clear + And unclouded atmosphere, + Thy palpitating syllables roll in upon the ear! +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0051" id="link2H_4_0051"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + TOM JOHNSON'S QUIT. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + A passel o' the boys last night— + An' me amongst 'em—kindo got + To talkin' Temper'nce left an' right, + An' workin' up "blue-ribbon," <i>hot</i>; + An' while we was a-countin' jes' + How many bed gone into hit + An' signed the pledge, some feller says,— + "Tom Johnson's quit!" + + We laughed, of course—'cause Tom, you know, + <i>He's</i> spiled more whisky, boy an' man, + And seed more trouble, high an' low, + Than any chap but Tom could stand: + And so, says I "<i>He's</i> too nigh dead. + Far Temper'nce to benefit!" + The feller sighed agin, and said— + "Tom Johnson's quit!" + + We all <i>liked</i> Tom, an' that was why + We sorto simmered down agin, + And ast the feller ser'ously + Ef he wa'n't tryin' to draw us in: + He shuck his head—tuck off his hat— + Helt up his hand an' opened hit, + An' says, says he, "I'll <i>swear</i> to that— + Tom Johnson's quit!" + + Well, we was stumpt, an' tickled too,— + Because we knowed ef Tom <i>had</i> signed + Ther wa'n't no man 'at wore the "blue" + 'At was more honester inclined: + An' then and there we kindo riz,— + The hull dern gang of us 'at bit— + An' th'owed our hats and let 'er whizz,— + "<i>Tom Johnson's quit!</i>" + + I've heerd 'em holler when the balls + Was buzzin' 'round us wus 'n bees, + An' when the ole flag on the walls + Was flappin' o'er the enemy's, + I've heerd a-many a wild "hooray" + 'At made my heart git up an' git— + But Lord!—to hear 'em shout that way!— + "<i>Tom Johnson's quit!</i>" + + But when we saw the chap 'at fetched + The news wa'n't jinin' in the cheer, + But stood there solemn-like, an' reched + An' kindo wiped away a tear, + We someway sorto' stilled agin, + And listened—I kin hear him yit, + His voice a-wobblin' with his chin,— + "Tom Johnson's quit— + + "I hain't a-givin' you no game— + I wisht I was!... An hour ago, + This operator—what's his name— + The one 'at works at night, you know?— + Went out to flag that Ten Express, + And sees a man in front of hit + Th'ow up his hands an' stagger—yes,— + <i>Tom Johnson's quit</i>." +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0052" id="link2H_4_0052"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LULLABY. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The maple strews the embers of its leaves + O'er the laggard swallows nestled 'neath the eaves; + And the moody cricket falters in his cry—Baby-bye!— + And the lid of night is falling o'er the sky—Baby-bye!— + The lid of night is falling o'er the sky! + + The rose is lying pallid, and the cup + Of the frosted calla-lily folded up; + And the breezes through the garden sob and sigh—Baby-bye!— + O'er the sleeping blooms of summer where they lie—Baby-bye!— + O'er the sleeping blooms of summer where they lie! + + Yet, Baby—O my Baby, for your sake + This heart of mine is ever wide awake, + And my love may never droop a drowsy eye—Baby-bye!— + Till your own are wet above me when I die—Baby-bye!— + Till your own are wet above me when I die. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0053" id="link2H_4_0053"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IN THE SOUTH. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + There is a princess in the South + About whose beauty rumors hum + Like honey-bees about the mouth + Of roses dewdrops falter from; + And O her hair is like the fine + Clear amber of a jostled wine + In tropic revels; and her eyes + Are blue as rifts of Paradise. + + Such beauty as may none before + Kneel daringly, to kiss the tips + Of fingers such as knights of yore + Had died to lift against their lips: + Such eyes as might the eyes of gold + Of all the stars of night behold + With glittering envy, and so glare + In dazzling splendor of despair. + + So, were I but a minstrel, deft + At weaving, with the trembling strings + Of my glad harp, the warp and weft + Of rondels such as rapture sings,— + I'd loop my lyre across my breast, + Nor stay me till my knee found rest + In midnight banks of bud and flower + Beneath my lady's lattice-bower. + + And there, drenched with the teary dews, + I'd woo her with such wondrous art + As well might stanch the songs that ooze + Out of the mockbird's breaking heart; + So light, so tender, and so sweet + Should be the words I would repeat, + Her casement, on my gradual sight, + Would blossom as a lily might. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0054" id="link2H_4_0054"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE OLD HOME BY THE MILL. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + This is "The old Home by the Mill"—far we still call it so, + Although the old mill, roof and sill, is all gone long ago. + The old home, though, and old folks, and the old spring, and a few + Old cat-tails, weeds and hartychokes, is left to welcome you! + + Here, Marg'et, fetch the man a tin to drink out of' Our spring + Keeps kindo-sorto cavin' in, but don't "taste" anything! + She's kindo agein', Marg'et is—"the old process," like me, + All ham-stringed up with rheumatiz, and on in seventy-three. + + Jes' me and Marg'et lives alone here—like in long ago; + The childern all put off and gone, and married, don't you know? + One's millin' way out West somewhere; two other miller-boys + In Minnyopolis they air; and one's in Illinoise. + + The oldest gyrl—the first that went—married and died right here; + The next lives in Winn's Settlement—for purt' nigh thirty year! + And youngest one—was allus far the old home here—but no!— + Her man turns in and he packs her 'way off to Idyho! + + I don't miss them like <i>Marg'et</i> does—'cause I got <i>her</i>, you see; + And when she pines for them—that's 'cause <i>she's</i> only jes' got + <i>me</i>! + I laugh, and joke her 'bout it all.—But talkin' sense, I'll say, + When she was tuk so bad last Fall, I laughed the t'other way! + + I haint so favorble impressed 'bout dyin'; but ef I + Found I was only second-best when <i>us two</i> come to die, + I'd 'dopt the "new process" in full, ef <i>Marg'et</i> died, you see,— + I'd jes' crawl in my grave and pull the green grass over me! +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0055" id="link2H_4_0055"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A LEAVE-TAKING. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + She will not smile; + She will not stir; + I marvel while + I look on her. + The lips are chilly + And will not speak; + The ghost of a lily + In either cheek. + + Her hair—ah me! + Her hair—her hair! + How helplessly + My hands go there! + But my caresses + Meet not hers, + O golden tresses + That thread my tears! + + I kiss the eyes + On either lid, + Where her love lies + Forever hid. + I cease my weeping + And smile and say: + I will be sleeping + Thus, some day! +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0056" id="link2H_4_0056"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + WAIT FOR THE MORNING. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Wait for the morning:—It will come, indeed, + As surely as the night hath given need. + The yearning eyes, at last, will strain their sight + No more unanswered by the morning light; + No longer will they vainly strive, through tears, + To pierce the darkness of thy doubts and fears, + But, bathed in balmy dews and rays of dawn, + Will smile with rapture o'er the darkness drawn. + + Wait for the morning, O thou smitten child, + Scorned, scourged and persecuted and reviled— + Athirst and famishing, none pitying thee, + Crowned with the twisted thorns of agony— + No faintest gleam of sunlight through the dense + Infinity of gloom to lead thee thence— + Wait for the morning:—It will come, indeed, + As surely as the night hath given need. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0057" id="link2H_4_0057"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + WHEN JUNE IS HERE. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + When June is here—what art have we to sing + The whiteness of the lilies midst the green + Of noon-tranced lawns? Or flash of roses seen + Like redbirds' wings? Or earliest ripening + Prince-Harvest apples, where the cloyed bees cling + Round winey juices oozing down between + The peckings of the robin, while we lean + In under-grasses, lost in marveling. + Or the cool term of morning, and the stir + Of odorous breaths from wood and meadow walks, + The bobwhite's liquid yodel, and the whir + Of sudden flight; and, where the milkmaid talks + Across the bars, on tilted barley-stalks + The dewdrops' glint in webs of gossamer. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0058" id="link2H_4_0058"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE GILDED ROLL. + </h2> + <p> + Nosing around in an old box—packed away, and lost to memory for + years—an hour ago I found a musty package of gilt paper, or rather, + a roll it was, with the green-tarnished gold of the old sheet for the + outer wrapper. I picked it up mechanically to toss it into some obscure + corner, when, carelessly lifting it by one end, a child's tin whistle + dropped therefrom and fell tinkling on the attic floor. It lies before me + on my writing table now—and so, too, does the roll entire, though + now a roll no longer,—for my eager fingers have unrolled the gilded + covering, and all its precious contents are spread out beneath my hungry + eyes. + </p> + <p> + Here is a scroll of ink-written music. I don't read music, but I know the + dash and swing of the pen that rained it on the page. Here is a letter, + with the self-same impulse and abandon in every syllable; and its melody—however + sweet the other—is far more sweet to me. And here are other letters + like it—three—five—and seven, at least. Bob wrote them + from the front, and Billy kept them for me when I went to join him. Dear + boy! Dear boy! + </p> + <p> + Here are some cards of bristol-board. Ah! when Bob came to these there + were no blotches then. What faces—what expressions! The droll, + ridiculous, good-for-nothing genius, with his "sad mouth," as he called + it, "upside down," laughing always—at everything, at big rallies, + and mass-meetings and conventions, county fairs, and floral halls, booths, + watermelon-wagons, dancing-tents, the swing, Daguerrean-car, the + "lung-barometer," and the air-gun man. Oh! what a gifted, good-for-nothing + boy Bob was in those old days! And here 's a picture of a girlish face—a + very faded photograph—even fresh from "the gallery," five and twenty + years ago it was a faded thing. But the living face—how bright and + clear that was!—for "Doc," Bob's awful name for her, was a pretty + girl, and brilliant, clever, lovable every way. No wonder Bob fancied her! + And you could see some hint of her jaunty loveliness in every fairy face + he drew, and you could find her happy ways and dainty tastes unconsciously + assumed in all he did—the books he read—the poems he admired, + and those he wrote; and, ringing clear and pure and jubilant, the vibrant + beauty of her voice could clearly be defined and traced through all his + music. Now, there's the happy pair of them—Bob and Doc. Make of them + just whatever your good fancy may dictate, but keep in mind the stern, + relentless ways of destiny. + </p> + <p> + You are not at the beginning of a novel, only at the threshold of one of a + hundred experiences that lie buried in the past, and this particular one + most happily resurrected by these odds and ends found in the gilded roll. + </p> + <p> + You see, dating away back, the contents of this package, mainly, were + hastily gathered together after a week's visit out at the old Mills farm; + the gilt paper, and the whistle, and the pictures, they were Billy's; the + music pages, Bob's, or Doc's; the letters and some other manuscripts were + mine. + </p> + <p> + The Mills girls were great friends of Doc's, and often came to visit her + in town; and so Doc often visited the Mills's. This is the way that Bob + first got out there, and won them all, and "shaped the thing" for me, as + he would put it; and lastly, we had lugged in Billy,—such a handy + boy, you know, to hold the horses on picnic excursions, and to watch the + carriage and the luncheon, and all that.—"Yes, and," Bob would say, + "such a serviceable boy in getting all the fishing tackle in proper order, + and digging bait, and promenading in our wake up and down the creek all + day, with the minnow-bucket hanging on his arm, don't you know!" + </p> + <p> + But jolly as the days were, I think jollier were the long evenings at the + farm. After the supper in the grove, where, when the weather permitted, + always stood the table, ankle-deep in the cool green plush of the sward; + and after the lounge upon the grass, and the cigars, and the new fish + stories, and the general invoice of the old ones, it was delectable to get + back to the girls again, and in the old "best room" hear once more the + lilt of the old songs and the stacattoed laughter of the piano mingling + with the alto and falsetto voices of the Mills girls, and the gallant + soprano of the dear girl Doc. + </p> + <p> + This is the scene I want you to look in upon, as, in fancy, I do now—and + here are the materials for it all, husked from the gilded roll: + </p> + <p> + Bob, the master, leans at the piano now, and Doc is at the keys, her glad + face often thrown up sidewise toward his own. His face is boyish—for + there is yet but the ghost of a mustache upon his lip. His eyes are dark + and clear, of over-size when looking at you, but now their lids are + drooped above his violin, whose melody has, for the time, almost smoothed + away the upward kinkings of the corners of his mouth. And wonderfully + quiet now is every one, and the chords of the piano, too, are low and + faltering; and so, at last, the tune itself swoons into the universal + hush, and—Bob is rasping, in its stead, the ridiculous, but + marvelously perfect imitation of the "priming" of a pump, while Billy's + hands forget the "chiggers" on the bare backs of his feet, as, with + clapping palms, he dances round the room in ungovernable spasms of + delight. And then we all laugh; and Billy, taking advantage of the general + tumult, pulls Bob's head down and whispers, "Git 'em to stay up 'way late + to-night!" And Bob, perhaps remembering that we go back home to-morrow, + winks at the little fellow and whispers, "You let me manage 'em! Stay up + till broad daylight if we take a notion—eh?" And Billy dances off + again in newer glee, while the inspired musician is plunking a banjo + imitation on his enchanted instrument, which is unceremoniously drowned + out by a circus-tune from Doc that is absolutely inspiring to everyone but + the barefooted brother, who drops back listlessly to his old position on + the floor and sullenly renews operations on his "chigger" claims. + </p> + <p> + "Thought you was goin' to have pop-corn to-night all so fast!" he says, + doggedly, in the midst of a momentary lull that has fallen on a game of + whist. And then the oldest Mills girl, who thinks cards stupid anyhow, + says: "That's so, Billy; and we're going to have it, too; and right away, + for this game's just ending, and I shan't submit to being bored with + another. I say 'pop-corn' with Billy! And after that," she continues, + rising and addressing the party in general, "we must have another literary + and artistic tournament, and that's been in contemplation and preparation + long enough; so you gentlemen can be pulling your wits together for the + exercises, while us girls see to the refreshments." + </p> + <p> + "Have you done anything toward it!" queries Bob, when the girls are gone, + with the alert Billy in their wake. + </p> + <p> + "Just an outline," I reply. "How with you?" + </p> + <p> + "Clean forgot it—that is, the preparation; but I've got a little old + second-hand idea, if you'll all help me out with it, that'll amuse us + some, and tickle Billy I'm certain." + </p> + <p> + So that's agreed upon; and while Bob produces his portfolio, drawing + paper, pencils and so on, I turn to my note-book in a dazed way and begin + counting my fingers in a depth of profound abstraction, from which I am + barely aroused by the reappearance of the girls and Billy. + </p> + <p> + "Goody, goody, goody! Bob's goin' to make pictures!" cries Billy, in + additional transport to that the cake pop-corn has produced. + </p> + <p> + "Now, you girls," says Bob, gently detaching the affectionate Billy from + one leg and moving a chair to the table, with a backward glance of + intelligence toward the boy,—"you girls are to help us all you can, + and we can all work; but, as I'll have all the illustrations to do, I want + you to do as many of the verses as you can—that'll be easy, you + know,—because the work entire is just to consist of a series of + fool-epigrams, such as, for instance.—Listen, Billy: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Here lies a young man + Who in childhood began + To swear, and to smoke, and to drink,— + In his twentieth year + He quit swearing and beer, + And yet is still smoking, I think." +</pre> + <p> + And the rest of his instructions are delivered in lower tones, that the + boy may not hear; and then, all matters seemingly arranged, he turns to + the boy with—"And now, Billy, no lookin' over shoulders, you know, + or swinging on my chair-back while I'm at work. When the pictures are all + finished, then you can take a squint at 'em, and not before. Is that all + hunky, now?" + </p> + <p> + "Oh! who's a-goin' to look over your shoulder—only <i>Doc</i>." And + as the radiant Doc hastily quits that very post, and dives for the + offending brother, he scrambles under the piano and laughs derisively. + </p> + <p> + And then a silence falls upon the group—a gracious quiet, only + intruded upon by the very juicy and exuberant munching of an apple from a + remote fastness of the room, and the occasional thumping of a bare heel + against the floor. + </p> + <p> + At last I close my note-book with a half slam. + </p> + <p> + "That means," says Bob, laying down his pencil, and addressing the girls,—"That + means he's concluded his poem, and that he's not pleased with it in any + manner, and that he intends declining to read it, for that + self-acknowledged reason, and that he expects us to believe every affected + word of his entire speech—" + </p> + <p> + "Oh, don't!" I exclaim. + </p> + <p> + "Then give us the wretched production, in all its hideous deformity!" + </p> + <p> + And the girls all laugh so sympathetically, and Bob joins them so gently, + and yet with a tone, I know, that can be changed so quickly to my further + discomfiture, that I arise at once and read, without apology or excuse, + this primitive and very callow poem recovered here to-day from the gilded + roll: + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0059" id="link2H_4_0059"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A BACKWARD LOOK. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + As I sat smoking, alone, yesterday, + And lazily leaning back in my chair, + Enjoying myself in a general way— + Allowing my thoughts a holiday + From weariness, toil and care,— + My fancies—doubtless, for ventilation— + Left ajar the gates of my mind,— + And Memory, seeing the situation, + Slipped out in street of "Auld Lang Syne." + + Wandering ever with tireless feet + Through scenes of silence, and jubilee + Of long-hushed voices; and faces sweet + Were thronging the shadowy side of the street + As far as the eye could see; + Dreaming again, in anticipation, + The same old dreams of our boyhood's days + That never come true, from the vague sensation + Of walking asleep in the world's strange ways. + + Away to the house where I was born! + And there was the selfsame clock that ticked + From the close of dusk to the burst of morn, + When life-warm hands plucked the golden corn + And helped when the apples were picked. + And the "chany-dog" on the mantel-shelf, + With the gilded collar and yellow eyes, + Looked just as at first, when I hugged myself + Sound asleep with the dear surprise. + + And down to the swing in the locust tree, + Where the grass was worn from the trampled ground, + And where "Eck" Skinner, "Old" Carr, and three + Or four such other boys used to be + Doin' "sky-scrapers," or "whirlin' round:" + And again Bob climbed for the bluebird's nest, + And again "had shows" in the buggy-shed + Of Guymon's barn, where still, unguessed, + The old ghosts romp through the best days dead! + + And again I gazed from the old school-room + With a wistful look of a long June day, + When on my cheek was the hectic bloom + Caught of Mischief, as I presume— + He had such a "partial" way, + It seemed, toward me.—And again I thought + Of a probable likelihood to be + Kept in after school—for a girl was caught + Catching a note from me. + + And down through the woods to the swimming-hole— + Where the big, white, hollow, old sycamore grows,— + And we never cared when the water was cold, + And always "ducked" the boy that told + On the fellow that tied the clothes.— + When life went so like a dreamy rhyme, + That it seems to me now that then + The world was having a jollier time + Than it ever will have again. +</pre> + <p> + The crude production is received, I am glad to note, with some expressions + of favor from the company, though Bob, of course, must heartlessly + dissipate my weak delight by saying, "Well, it's certainly bad enough; + though," he goes on with an air of deepest critical sagacity and fairness, + "considered, as it should be, justly, as the production of a jour-poet, + why, it might be worse—that is, a little worse." + </p> + <p> + "Probably," I remember saying,—"Probably I might redeem myself by + reading you this little amateurish bit of verse, enclosed to me in a + letter by mistake, not very long ago." I here fish an envelope from my + pocket the address of which all recognize as in Bob's almost printed + writing. He smiles vacantly at it—then vividly colors. + </p> + <p> + "What date?" he stoically asks. + </p> + <p> + "The date," I suggestively answer, "of your last letter to our dear Doc, + at Boarding-School, two days exactly in advance of her coming home—this + veritable visit now." + </p> + <p> + Both Bob and Doc rush at me—but too late. The letter and contents + have wholly vanished. The youngest Miss Mills quiets us—urgently + distracting us, in fact, by calling our attention to the immediate + completion of our joint production; "For now," she says, "with our new + reinforcement, we can, with becoming diligence, soon have it ready for + both printer and engraver, and then we'll wake up the boy (who has been + fortunately slumbering for the last quarter of an hour), and present to + him, as designed and intended, this matchless creation of our united + intellects." At the conclusion of this speech we all go good-humoredly to + work, and at the close of half an hour the tedious, but most ridiculous, + task is announced completed. + </p> + <p> + As I arrange and place in proper form here on the table the separate cards—twenty-seven + in number—I sigh to think that I am unable to transcribe for you the + best part of the nonsensical work—the illustrations. All I can give + is the written copy of— + </p> + <h3> + BILLY'S ALPHABETICAL ANIMAL SHOW. + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + A was an elegant Ape + Who tied up his ears with red tape, + And wore a long veil + Half revealing his tail + Which was trimmed with jet bugles and crape. + + B was a boastful old Bear + Who used to say,—"Hoomh! I declare + I can eat—if you'll get me + The children, and let me— + Ten babies, teeth, toenails and hair!" + + C was a Codfish who sighed + When snatched from the home of his pride, + But could he, embrined, + Guess this fragrance behind, + How glad he would be that he died! + + D was a dandified Dog + Who said,—"Though it's raining like fog + I wear no umbrellah, + Me boy, for a fellah + Might just as well travel incog!" + + E was an elderly Eel + Who would say,—"Well, I really feel— + As my grandchildren wriggle + And shout 'I should giggle'— + A trifle run down at the heel!" + + F was a Fowl who conceded + <i>Some</i> hens might hatch more eggs than <i>she</i> did,— + But she'd children as plenty + As eighteen or twenty, + And that was quite all that she needed. + + G was a gluttonous Goat + Who, dining one day, <i>table-d'hote,</i> + Ordered soup-bone, <i>au fait</i>, + And fish, <i>papier-mache</i>, + And a <i>filet</i> of Spring overcoat. + + H was a high-cultured Hound + Who could clear forty feet at a bound, + And a coon once averred + That his howl could be heard + For five miles and three-quarters around. + + I was an Ibex ambitious + To dive over chasms auspicious; + He would leap down a peak + And not light for a week, + And swear that the jump was delicious. + + J was a Jackass who said + He had such a bad cold in his head, + If it wasn't for leaving + The rest of us grieving, + He'd really rather be dead. + + K was a profligate Kite + Who would haunt the saloons every night; + And often he ust + To reel back to his roost + Too full to set up on it right. + + L was a wary old Lynx + Who would say,—"Do you know wot I thinks?— + I thinks ef you happen + To ketch me a-nappin' + I'm ready to set up the drinks!" + + M was a merry old Mole, + Who would snooze all the day in his hole, + Then—all night, a-rootin' + Around and galootin'— + He'd sing "Johnny, Fill up the Bowl!" + + N was a caustical Nautilus + Who sneered, "I suppose, when they've <i>caught</i> all us, + Like oysters they'll serve us, + And can us, preserve us, + And barrel, and pickle, and bottle us!" + + O was an autocrat Owl— + Such a wise—such a wonderful fowl! + Why, for all the night through + He would hoot and hoo-hoo, + And hoot and hoo-hooter and howl! + + P was a Pelican pet, + Who gobbled up all he could get; + He could eat on until + He was full to the bill, + And there he had lodgings to let! + + Q was a querulous Quail, + Who said: "It will little avail + The efforts of those + Of my foes who propose + To attempt to put salt on my tail!" + + R was a ring-tailed Raccoon, + With eyes of the tinge of the moon, + And his nose a blue-black, + And the fur on his back + A sad sort of sallow maroon. + + S is a Sculpin—you'll wish + Very much to have one on your dish, + Since all his bones grow + On the outside, and so + He's a very desirable fish. + + T was a Turtle, of wealth, + Who went round with particular stealth,— + "Why," said he, "I'm afraid + Of being waylaid + When I even walk out for my health!" + + U was a Unicorn curious, + With one horn, of a growth so <i>luxurious</i>, + He could level and stab it— + If you didn't grab it— + Clean through you, he was so blamed furious! + + V was a vagabond Vulture + Who said: "I don't want to insult yer, + But when you intrude + Where in lone solitude + I'm a-preyin', you're no man o' culture!" + + W was a wild <i>Wood</i>chuck, + And you can just bet that he <i>could</i> "chuck" + He'd eat raw potatoes, + Green corn, and tomatoes, + And tree roots, and call it all "<i>good</i> chuck!" + + X was a kind of X-cuse + Of a some-sort-o'-thing that got loose + Before we could name it, + And cage it, and tame it, + And bring it in general use. + + Y is the Yellowbird,—bright + As a petrified lump of star-light, + Or a handful of lightning- + Bugs, squeezed in the tight'ning + Pink fist of a boy, at night. + + Z is the Zebra, of course!— + A kind of a clown-of-a-horse,— + Each other despising, + Yet neither devising + A way to obtain a divorce! + + & here is the famous—what-is-it? + Walk up, Master Billy, and quiz it: + You've seen the <i>rest</i> of 'em— + Ain't this the <i>best</i> of 'em, + Right at the end of your visit? +</pre> + <p> + At last Billy is sent off to bed. It is the prudent mandate of the old + folks: But so lothfully the poor child goes, Bob's heart goes, too.—Yes, + Bob himself, to keep the little fellow company awhile, and, up there under + the old rafters, in the pleasant gloom, lull him to famous dreams with + fairy tales. And it is during this brief absence that the youngest Mills + girl gives us a surprise. She will read a poem, she says, written by a + very dear friend of hers who, fortunately for us, is not present to + prevent her. We guard door and window as she reads. Doc says she will not + listen; but she does listen, and cries, too—out of pure vexation, + she asserts. The rest of us, however, cry just because of the apparent + honesty of the poem of— + </p> + <h3> + BEAUTIFUL HANDS. + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + O your hands—they are strangely fair! + Fair—for the jewels that sparkle there,— + Fair—for the witchery of the spell + That ivory keys alone can tell; + But when their delicate touches rest + Here in my own do I love them best, + As I clasp with eager acquisitive spans + My glorious treasure of beautiful hands! + + Marvelous—wonderful—beautiful hands! + They can coax roses to bloom in the strands + Of your brown tresses; and ribbons will twine, + Under mysterious touches of thine, + Into such knots as entangle the soul, + And fetter the heart under such a control + As only the strength of my love understands— + My passionate love for your beautiful hands. + + As I remember the first fair touch + Of those beautiful hands that I love so much, + I seem to thrill as I then was thrilled, + Kissing the glove that I found unfilled— + When I met your gaze, and the queenly bow, + As you said to me, laughingly, "Keep it now!" + And dazed and alone in a dream I stand + Kissing this ghost of your beautiful hand. + + When first I loved, in the long ago, + And held your hand as I told you so— + Pressed and caressed it and gave it a kiss, + And said "I could die fora hand like this!" + Little I dreamed love's fulness yet + Had to ripen when eyes were wet, + And prayers were vain in their wild demands + For one warm touch of your beautiful hands. + + Beautiful Hands! O Beautiful Hands! + Could you reach out of the alien lands + Where you are lingering, and give me, to-night, + Only a touch—were it ever so light— + My heart were soothed, and my weary brain + Would lull itself into rest again; + For there is no solace the world commands + Like the caress of your beautiful hands. + +</pre> + <hr /> + <p> + Violently winking at the mist that blurs my sight, I regretfully awaken to + the here and now. And is it possible, I sorrowfully muse, that all this + glory can have fled away?—that more than twenty long, long years are + spread between me and that happy night? And is it possible that all the + dear old faces—O, quit it! quit it! Gather the old scraps up and wad + 'em back into oblivion, where they belong! + </p> + <p> + Yes, but be calm—be calm! Think of cheerful things. You are not all + alone. <i>Billy</i>'s living yet. + </p> + <p> + I know—and six feet high—and sag-shouldered—and owns a + tin and stove-store, and can't hear thunder! <i>Billy!</i> + </p> + <p> + And the youngest Mills girl—she's alive, too. + </p> + <p> + S'pose I don't know that? I married her! + </p> + <p> + And Doc.— + </p> + <p> + <i>Bob</i> married her. Been in California for more than fifteen years—on + some blasted cattle-ranch, or something,—and he's worth a half a + million! And am I less prosperous with this gilded roll? + </p> + <div style="height: 6em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Pipes O'Pan at Zekesbury, by James Whitcomb Riley + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PIPES O'PAN AT ZEKESBURY *** + +***** This file should be named 13908-h.htm or 13908-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/3/9/0/13908/ + +Etext produced by Curtis A. Weyant, Project Manager, Keith M. Eckrich, +Post-Processor, and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed +Proofreading Team + +HTML file produced by David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at +https://gutenberg.org/license). + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" +or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation web page at https://www.pglaf.org. + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at +https://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at +809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email +business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact +information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official +page at https://pglaf.org + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit https://pglaf.org + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including including checks, online payments and credit card +donations. To donate, please visit: https://pglaf.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + https://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + +*** END: FULL LICENSE *** + + + +</pre> + </body> +</html> diff --git a/old/13908.txt b/old/13908.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..0e33b5b --- /dev/null +++ b/old/13908.txt @@ -0,0 +1,6029 @@ +Project Gutenberg's Pipes O'Pan at Zekesbury, by James Whitcomb Riley + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Pipes O'Pan at Zekesbury + +Author: James Whitcomb Riley + +Release Date: October 31, 2004 [EBook #13908] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PIPES O'PAN AT ZEKESBURY *** + + + + +Produced by Curtis A. Weyant, Project Manager, Keith M. Eckrich, +Post-Processor, and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed +Proofreading Team + + + + + + +PIPES O' PAN AT ZEKESBURY + +BY + +JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY + + + +INDIANAPOLIS + +BOWEN-MERRILL CO., PUBLISHERS + +1895 + + + + + +_TO MY BROTHER JOHN A. RILEY WITH MANY MEMORIES OF THE OLD HOME_ + + +CONTENTS + + PAGE + + +AT ZEKESBURY 13 + +DOWN AROUND THE RIVER POEMS + + DOWN AROUND THE RIVER 37 + + KNEELING WITH HERRICK 39 + + ROMANCIN' 40 + + HAS SHE FORGOTTEN 43 + + A' OLD PLAYED-OUT SONG 45 + + THE LOST PATH 47 + + THE LITTLE TINY KICKSHAW 48 + + HIS MOTHER 49 + + KISSING THE ROD 50 + + HOW IT HAPPENED 51 + + BABYHOOD 53 + + THE DAYS GONE BY 54 + + MRS. MILLER 57 + +RHYMES OF RAINY DAYS + + THE TREE-TOAD 79 + + A WORN-OUT PENCIL 80 + + THE STEPMOTHER 82 + + THE RAIN 83 + + THE LEGEND GLORIFIED 84 + + WHUR MOTHER IS 85 + + OLD MAN'S NURSERY RHYME 86 + + THREE DEAD FRIENDS 88 + + IN BOHEMIA 91 + + IN THE DARK 93 + + WET-WEATHER TALK 94 + + WHERE SHALL WE LAND 96 + + AN OLD SETTLER'S STORY 101 + +SWEET-KNOT AND GALAMUS + + AN OLD SWEETHEART 159 + + MARTHY ELLEN 161 + + MOON-DROWNED 163 + + LONG AFORE HE KNOWED 164 + + DEAR HANDS 166 + + THIS MAN JONES 167 + + TO MY GOOD MASTER 169 + + WHEN THE GREEN GITS BACK 170 + + AT BROAD RIPPLE 171 + + WHEN OLD JACK DIED 172 + + DOC SIFERS 174 + + AT NOON--AND MIDNIGHT 177 + + A WILD IRISHMAN 181 + +RAGWEED AND FENNEL + + WHEN MY DREAMS COME TRUE 205 + + A DOS'T O' BLUES 206 + + THE BAT 208 + + THE WAY IT WUZ 209 + + THE DRUM 212 + + TOM JOHNSON'S QUIT 214 + + LULLABY 216 + + IN THE SOUTH 217 + + THE OLD HOME BY THE MILL 219 + + A LEAVE-TAKING 221 + + WAIT FOR THE MORNING 222 + + WHEN JUNE IS HERE 223 + + THE GILDED ROLL 227 + + + + +PIPES O' PAN AT ZEKESBURY + + + + The pipes of Pan! Not idler now are they + Than when their cunning fashioner first blew + The pith of music from them: Yet for you + And me their notes are blown in many a way + Lost in our murmurings for that old day + That fared so well, without us.--Waken to + The pipings here at hand:--The clear halloo + Of truant-voices, and the roundelay + The waters warble in the solitude + Of blooming thickets, where the robin's breast + Sends up such ecstacy o'er dale and dell, + Each tree top answers, till in all the wood + There lingers not one squirrel in his nest + Whetting his hunger on an empty shell. + + + + +AT ZEKESBURY. + + + +The little town, as I recall it, was of just enough dignity and dearth +of the same to be an ordinary county seat in Indiana--"The Grand Old +Hoosier State," as it was used to being howlingly referred to by the +forensic stump orator from the old stand in the courthouse yard--a +political campaign being the wildest delight that Zekesbury might ever +hope to call its own. + +Through years the fitful happenings of the town and its vicinity went +on the same--the same! Annually about one circus ventured in, and +vanished, and was gone, even as a passing trumpet-blast; the usual +rainy-season swelled the "Crick," the driftage choking at "the covered +bridge," and backing water till the old road looked amphibious; and +crowds of curious townsfolk straggled down to look upon the watery +wonder, and lean awe-struck above it, and spit in it, and turn mutely +home again. + +The usual formula of incidents peculiar to an uneventful town and its +vicinity: The countryman from "Jessup's Crossing," with the cornstalk +coffin-measure, loped into town, his steaming little +gray-and-red-flecked "roadster" gurgitating, as it were, with that +mysterious utterance that ever has commanded and ever must evoke the +wonder and bewilderment of every boy. The small-pox rumor became +prevalent betimes, and the subtle aroma of the assafoetida-bag +permeated the graded schools "from turret to foundation-stone;" the +still recurring exposé of the poor-house management; the farm-hand, +with the scythe across his shoulder, struck dead by lightning; the +long-drawn quarrel between the rival editors culminating in one of +them assaulting the other with a "sidestick," and the other kicking +the one down stairs and thenceward _ad libitum;_ the tramp, +suppositiously stealing a ride, found dead on the railroad; the grand +jury returning a sensational indictment against a bar-tender _non +est_; the Temperance outbreak; the "Revival;" the Church Festival; and +the "Free Lectures on Phrenology, and Marvels of Mesmerism," at the +town hall. It was during the time of the last-mentioned sensation, and +directly through this scientific investigation, that I came upon two +of the town's most remarkable characters. And however meager my +outline of them may prove, my material for the sketch is most accurate +in every detail, and no deviation from the cold facts of the case +shall influence any line of my report. + +For some years prior to this odd experience I had been connected with +a daily paper at the state capitol; and latterly a prolonged session +of the legislature, where I specially reported, having told +threateningly upon my health, I took both the advantage of a brief +vacation, and the invitation of a young bachelor Senator, to get out +of the city for awhile, and bask my respiratory organs in the +revivifying rural air of Zekesbury--the home of my new friend. + +"It'll pay you to get out here," he said, cordially, meeting me at the +little station, "and I'm glad you've come, for you'll find no end of +odd characters to amuse you." And under the very pleasant sponsorship +of my senatorial friend, I was placed at once on genial terms with +half the citizens of the little town--from the shirt-sleeved nabob of +the county office to the droll wag of the favorite loafing-place--the +rules and by-laws of which resort, by the way, being rudely charcoaled +on the wall above the cutter's bench, and somewhat artistically +culminating in an original dialectic legend which ran thus: + + F'rinstance, now whar _some_ folks gits + To relyin' on their wits. + Ten to one they git too smart, + And spile it all right at the start!-- + Feller wants to jest go slow + And do his _thinkin'_ first, you know:---- + _Ef I can't think up somepin' good,_ + _I set still and chaw my cood!_ + +And it was at this inviting rendezvous, two or three evenings +following my arrival, that the general crowd, acting upon the random +proposition of one of the boys, rose as a man and wended its hilarious +way to the town hall. + +"Phrenology," said the little, old, bald-headed lecturer and +mesmerist, thumbing the egg-shaped head of a young man I remembered to +have met that afternoon in some law office; "Phrenology," repeated the +professor--"or rather the _term_ phrenology--is derived from two Greek +words signifying _mind_ and _discourse_; hence we find embodied in +phrenology-proper, the science of intellectual measurement, together +with the capacity of intelligent communication of the varying mental +forces and their flexibilities, etc., &c. The study, then, of +phrenology is, to wholly simplify it--is, I say, the general +contemplation of the workings of the mind as made manifest through the +certain corresponding depressions and protuberances of the human +skull, when, of course, in a healthy state of action and development, +as we here find the conditions exemplified in the subject before us." + +Here the "subject" vaguely smiled. + +"You recognize that mug, don't you?" whispered my friend. "It's that +coruscating young ass, you know, Hedrick--in Cummings' office--trying +to study law and literature at the same time, and tampering with 'The +Monster that Annually,' don't you know?--where we found the two young +students scuffling round the office, and smelling of +peppermint?--Hedrick, you know, and Sweeney. Sweeney, the slim chap, +with the pallid face, and frog-eyes, and clammy hands! You remember I +told you 'there was a pair of 'em?' Well, they're up to something here +to-night. Hedrick, there on the stage in front; and Sweeney--don't you +see?--with the gang on the rear seats." + +"Phrenology--again," continued the lecturer, "is, we may say, a +species of mental geography, as it were; which--by a study of the +skull--leads also to a study of the brain within, even as geology +naturally follows the initial contemplation of the earth's surface. +The brain, thurfur, or intellectual retort, as we may say, natively +exerts a molding influence on the skull contour; thurfur is the expert +in phrenology most readily enabled to accurately locate the +multitudinous intellectual forces, and most exactingly estimate, as +well, the sequent character of each subject submitted to his scrutiny. +As, in the example before us--a young man, doubtless well known in +your midst, though, I may say, an entire stranger to myself--I venture +to disclose some characteristic trends and tendencies, as indicated by +this phrenological depression and development of the skull-proper, as +later we will show, through the mesmeric condition, the accuracy of +our mental diagnosis." + +Throughout the latter part of this speech my friend nudged me +spasmodically, whispering something which was jostled out of +intelligent utterance by some inward spasm of laughter. + +"In this head," said the Professor, straddling his malleable fingers +across the young man's bumpy brow--"In this head we find Ideality +large--abnormally large, in fact; thurby indicating--taken in +conjunction with a like development of the perceptive +qualities--language following, as well, in the prominent eye--thurby +indicating, I say, our subject as especially endowed with a love for +the beautiful--the sublime--the elevating--the refined and +delicate--the lofty and superb--in nature, and in all the sublimated +attributes of the human heart and beatific soul. In fact, we find this +young man possessed of such natural gifts as would befit him for the +exalted career of the sculptor, the actor, the artist, or the +poet--any ideal calling; in fact, any calling but a practical, +matter-of-fact vocation; though in poetry he would seem to best +succeed." + +"Well," said my friend, seriously, "he's _feeling_ for the boy!" Then +laughingly: "Hedrick _has_ written some rhymes for the county papers, +and Sweeney once introduced him, at an Old Settlers' Meeting, as 'The +Best Poet in Center Township,' and never cracked a smile! Always after +each other that way, but the best friends in the world. _Sweeney's_ +strong suit is elocution. He has a native ability that way by no means +ordinary, but even that gift he abuses and distorts simply to produce +grotesque, and oftentimes ridiculous effects. For instance, nothing +more delights him than to 'lothfully' consent to answer a request, at +The Mite Society, some evening, for 'an appropriate selection,' and +then, with an elaborate introduction of the same, and an exalted +tribute to the refined genius of the author, proceed with a most +gruesome rendition of 'Alonzo The Brave and The Fair Imogene,' in a +way to coagulate the blood and curl the hair of his fair listeners +with abject terror. Pale as a corpse, you know, and with that +cadaverous face, lit with those malignant-looking eyes, his slender +figure, and his long, thin legs and arms and hands, and his whole +diabolical talent and adroitness brought into play--why, I want to say +to you, it's enough to scare 'em to death! Never a smile from him, +though, till he and Hedrick are safe out into the night again--then, +of course, they hug each other and howl over it like Modocs! But +pardon; I'm interrupting the lecture. Listen." + +"A lack of continuity, however," continued the Professor, "and an +undue love of approbation, would, measurably, at least, tend to retard +the young man's progress toward the consummation of any loftier +ambition, I fear; yet as we have intimated, if the subject were +appropriately educated to the need's demand, he could doubtless +produce a high order of both prose and poetry--especially the +latter--though he could very illy bear being laughed at for his +pains." + +"He's dead wrong there," said my friend; "Hedrick enjoys being laughed +at; he 's used to it--gets fat on it!" + +"He is fond of his friends," continued the Professor "and the heartier +they are the better; might even be convivially inclined--if so +tempted--but prudent--in a degree," loiteringly concluded the speaker, +as though unable to find the exact bump with which to bolster up the +last named attribute. + +The subject blushed vividly--my friend's right eyelid dropped, and +there was a noticeable, though elusive sensation throughout the +audience. + +"_But!_" said the Professor, explosively, "selecting a directly +opposite subject, in conjunction with the study of the one before us +[turning to the group at the rear of the stage and beckoning], we may +find a newer interest in the practical comparison of these subjects +side by side." And the Professor pushed a very pale young man into +position. + +"Sweeney!" whispered my friend, delightedly; "now look out!" + +"In _this_ subject," said the Professor, "we find the practical +business head. Square--though small--a trifle light at the base, in +fact; but well balanced at the important points at least; thoughtful +eyes--wide-awake--crafty--quick--restless--a policy eye, though not +denoting language--unless, perhaps, mere business forms and direct +statements." + +"Fooled again!" whispered my friend; "and I'm afraid the old man will +fail to nest out the fact also that Sweeney is the cold-bloodedest +guyer on the face of the earth, and with more diabolical resources +than a prosecuting attorney; the Professor ought to know this, too, by +this time--for these same two chaps have been visiting the old man in +his room at the hotel;--that's what I was trying to tell you awhile +ago. The old sharp thinks he's 'playing' the boys, is my idea; but +it's the other way, or I lose my guess." + +"Now, under the mesmeric influence--if the two subjects will consent +to its administration," said the Professor, after some further tedious +preamble, "we may at once determine the fact of my assertions, as will +be proved by their action while in this peculiar state." Here some +apparent remonstrance was met with from both subjects, though amicably +overcome by the Professor first manipulating the stolid brow and +pallid front of the imperturbable Sweeney--after which the same +mysterious ordeal was lothfully submitted to by Hedrick--though a +noticeably longer time was consumed in securing his final loss of +self-control. At last, however, this curious phenomenon was presented, +and there before us stood the two swaying figures, the heads dropped +back, the lifted hands, with thumb and finger-tips pressed lightly +together, the eyelids languid and half closed, and the features, in +appearance, wan and humid. + +"Now, sir!" said the Professor, leading the limp Sweeney forward, and +addressing him in a quick, sharp tone of voice.--"Now, sir, you are a +great contractor--own large factories, and with untold business +interests. Just look out there! [pointing out across the expectant +audience] look there, and see the countless minions toiling servilely +at your dread mandates. And yet--ha! ha! See! see!--They recognize the +avaricious greed that would thus grind them in the very dust; they +see, alas! they see themselves half-clothed--half-fed, that you may +glut your coffers. Half-starved, they listen to the wail of wife and +babe, and, with eyes upraised in prayer, they see _you_ rolling by in +gilded coach, and swathed in silk attire. But--ha! again! Look--look! +they are rising in revolt against you! Speak to them before too late! +Appeal to them--quell them with the promise of the just advance of +wages they demand!" + +The limp figure of Sweeney took on something of a stately and majestic +air. With a graceful and commanding gesture of the hand, he advanced a +step or two; then, after a pause of some seconds duration, in which +the lifted face grew paler, as it seemed, and the eyes a denser black, +he said: + + "But yesterday + I looked away + O'er happy lands, where sunshine lay + In golden blots, + Inlaid with spots + Of shade and wild forget-me-nots." + +The voice was low, but clear, and ever musical. The Professor started +at the strange utterance, looked extremely confused, and, as the +boisterous crowd cried "Hear, hear!" he motioned the subject to +continue, with some gasping comment interjected, which, if audible, +would have run thus: "My God! It's an inspirational poem!" + + "My head was fair + With flaxen hair--" + +resumed the subject. + +"Yoop-ee!" yelled an irreverent auditor. + +"Silence! silence!" commanded the excited Professor in a hoarse +whisper; then, turning enthusiastically to the subject--"Go on, young +man! Go on!--'_Thy head-was fair-with flaxen hair_--'" + + "My head was fair + With flaxen hair, + And fragrant breezes, faint and rare, + And warm with drouth + From out the south, + Blew all my curls across my mouth." + +The speaker's voice, exquisitely modulated, yet resonant as the twang +of a harp, now seemed of itself to draw and hold each listener; while +a certain extravagance of gesticulation--a fantastic movement of both +form and feature--seemed very near akin to fascination. And so flowed +on the curious utterance: + + "And, cool and sweet, + My naked feet + Found dewy pathways through the wheat; + And out again + Where, down the lane, + The dust was dimpled with the rain." + +In the pause following there was a breathlessness almost painful. The +poem went on: + + "But yesterday + I heard the lay + Of summer birds, when I, as they + With breast and wing, + All quivering + With life and love, could only sing. + + "My head was leant, + Where, with it, blent + A maiden's, o'er her instrument; + While all the night, + From vale to height, + Was filled with echoes of delight. + + "And all our dreams + Were lit with gleams + Of that lost land of reedy streams, + Along whose brim + Forever swim + Pan's lilies, laughing up at him." + +And still the inspired singer held rapt sway. + +"It is wonderful!" I whispered, under breath. + +"Of course it is!" answered my friend. "But listen; there is more:" + + "But yesterday!... + O blooms of May, + And summer roses--Where-away? + O stars above; + And lips of love, + And all the honeyed sweets thereof! + + "O lad and lass. + And orchard-pass, + And briared lane, and daisied grass! + O gleam and gloom, + And woodland bloom, + And breezy breaths of all perfume!-- + + "No more for me + Or mine shall be + Thy raptures--save in memory,-- + No more--no more-- + Till through the Door + Of Glory gleam the days of yore." + +This was the evident conclusion of the remarkable utterance, and the +Professor was impetuously fluttering his hands about the subject's +upward-staring eyes, stroking his temples, and snapping his fingers in +his face. + +"Well," said Sweeney, as he stood suddenly awakened, and grinning in +an idiotic way, "how did the old thing work?" And it was in the +consequent hilarity and loud and long applause, perhaps, that the +Professor was relieved from the explanation of this rather astounding +phenomenon of the idealistic workings of a purely practical brain--or, +as my impious friend scoffed the incongruity later, in a particularly +withering allusion, as the "blank-blanked fallacy, don't you know, of +staying the hunger of a howling mob by feeding 'em on Spring poetry!" + +The tumult of the audience did not cease even with the retirement of +Sweeney, and cries of "Hedrick! Hedrick!" only subsided with the +Professor's high-keyed announcement that the subject was even then +endeavoring to make himself heard, but could not until utter quiet was +restored, adding the further appeal that the young man had already +been a long time under the mesmeric spell, and ought not be so +detained for an unnecessary period. "See," he concluded, with an +assuring wave of the hand toward the subject, "see; he is about to +address you. Now, quiet!--utter quiet, if you please!" + +"Great heavens!" exclaimed my friend, stiflingly; "Just look at the +boy! Get onto that position for a poet! Even Sweeney has fled from the +sight of him!" + +And truly, too, it was a grotesque pose the young man had assumed; not +wholly ridiculous either, since the dwarfed position he had settled +into seemed more a genuine physical condition than an affected one. +The head, back-tilted, and sunk between the shoulders, looked +abnormally large, while the features of the face appeared peculiarly +child-like--especially the eyes--wakeful and wide apart, and very +bright, yet very mild and very artless; and the drawn and cramped +outline of the legs and feet, and of the arms and hands, even to the +shrunken, slender-looking fingers, all combined to most strikingly +convey to the pained senses the fragile frame and pixey figure of some +pitiably afflicted child, unconscious altogether of the pathos of its +own deformity. + +"Now, mark the kuss, Horatio!" gasped my friend. + +At first the speaker's voice came very low, and somewhat piping, too, +and broken--an eerie sort of voice it was, of brittle and erratic +_timbre_ and undulant inflection. Yet it was beautiful. It had the +ring of childhood in it, though the ring was not pure golden, and at +times fell echoless. The _spirit_ of its utterance was always clear +and pure and crisp and cheery as the twitter of a bird, and yet +forever ran an undercadence through it like a low-pleading prayer. +Half garrulously, and like a shallow brook might brawl across a shelvy +bottom, the rhythmic little changeling thus began: + + "I'm thist a little crippled boy, an' never goin' to grow + An' git a great big man at all!--'cause Aunty told me so. + When I was thist a baby one't I falled out of the bed + An' got 'The Curv'ture of the Spine'--'at's what the Doctor said. + I never had no Mother nen--far my Pa run away + An' dassn't come back here no more--'cause he was drunk one day + An' stobbed a man in thish-ere town, an' couldn't pay his fine! + An' nen my Ma she died--an' I got 'Curv'ture of the Spine!'" + +A few titterings from the younger people in the audience marked the +opening stanza, while a certain restlessness, and a changing to more +attentive positions seemed the general tendency. The old Professor, in +the meantime, had sunk into one of the empty chairs. The speaker went +on with more gaiety: + + "I'm nine years old! An' you can't guess how much I weigh, I bet!-- + Last birthday I weighed thirty-three!--An' I weigh thirty yet! + I'm awful little far my size--I'm purt' nigh littler 'an + Some babies is!--an' neighbors all calls me 'The Little Man!' + An' Doc one time he laughed an' said: 'I 'spect, first thing you + know, + You'll have a little spike-tail coat an' travel with a show!' + An' nen I laughed--till I looked round an' Aunty was a-cryin'-- + Sometimes she acts like that, 'cause I got 'Curv'ture of the + Spine!'" + +Just in front of me a great broad-shouldered countryman, with a rainy +smell in his cumbrous overcoat, cleared his throat vehemently, looked +startled at the sound, and again settled forward, his weedy chin +resting on the knuckles of his hands as they tightly clutched the seat +before him. And it was like being taken into a childish confidence as +the quaint speech continued: + + "I set--while Aunty's washin'--on my little long-leg stool, + An' watch the little boys an' girls 'a-skippin' by to school; + An' I peck on the winder, an' holler out an' say: + 'Who wants to fight The Little Man 'at dares you all to-day?' + An' nen the boys climbs on the fence, an' little girls peeks + through, + An' they all says: 'Cause you're so big, you think we're 'feared o' + you!' + An' nen they yell, an' shake their fist at me, like I shake mine-- + They're thist in fun, you know, 'cause I got 'Curv'ture of the + Spine!'" + +"Well," whispered my friend, with rather odd irrelevance, I thought, +"of course you see through the scheme of the fellows by this time, +don't you?" + +"I see nothing," said I, most earnestly, "but a poor little wisp of a +child that makes me love him so I dare not think of his dying soon, as +he surely must! There; listen!" And the plaintive gaiety of the homely +poem ran on: + + "At evening, when the ironin's done, an' Aunty's fixed the fire, + An' filled an' lit the lamp, an' trimmed the wick an' turned it + higher, + An' fetched the wood all in far night, an' locked the kitchen door, + An' stuffed the ole crack where the wind blows in up through the + floor-- + She sets the kittle on the coals, an' biles an' makes the tea, + An' fries the liver an' the mush, an' cooks a egg far me; + An' sometimes--when I cough so hard--her elderberry wine + Don't go so bad far little boys with 'Curv'ture of the Spine!'" + +"Look!" whispered my friend, touching me with his elbow. "Look at the +Professor!" + +"Look at everybody!" said I. And the artless little voice went on +again half quaveringly: + + "But Aunty's all so childish-like on my account, you see, + I'm 'most afeared she'll be took down--an' 'at's what bothers + _me!_-- + 'Cause ef my good ole Aunty ever would git sick an' die, + I don't know what she'd do in Heaven--till _I_ come, by an' by:-- + Far she's so ust to all my ways, an' ever'thing, you know, + An' no one there like me, to nurse, an' worry over so!-- + 'Cause all the little childerns there's so straight an' strong an' + fine, + They's nary angel 'bout the place with 'Curv'ture of the Spine!'" + +The old Professor's face was in his handkerchief; so was my friend's +in his; and so was mine in mine, as even now my pen drops and I reach +for it again. + +I half regret joining the mad party that had gathered an hour later in +the old law-office where these two graceless characters held almost +nightly revel, the instigators and conniving hosts of a reputed +banquet whose _menu's_ range confined itself to herrings, or "blind +robins," dried beef, and cheese, with crackers, gingerbread, and +sometimes pie; the whole washed down with anything but + + "----Wines that heaven knows when + Had sucked the fire of some forgotten sun, + And kept it through a hundred years of gloom + Still glowing in a heart of ruby." + +But the affair was memorable. The old Professor was himself lured into +it, and loudest in his praise of Hedrick's realistic art; and I yet +recall him at the orgie's height, excitedly repulsing the continued +slurs and insinuations of the clammy-handed Sweeney, who, still +contending against the old man's fulsome praise of his more fortunate +rival, at last openly declared that Hedrick was _not_ a poet, _not_ a +genius, and in no way worthy to be classed in the same breath with +_himself_--"the gifted but unfortunate _Sweeney_, sir--the +unacknowledged author, sir--'y gad, sir!--of the two poems that held +you spell-bound to-night!" + + + + +DOWN AROUND THE RIVER POEMS + + + + +DOWN AROUND THE RIVER. + + + + Noon-time and June-time, down around the river! + Have to furse with 'Lizey Ann--but lawzy! I fergive her! + Drives me off the place, and says 'at all 'at she's a-wishin', + Land o' gracious! time'll come I'll git enough o' fishin'! + Little Dave, a-choppin' wood, never 'pears to notice; + Don't know where she's hid his hat, er keerin' where his coat is,-- + Specalatin', more 'n like, he haint a-goin' to mind me, + And guessin' where, say twelve o'clock, a feller'd likely find me. + + Noon-time and June-time, down around the river! + Clean out o' sight o' home, and skulkin' under kivver + Of the sycamores, jack-oaks, and swamp-ash and ellum-- + Idies all so jumbled up, you kin hardly tell 'em!-- + _Tired_, you know, but _lovin'_ it, and smilin' jest to think 'at + Any sweeter tiredness you'd fairly want to _drink_ it. + Tired o' fishin'--tired o' fun--line out slack and slacker-- + All you want in all the world's a little more tobacker! + + Hungry, but _a-hidin'_ it, er jes' a-not a-keerin':- + Kingfisher gittin' up and skootin' out o' hearin'; + Snipes on the t'other side, where the County Ditch is, + Wadin' up and down the aidge like they'd rolled their britches! + Old turkle on the root kindo-sorto drappin' + Intoo th' worter like he don't know how it happen! + Worter, shade and all so mixed, don't know which you'd orter + Say, th' _worter_ in the shadder--_shadder_ in the _worter!_ + + Somebody hollerin'--'way around the bend in + Upper Fork--where yer eye kin jes' ketch the endin' + Of the shiney wedge o' wake some muss-rat's a-makin' + With that pesky nose o' his! Then a sniff o' bacon, + Corn-bread and 'dock-greens--and little Dave a-shinnin' + 'Crost the rocks and mussel-shells, a-limpin' and a-grinnin', + With yer dinner far ye, and a blessin' from the giver. + Noon-time and June-time down around the river! + + + + +KNEELING WITH HERRICK. + + + + Dear Lord, to Thee my knee is bent.-- + Give me content-- + Full-pleasured with what comes to me, + What e'er it be: + An humble roof--a frugal board, + And simple hoard; + The wintry fagot piled beside + The chimney wide, + While the enwreathing flames up-sprout + And twine about + The brazen dogs that guard my hearth + And household worth: + Tinge with the ember's ruddy glow + The rafters low; + And let the sparks snap with delight, + As ringers might + That mark deft measures of some tune + The children croon: + Then, with good friends, the rarest few + Thou holdest true, + Ranged round about the blaze, to share + My comfort there,-- + Give me to claim the service meet + That makes each seat + A place of honor, and each guest + Loved as the rest. + + + + +ROMANCIN'. + + + + I' b'en a-kindo musin', as the feller says, and I'm + About o' the conclusion that they ain't no better time, + When you come to cipher on it, than the times we used to know + When we swore our first "dog-gone-it" sorto solem'-like and low! + + You git my idy, do you?--_Little_ tads, you understand-- + Jes' a wishin' thue and thue you that you on'y was a _man_.-- + Yit here I am, this minute, even forty, to a day, + And fergittin' all that's in it, wishin' jes' the other way! + + I hain't no hand to lectur' on the times, er dimonstrate + Whur the trouble is, er hector and domineer with Fate,-- + But when I git so flurried, and so pestered-like and blue, + And so rail owdacious worried, let me tell you what I do!-- + + I jes' gee-haw the hosses, and unhook the swingle-tree, + Whur the hazel-bushes tosses down their shadders over me, + And I draw my plug o' navy, and I climb the fence, and set + Jes' a-thinkin' here, 'y gravy! till my eyes is wringin'-wet! + + Tho' I still kin see the trouble o' the _present_, I kin see-- + Kindo like my sight was double--all the things that _used to be_; + And the flutter o' the robin, and the teeter o' the wren + Sets the willer branches bobbin "howdy-do" thum Now to Then! + + The deadnin' and the thicket's jes' a bilin' full of June, + Thum the rattle o' the cricket, to the yallar-hammer's tune; + And the catbird in the bottom, and the sap-suck on the snag, + Seems ef they cain't--od-rot'em!--jes' do nothin' else but brag! + + They's music in the twitter of the bluebird and the jay, + And that sassy little critter jes' a-peckin' all the day; + They's music in the "flicker," and they's music in the thrush, + And they's music in the snicker o' the chipmunk in the brush! + + They's music _all around_ me!--And I go back, in a dream-- + Sweeter yit than ever found me fast asleep--and in the stream + That used to split the medder whur the dandylions growed, + I stand knee-deep, and redder than the sunset down the road. + + Then's when I' b'en a-fishin'!--and they's other fellers, too, + With their hickry poles a-swishin' out behind 'em; and a few + Little "shiners" on our stringers, with their tails tiptoein' bloom, + As we dance 'em in our fingers all the happy journey home. + + I kin see us, true to Natur', thum the time we started out + With a biscuit and a 'tater in our little "roundabout!" + I kin see our lines a-tanglin', and our elbows in a jam, + And our naked legs a-danglin' thum the apern of the dam. + + I kin see the honeysuckle climbin' up around the mill; + And kin hear the worter chuckle, and the wheel a-growlin' still; + And thum the bank below it I kin steal the old canoe, + And jes' git in and row it like the miller used to do. + + W'y, I git my fancy focussed on the past so mortal plain + I kin even smell the locus'-blossoms bloomin' in the lane; + And I hear the cow-bells clinkin' sweeter tunes 'n "money musk" + Far the lightnin'-bugs a-blinkin'and a-dancin'in the dusk. + + And so I keep on musin', as the feller says, till I'm + Firm-fixed in the conclusion that they hain't no better time, + When you come to cipher on it, than the _old_ times,--and, I swear, + I kin wake and say "dog-gone-it!" jes' as soft as any prayer! + + + + +HAS SHE FORGOTTEN. + + + +I. + + Has she forgotten? On this very May + We were to meet here, with the birds and bees, + As on that Sabbath, underneath the trees + We strayed among the tombs, and stripped away + The vines from these old granites, cold and gray-- + And yet, indeed, not grim enough were they + To stay our kisses, smiles and ecstacies, + Or closer voice-lost vows and rhapsodies. + Has she forgotten--that the May has won + Its promise?--that the bird-songs from the tree + Are sprayed above the grasses as the sun + Might jar the dazzling dew down showeringly? + Has she forgotten life--love--everyone-- + Has she forgotten me--forgotten me? + + + +II. + + Low, low down in the violets I press + My lips and whisper to her. Does she hear, + And yet hold silence, though I call her dear, + Just as of old, save for the tearfulness + Of the clenched eyes, and the soul's vast distress? + Has she forgotten thus the old caress + That made our breath a quickened atmosphere + That failed nigh unto swooning with the sheer + Delight? Mine arms clutch now this earthen heap + Sodden with tears that flow on ceaselessly + As autumn rains the long, long, long nights weep + In memory of days that used to be,-- + Has she forgotten these? And, in her sleep, + Has she forgotten me--forgotten me? + + + +III. + + To-night, against my pillow, with shut eyes, + I mean to weld our faces--through the dense + Incalculable darkness make pretense + That she has risen from her reveries + To mate her dreams with mine in marriages + Of mellow palms, smooth faces, and tense ease + Of every longing nerve of indolence,-- + Lift from the grave her quiet lips, and stun + My senses with her kisses--drawl the glee + Of her glad mouth, full blithe and tenderly, + Across mine own, forgetful if is done + The old love's awful dawn-time when said we, + "To-day is ours!".... Ah, Heaven! can it be + She has forgotten me--forgotten me! + + + + +A' OLD PLAYED-OUT SONG. + + + + It's the curiousest thing in creation, + Whenever I hear that old song, + "Do They Miss Me at Home?" I'm so bothered, + My life seems as short as it's long!-- + Far ever'thing 'pears like adzackly + It 'peared, in the years past and gone,-- + When I started out sparkin', at twenty, + And had my first neckercher on! + + Though I'm wrinkelder, older and grayer + Right now than my parents was then, + You strike up that song, "Do They Miss Me?" + And I'm jest a youngster again!-- + I'm a-standin' back there in the furries + A-wishin' far evening to come, + And a-whisperin' over and over + Them words, "Do They Miss Me at Home?" + + You see, Marthy Ellen she sung it + The first time I heerd it; and so, + As she was my very first sweetheart, + It reminds of her, don't you know,-- + How her face ust to look, in the twilight, + As I tuck her to spellin'; and she + Kep' a-hummin' that song 'tel I ast her, + Pine-blank, ef she ever missed me! + + I can shet my eyes now, as you sing it, + And hear her low answerin' words, + And then the glad chirp of the crickets + As clear as the twitter of birds; + And the dust in the road is like velvet, + And the ragweed, and fennel, and grass + Is as sweet as the scent of the lilies + Of Eden of old, as we pass. + + "Do They Miss Me at Home?" Sing it lower-- + And softer--and sweet as the breeze + That powdered our path with the snowy + White bloom of the old locus'-trees! + Let the whippoorwills he'p you to sing it, + And the echoes 'way over the hill, + 'Tel the moon boolges out, in a chorus + Of stars, and our voices is still. + + But, oh! "They's a chord in the music + That's missed when _her_ voice is away!" + Though I listen from midnight 'tel morning, + And dawn, 'tel the dusk of the day; + And I grope through the dark, lookin' up'ards + And on through the heavenly dome, + With my longin' soul singin' and sobbin' + The words, "Do They Miss Me at Home?" + + + + +THE LOST PATH. + + + + Alone they walked--their fingers knit together, + And swaying listlessly as might a swing + Wherein Dan Cupid dangled in the weather + Of some sun-flooded afternoon of Spring. + + Within the clover-fields the tickled cricket + Laughed lightly as they loitered down the lane, + And from the covert of the hazel-thicket + The squirrel peeped and laughed at them again. + + The bumble-bee that tipped the lily-vases + Along the road-side in the shadows dim, + Went following the blossoms of their faces + As though their sweets must needs be shared with him. + + Between the pasture bars the wondering cattle + Stared wistfully, and from their mellow bells + Shook out a welcoming whose dreamy rattle + Fell swooningly away in faint farewells. + + And though at last the gloom of night fell o'er them, + And folded all the landscape from their eyes, + They only know the dusky path before them + Was leading safely on to Paradise. + + + + +THE LITTLE TINY KICKSHAW. + + + + "--_And any little tiny kickshaws_."--Shakespeare. + + + + O the little tiny kickshaw that Mither sent tae me, + 'Tis sweeter than the sugar-plum that reepens on the tree, + Wi' denty flavorin's o' spice an' musky rosemarie, + The little tiny kickshaw that Mither sent tae me. + + 'Tis luscious wi' the stalen tang o' fruits frae ower the sea, + An' e'en its fragrance gars we laugh wi' langin' lip an' ee, + Till a' its frazen sheen o' white maun melten hinnie be-- + Sae weel I luve the kickshaw that Mither sent tae me. + + O I luve the tiny kickshaw, an' I smack my lips wi' glee, + Aye mickle do I luve the taste o' sic a luxourie, + But maist I luve the luvein' han's that could the giftie gie + O' the little tiny kickshaw that Mither sent tae me. + + + + +HIS MOTHER. + + + + DEAD! my wayward boy--_my own_-- + Not _the Law's!_ but _mine_--the good + God's free gift to me alone, + Sanctified by motherhood. + + "Bad," you say: Well, who is not? + "Brutal"--"with a heart of stone"-- + And "red-handed."--Ah! the hot + Blood upon your own! + + I come not, with downward eyes, + To plead for him shamedly,-- + God did not apologize + When He gave the boy to me. + + Simply, I make ready now + For _His_ verdict.--_You_ prepare-- + You have killed us both--and how + Will you face us There! + + + + +KISSING THE ROD. + + + + O heart of mine, we shouldn't + Worry so! + What we've missed of calm we couldn't + Have, you know! + What we've met of stormy pain, + And of sorrow's driving rain, + We can better meet again, + If it blow! + + We have erred in that dark hour + We have known, + When our tears fell with the shower, + All alone!-- + Were not shine and shadow blent + As the gracious Master meant?-- + Let us temper our content + With His own. + + For, we know, not every morrow + Can be sad; + So, forgetting all the sorrow + We have had, + Let us fold away our fears, + And put by our foolish tears, + And through all the coming years + Just be glad. + + + + +HOW IT HAPPENED. + + + + I got to thinkin' of her--both her parents dead and gone-- + And all her sisters married off, and none but her and John + A-livin' all alone there in that lonesome sort o' way, + And him a blame old bachelor, confirmder ev'ry day! + I'd knowed 'em all from childern, and their daddy from the time + He settled in the neighborhood, and had n't ary a dime + Er dollar, when he married, far to start housekeepin' on!-- + So I got to thinkin' of her--both her parents dead and gone! + + I got to thinkin' of her; and a-wundern what she done + That all her sisters kep' a gittin' married, one by one, + And her without no chances--and the best girl of the pack-- + An old maid, with her hands, you might say, tied behind her back! + And Mother, too, afore she died, she ust to jes' take on, + When none of 'em was left, you know, but Evaline and John, + And jes' declare to goodness 'at the young men must be bline + To not see what a wife they 'd git if they got Evaline! + + I got to thinkin' of her; in my great affliction she + Was sich a comfert to us, and so kind and neighberly,-- + She 'd come, and leave her housework, far to be'p out little Jane, + And talk of _her own_ mother 'at she 'd never see again-- + Maybe sometimes cry together--though, far the most part she + Would have the child so riconciled and happy-like 'at we + Felt lonesomer 'n ever when she 'd put her bonnet on + And say she 'd railly haf to be a-gittin' back to John! + + I got to thinkin' of her, as I say,--and more and more + I'd think of her dependence, and the burdens 'at she bore,-- + Her parents both a-bein' dead, and all her sisters gone + And married off, and her a-livin' there alone with John-- + You might say jes' a-toilin' and a-slavin' out her life + Far a man 'at hadn't pride enough to git hisse'f a wife-- + 'Less some one married _Evaline_, and packed her off some day!-- + So I got to thinkin' of her--and it happened thataway. + + + + +BABYHOOD. + + + + Heigh-ho! Babyhood! Tell me where you linger: + Let's toddle home again, for we have gone astray; + Take this eager hand of mine and lead me by the finger + Back to the Lotus lands of the far-away. + + Turn back the leaves of life; don't read the story,-- + Let's find the _pictures_, and fancy all the rest:-- + We can fill the written pages with a brighter glory + Than Old Time, the story-teller, at his very best! + + Turn to the brook, where the honeysuckle, tipping + O'er its vase of perfume spills it on the breeze, + And the bee and humming-bird in ecstacy are sipping + From the fairy flagons of the blooming locust trees. + + Turn to the lane, where we used to "teeter-totter," + Printing little foot-palms in the mellow mold, + Laughing at the lazy cattle wading in the water + Where the ripples dimple round the buttercups of gold: + + Where the dusky turtle lies basking on the gravel + Of the sunny sandbar in the middle-tide, + And the ghostly dragonfly pauses in his travel + To rest like a blossom where the water-lily died. + + Heigh-ho! Babyhood! Tell me where you linger: + Let's toddle home again, for we have gone astray; + Take this eager hand of mine and lead me by the finger + Back to the Lotus lands of the far-away. + + + + +THE DAYS GONE BY. + + + + O the days gone by! O the days gone by! + The apples in the orchard, and the pathway through the rye; + The chirrup of the robin, and the whistle of the quail + As he piped across the meadows sweet as any nightingale; + When the bloom was on the clover, and the blue was in the sky, + And my happy heart brimmed over in the days gone by. + + In the days gone by, when my naked feet were tripped + By the honey-suckle's tangles where the water-lilies dipped, + And the ripples of the river lipped the moss along the brink + Where the placid-eyed and lazy-footed cattle came to drink, + And the tilting snipe stood fearless of the truant's wayward cry + And the splashing of the swimmer, in the days gone by. + + O the days gone by! O the days gone by! + The music of the laughing lip, the luster of the eye; + The childish faith in fairies, and Aladdin's magic ring-- + The simple, soul-reposing, glad belief in everything,-- + When life was like a story, holding neither sob nor sigh, + In the golden olden glory of the days gone by. + + + + +MRS. MILLER + + + +John B. McKinney, Attorney and Counselor at Law, as his sign read, +was, for many reasons, a fortunate man. For many other reasons he was +not. He was chiefly fortunate in being, as certain opponents often +strove to witheringly designate him, "the son of his father," since +that sound old gentleman was the wealthiest farmer in that section, +with but one son and heir to, in time, supplant him in the role of +"county god," and haply perpetuate the prouder title of "the biggest +tax-payer on the assessment list." And this fact, too, fortunate as it +would seem, was doubtless the indirect occasion of a liberal +percentage of all John's misfortunes. From his earliest school-days in +the little town, up to his tardy graduation from a distant college, +the influence of his father's wealth invited his procrastination, +humored its results, encouraged the laxity of his ambition, "and even +now," as John used, in bitter irony, to put it, "it is aiding and +abetting me in the ostensible practice of my chosen profession, a +listless, aimless undetermined man of forty, and a confirmed bachelor +at that!" At the utterance of this self-depreciating statement, John +generally jerked his legs down from the top of his desk; and, rising +and kicking his chair back to the wall, he would stump around his +littered office till the manilla carpet steamed with dust. Then he +would wildly break away, seeking refuge either in the open street, or +in his room at the old-time tavern, The Eagle House, "where," he would +say, "I have lodged and boarded, I do solemnly asseverate, for a long, +unbroken, middle-aged eternity of ten years, and can yet assert, in +the words of the more fortunately-dying Webster, that 'I still live!'" + +Extravagantly satirical as he was at times, John had always an +indefinable drollery about him that made him agreeable company to his +friends, at least; and such an admiring friend he had constantly at +hand in the person of Bert Haines. Both were Bohemians in natural +tendency, and, though John was far in Bert's advance in point of age, +he found the young man "just the kind of a fellow to have around;" +while Bert, in turn, held his senior in profound esteem--looked up to +him, in fact, and in even his eccentricities strove to pattern after +him. And so it was, when summer days were dull and tedious, these two +could muse and doze the hours away together; and when the nights were +long, and dark, and deep, and beautiful, they could drift out in the +noon-light of the stars, and with "the soft complaining flute" and +"warbling lute," "lay the pipes," as John would say, for their +enduring popularity with the girls! And it was immediately subsequent +to one of these romantic excursions, when the belated pair, at two +o'clock in the morning, had skulked up a side stairway of the old +hotel, and gained John's room, with nothing more serious happening +than Bert falling over a trunk and smashing his guitar,--just after +such a night of romance and adventure it was that, in the seclusion of +John's room, Bert had something of especial import to communicate. + +"Mack," he said, as that worthy anathematized a spiteful match, and +then sucked his finger. + +"Blast the all-fired old torch!" said John, wrestling with the +lamp-flue, and turning on a welcome flame at last. "Well, you said +'Mack!' Why don't you go on? And don't bawl at the top of your lungs, +either. You've already succeeded in waking every boarder in the house +with that guitar, and you want to make amends now by letting them go +to sleep again!" + +"But my dear fellow," said Bert, with forced calmness, "you're the +fellow that's making all the noise--and--" + +"Why, you howling dervish!" interrupted John, with a feigned air of +pleased surprise and admiration. "But let's drop controversy. Throw +the fragments of your guitar in the wood-box there, and proceed with +the opening proposition." + +"What I was going to say was this," said Bert, with a half-desperate +enunciation; "I'm getting tired of this way of living--clean, +dead-tired, and fagged out, and sick of the whole artificial +business!" + +"Oh, yes!" exclaimed John, with a towering disdain, "you needn't go +any further! I know just what malady is throttling you. It's +reform--reform! You're going to 'turn over a new leaf,' and all that, +and sign the pledge, and quit cigars, and go to work, and pay your +debts, and gravitate back into Sunday-School, where you can make love +to the preacher's daughter under the guise of religion, and desecrate +the sanctity of the innermost pale of the church by confessions at +Class of your 'thorough conversion!' Oh, you're going to--" + +"No, but I'm going to do nothing of the sort," interrupted Bert, +resentfully. "What I mean--if you'll let me finish--is, I'm getting +too old to be eternally undignifying myself with this 'singing of +midnight strains under Bonnybell's window panes,' and too old to be +keeping myself in constant humiliation and expense by the borrowing +and stringing up of old guitars, together with the breakage of the +same, and the general wear-and-tear on a constitution that is slowly +being sapped to its foundations by exposure in the night-air and the +dew." "And while you receive no further compensation in return," said +John, "than, perhaps, the coy turning up of a lamp at an upper +casement where the jasmine climbs; or an exasperating patter of +invisible palms; or a huge dank wedge of fruit-cake shoved at you by +the old man, through a crack in the door." + +"Yes, and I'm going to have my just reward, is what I mean," said +Bert, "and exchange the lover's life for the benedict's. Going to hunt +out a good, sensible girl and marry her." And as the young man +concluded this desperate avowal he jerked the bow of his cravat into a +hard knot, kicked his hat under the bed, and threw himself on the sofa +like an old suit. + +John stared at him with absolute compassion. "Poor devil," he said, +half musingly, "I know just how he feels-- + + 'Ring in the wind his wedding chimes, + Smile, villagers, at every door; + Old church-yards stuffed with buried crimes, + Be clad in sunshine o'er and o'er.--'" + +"Oh, here!" exclaimed the wretched Bert, jumping to his feet; "let up +on that dismal recitative. It would make a dog howl to hear that!" + +"Then you 'let up' on that suicidal talk of marrying," replied John, +"and all that harangue of incoherency about your growing old. Why, my +dear fellow, you're at least a dozen years my junior, and look at me!" +and John glanced at himself in the glass with a feeble pride, noting +the gray sparseness of his side-hair, and its plaintive dearth on top. +"Of course I've got to admit," he continued, "that my hair is +gradually evaporating; but for all that, I'm 'still in the ring,' +don't you know; as young in society, for the matter of that, as +yourself! And this is just the reason why I don't want you to blight +every prospect in your life by marrying at your age--especially a +woman--I mean the kind of woman you'd be sure to fancy at your age." + +"Didn't I say 'a good, sensible girl' was the kind I had selected?" +Bert remonstrated. + +"Oh!" exclaimed John, "you've selected her, then?--and without one +word to me!" he ended, rebukingly. + +"Well, hang it all!" said Bert, impatiently; "I knew how _you_ were, +and just how you'd talk me out of it; and I made up my mind that for +once, at least, I'd follow the dictations of a heart that--however +capricious in youthful frivolties--should beat, in manhood, loyal to +itself and loyal to its own affinity." + +"Go it! Fire away! Farewell, vain world!" exclaimed the excited +John.--"Trade your soul off for a pair of ear-bobs and a +button-hook--a hank of jute hair and a box of lily-white! I've buried +not less than ten old chums this way, and here's another nominated for +the tomb." + +"But you've got no _reason_ about you," began Bert,--"I want to"-- + +"And so do _I_ 'want to,'" broke in John, finally,--"I want to get +some sleep.--So 'register' and come to bed.--And lie up on edge, too, +when you _do_ come--'cause this old catafalque-of-a-bed is just about +as narrow as your views of single blessedness! Peace! Not another +word! Pile in! Pile in! I'm three-parts sick, anyhow, and I want +rest!" And very truly he spoke. + +It was a bright morning when the slothful John was aroused by a long, +vociferous pounding on the door. He started up in bed to find himself +alone--the victim of his wrathful irony having evidently risen and +fled away while his pitiless tormentor slept--"Doubtless to at once +accomplish that nefarious intent as set forth by his unblushing +confession of last night," mused the miserable John. And he ground his +fingers in the corners of his swollen eyes, and leered grimly in the +glass at the feverish orbs, blood-shotten, blurred and aching. + +The pounding on the door continued. John looked at his watch; it was +only 8 o'clock. + +"Hi, there!" he called viciously. "What do you mean, anyhow?" he went +on, elevating his voice again; "shaking a man out of bed when he's +just dropping into his first sleep?" + +"I mean that you're going to get up; that's what!" replied a firm +female voice. "It's 8 o'clock, and I want to put your room in order; +and I'm not going to wait all day about it, either! Get up and go down +to your breakfast, and let me have the room!" And the clamor at the +door was industriously renewed. + +"Say!" called John, querulously, hurrying on his clothes, "Say! you!" + +"There's no 'say' about it!" responded the determined voice: "I've +heard about you and your ways around this house, and I'm not going to +put up with it! You'll not lie in bed till high noon when I've got to +keep your room in proper order!" + +"Oh ho!" bawled John, intelligently: "reckon you're the new invasion +here? Doubtless you're the girl that's been hanging up the new +window-blinds that won't roll, and disguising the pillows with clean +slips, and 'hennin' round among my books and papers on the table here, +and ageing me generally till I don't know my own handwriting by the +time I find it! Oh, yes! you're going to revolutionize things here; +you're going to introduce promptness, and system, and order. See +you've even filled the wash-pitcher and tucked two starched towels +through the handle. Haven't got any tin towels, have you? I rather +like this new soap, too! So solid and durable, you know; warranted not +to raise a lather. Might as well wash one's hands with a door-knob!" +And as John's voice grumbled away into the sullen silence again, the +determined voice without responded: "Oh, you can growl away to your +heart's content, Mr. McKinney, but I want you to distinctly understand +that I'm not going to humor you in any of your old bachelor, +sluggardly, slovenly ways, and whims and notions. And I want you to +understand, too, that I'm not hired help in this house, nor a +chambermaid, nor anything of the kind. I'm the landlady here; and I'll +give you just ten minutes more to get down to your breakfast, or +you'll not get any--that's all!" And as the reversed cuff John was in +the act of buttoning slid from his wrist and rolled under the dresser, +he heard a stiff rustling of starched muslin flouncing past the door, +and the quick italicized patter of determined gaiters down the hall. + +"Look here," said John to the bright-faced boy in the hotel office, a +half hour later. "It seems the house here's been changing hands +again." + +"Yes, sir," said the boy, closing the cigar case, and handing him a +lighted match. "Well, the new landlord, whoever he is," continued +John, patronizingly, "is a good one. Leastwise, he knows what's good +to eat, and how to serve it." + +The boy laughed timidly,--"It aint a landlord,' though--it's a +landlady; it's my mother." + +"Ah," said John, dallying with the change the boy had pushed toward +him. "Your mother, eh?" And where's your father?" + +"He's dead," said the boy. + +"And what's this for?" abruptly asked John, examining his change. + +"That's your change," said the boy: "You got three for a quarter, and +gave me a half." + +"Well, _you_ just keep it," said John, sliding back the change. "It's +for good luck, you know, my boy. Same as drinking your long life and +prosperity. And, Oh yes, by the way, you may tell your mother I'll +have a friend to dinner with me to-day." + +"Yes, sir, and thank you, sir," said the beaming boy. + +"Handsome boy!" mused John, as he walked down street. "Takes that from +his father, though, I'll wager my existence!" + +Upon his office desk John found a hastily written note. It was +addressed in the well-known hand of his old chum. He eyed the missive +apprehensively, and there was a positive pathos in his voice as he +said aloud, "It's our divorce. I feel it!" The note, headed, "At the +Office, 4 in Morning," ran like this: + + "Dear Mack--I left you slumbering so soundly that, by noon, + when you waken, I hope, in your refreshed state, you will + look more tolerantly on my intentions as partially confided + to you this night. I will not see you here again to say + good-bye. I wanted to, but was afraid to 'rouse the sleeping + lion.' I will not close my eyes to-night--fact is, I haven't + time. Our serenade at Josie's was a pre-arranged signal by + which she is to be ready and at the station for the 5 + morning train. You may remember the lighting of three + consecutive matches at her window before the igniting of her + lamp. That meant, 'Thrice dearest one, I'll meet thee at the + depot at 4:30 sharp.' So, my dear Mack, this is to inform + you that, even as you read, Josie and I have eloped. It is + all the old man's fault, yet I forgive him. Hope he'll + return the favor. Josie predicts he will, inside of a + week--or two weeks, anyhow. Good-bye, Mack, old boy; and let + a fellow down as easy as you can. + + Affectionately, + + BERT." + +"Heavens!" exclaimed John, stifling the note in his hand and stalking +tragically around the room. "Can it be possible that I have nursed a +frozen viper? An ingrate? A wolf in sheep's clothing? An orang-outang +in gent's furnishings?" + +"Was you callin' me, sir?" asked a voice at the door. It was the +janitor. + +"No!" thundered John; "Quit my sight! get out of my way! No, no, +Thompson, I don't mean that," he called after him. "Here's a half +dollar for you, and I want you to lock up the office, and tell anybody +that wants to see me that I've been set upon, and sacked and +assassinated in cold blood; and I've fled to my father's in the +country, and am lying there in the convulsions of dissolution, +babbling of green fields and running brooks, and thirsting for the +life of every woman that comes in gunshot!" And then, more like a +confirmed invalid than a man in the strength and pride of his prime, +he crept down into the street again, and thence back to his hotel. + +Dejectedly and painfully climbing to his room, he encountered, on the +landing above, a little woman in a jaunty dusting-cap and a trim habit +of crisp muslin. He tried to evade her, but in vain. She looked him +squarely in the face--occasioning him the dubious impression of either +needing shaving very badly, or having egg-stains on his chin. + +"You're the gentleman in No. 11, I believe?" she said. + +He nodded confusedly. + +"Mr. McKinney is your name, I think?" she queried, with a pretty +elevation of the eyebrows. + +"Yes, ma'am," said John, rather abjectly. "You see, ma'am--But I beg +pardon," he went on stammeringly, and with a very awkward bow--"I beg +pardon, but I am addressing--ah--the--ah--the--" + +"You are addressing the new landlady," she interpolated, pleasantly. +"Mrs. Miller is my name. I think we should be friends, Mr. McKinney, +since I hear that you are one of the oldest patrons of the house." + +"Thank you--thank you!" said John, completely embarrassed. "Yes, +indeed!--ha, ha. Oh, yes--yes--really, we must be quite old friends, I +assure you, Mrs.--Mrs.--" + +"Mrs. Miller," smilingly prompted the little woman. + +"Yes, ah, yes,--Mrs. Miller. Lovely morning, Mrs. Miller," said John, +edging past her and backing toward his room. + +But as Mrs. Miller was laughing outright, for some mysterious reason, +and gave no affirmation in response to his proposition as to the +quality of the weather, John, utterly abashed and nonplussed, darted +into his room and closed the door. "Deucedly extraordinary woman!" he +thought; "wonder what's her idea!" + +He remained locked in his room till the dinner-hour; and, when he +promptly emerged for that occasion, there was a very noticeable +improvement in his personal appearance, in point of dress, at least, +though there still lingered about his smoothly-shaven features a +certain haggard, care-worn, anxious look that would not out. + +Next his own place at the table he found a chair tilted forward, as +though in reservation for some honored guest. What did it mean? Oh, he +remembered now. Told the boy to tell his mother he would have a friend +to dine with him. Bert--and, blast the fellow! he was, doubtless, +dining then with a far preferable companion--his wife--in a palace-car +on the P., C. & St. L., a hundred miles away. The thought was +maddening. Of course, now, the landlady would have material for a new +assault. And how could he avert it? A despairing film blurred his +sight for the moment--then the eyes flashed daringly. "I will meet it +like a man!" he said, mentally--"like a State's Attorney,--I will +invite it! Let her do her worst!" + +He called a servant, directing some message in an undertone. + +"Yes, sir," said the agreeable servant, "I'll go right away, sir," and +left the room. + +Five minutes elapsed, and then a voice at his shoulder startled him: + +"Did you send for me, Mr. McKinney? What is it I can do?" + +"You are very kind, Mrs.--Mrs.--" + +"Mrs. Miller," said the lady, with a smile that he remembered. + +"Now, please spare me even the mildest of rebukes. I deserve your +censure, but I can't stand it--I can't positively!" and there was a +pleading look in John's lifted eyes that changed the little woman's +smile to an expression of real solicitude. "I have sent for you," +continued John, "to ask of you three great favors. Please be seated +while I enumerate them. First--I want you to forgive and forget that +ill-natured, uncalled-for grumbling of mine this morning when you +wakened me." + +"Why, certainly," said the landlady, again smiling, though quite +seriously. + +"I thank you," said John, with dignity. "And, second," he +continued--"I want your assurance that my extreme confusion and +awkwardness on the occasion of our meeting later were rightly +interpreted." + +"Certainly--certainly," said the landlady, with the kindliest +sympathy. + +"I am grateful--utterly," said John, with newer dignity. "And then," +he went on,--after informing you that it is impossible for the best +friend I have in the world to be with me at this hour, as intended, I +want you to do me the very great honor of dining with me. Will you?" + +"Why, certainly," said the charming little landlady--"and a thousand +thanks beside! But tell me something of your friend," she continued, +as they were being served. "What is he like--and what is his name--and +where is he?" + +"Well," said John, warily,--"he's like all young fellows of his age. +He's quite young, you know--not over thirty, I should say--a mere boy, +in fact, but clever--talented--versatile." + +"--Unmarried, of course," said the chatty little woman. + +"Oh, yes!" said John, in a matter-of-course tone--but he caught +himself abruptly--then stared intently at his napkin--glanced +evasively at the side-face of his questioner, and said,--"Oh yes! Yes, +indeed! He's unmarried.--Old bachelor like myself, you know. Ha! Ha!" + +"So he's not like the young man here that distinguished himself last +night?" said the little woman, archly. + +The fork in John's hand, half-lifted to his lips, faltered and fell +back toward his plate. + +"Why, what's that?" said John, in a strange voice; "I hadn't heard +anything about it--I mean I haven't heard anything about any young +man. What was it?" + +"Haven't heard anything about the elopement?" exclaimed the little +woman, in astonishment.--"Why, it's been the talk of the town all +morning. Elopement in high life--son of a grain-dealer, name of Hines, +or Himes, or something, and a preacher's daughter--Josie +somebody--didn't catch her last name. Wonder if you don't know the +parties--Why, Mr. McKinney, are you ill?" + +"Oh, no--not at all!" said John: "Don't mention it. Ha--ha! Just +eating too rapidly, that's all. Go on with--you were saying that Bert +and Josie had really eloped." + +"What 'Bert'?" asked the little woman quickly. + +"Why, did I say Bert?" said John, with a guilty look. "I meant Haines, +of course, you know--Haines and Josie.--And did they really elope?" + +"That's the report," answered the little woman, as though deliberating +some important evidence; "and they say, too, that the plot of the +runaway was quite ingenious. It seems the young lovers were assisted +in their flight by some old fellow--friend of the young man's--Why, +Mr. McKinney, you _are_ ill, surely?" + +John's face was ashen. + +"No--no!" he gasped, painfully: "Go on--go on! Tell me more about +the--the--the old fellow--the old reprobate! And is he still at +large?" + +"Yes," said the little womon, anxiously regarding the strange demeanor +of her companion. "They say, though, that the law can do nothing with +him, and that this fact only intensifies the agony of the +broken-hearted parents--for it seems they have, till now, regarded him +both as a gentleman and family friend in whom"-- + +"I really am ill," moaned John, waveringly rising to his feet; "but I +beg you not to be alarmed. Tell your little boy to come to my room, +where I will retire at once, if you'll excuse me, and send for my +physician. It is simply a nervous attack. I am often troubled so; and +only perfect quiet and seclusion restores me. You have done me a great +honor, Mrs."--("Mrs.--Miller," sighed the sympathetic little +woman)--"Mrs. Miller,--and I thank you more than I have words to +express." He bowed limply, turned through a side door opening on a +stair, and tottered to his room. + +During the three weeks' illness through which he passed, John had +every attention--much more, indeed, than he had consciousness to +appreciate. For the most part his mind wandered, and he talked of +curious things, and laughed hysterically, and serenaded mermaids that +dwelt in grassy seas of dew, and were bald-headed like himself. He +played upon a fourteen-jointed flute of solid gold, with diamond +holes, and keys carved out of thawless ice. His old father came at +first to take him home; but he could not be moved, the doctor said. + +Two weeks of John's illness had worn away, when a very serious looking +young man, in a traveling duster, and a high hat, came up the stairs +to see him. A handsome young lady was clinging to his arm. It was Bert +and Josie. She had guessed the very date of their forgiveness. John +wakened even clearer in mind than usual that afternoon. He recognized +his old chum at a glance, and Josie--now Bert's wife. Yes, he +comprehended that. He was holding a hand of each when another figure +entered. His thin, white fingers loosened their clasp, and he held a +hand toward the new comer. "Here," he said, "is my best friend in the +world--Bert, you and Josie will love her, I know; for this is +Mrs.--Mrs."--"Mrs. Miller," said the radiant little +woman.--"Yes,--Mrs. Miller," said John, very proudly. + + + + +RHYMES OF RAINY DAYS + + + + +THE TREE-TOAD. + + + + "'Scurious-like," said the tree-toad, + "I've twittered far rain all day; + And I got up soon, + And I hollered till noon-- + But the sun, hit blazed away, + Till I jest clumb down in a crawfish-hole, + Weary at heart, and sick at soul! + +"Dozed away far an hour, + And I tackled the thing agin; + And I sung, and sung, + Till I knowed my lung + Was jest about give in; + And then, thinks I, ef hit don't rain now. + There're nothin' in singin', anyhow! + + "Once in awhile some + Would come a drivin' past; + And he'd hear my cry, + And stop and sigh-- + Till I jest laid back, at last, + And I hollered rain till I thought my th'oat + Would bust right open at ever' note! + + "But _I fetched_ her! O _I fetched_ her!-- + 'Cause a little while ago, + As I kindo' set, + With one eye shet, + And a-singin' soft and low, + A voice drapped down on my fevered brain, + Sayin',--' Ef you'll jest hush I'll rain!'" + + + + +A WORN-OUT PENCIL. + + + + Welladay! + Here I lay + You at rest--all worn away, + O my pencil, to the tip + Of our old companionship! + + Memory + Sighs to see + What you are, and used to be, + Looking backward to the time + When you wrote your earliest rhyme!-- + + When I sat + Filing at + Your first point, and dreaming that + Your initial song should be + Worthy of posterity. + + With regret + I forget + If the song be living yet, + Yet remember, vaguely now, + It was honest, anyhow. + + You have brought + Me a thought-- + Truer yet was never taught,-- + That the silent song is best, + And the unsung worthiest. + + So if I, + When I die, + May as uncomplainingly + Drop aside as now you do, + Write of me, as I of you:-- + + Here lies one + Who begun + Life a-singing, heard of none; + And he died, satisfied, + With his dead songs by his side. + + + + +THE STEPMOTHER. + + + + First she come to our house, + Tommy run and hid; + And Emily and Bob and me + We cried jus' like we did + When Mother died,--and we all said + 'At we all wisht 'at we was dead! + + And Nurse she couldn't stop us, + And Pa he tried and tried,-- + We sobbed and shook and wouldn't look, + But only cried and cried; + And nen someone--we couldn't jus' + Tell who--was cryin' same as us! + + Our Stepmother! Yes, it was her, + Her arms around us all-- + 'Cause Tom slid down the bannister + And peeked in from the hall.-- + And we all love her, too, because + She's purt nigh good as Mother was! + + + + +THE RAIN. + + + +I. + + The rain! the rain! the rain! + It gushed from the skies and streamed + Like awful tears; and the sick man thought + How pitiful it seemed! + And he turned his face away, + And stared at the wall again, + His hopes nigh dead and his heart worn out. + O the rain! the rain! the rain! + + + +II. + + The rain! the rain! the rain! + And the broad stream brimmed the shores; + And ever the river crept over the reeds + And the roots of the sycamores: + A corpse swirled by in a drift + Where the boat had snapt its chain-- + And a hoarse-voiced mother shrieked and raved. + O the rain! the rain! the rain! + + + +III. + + The rain! the rain! the rain!-- + Pouring, with never a pause, + Over the fields and the green byways-- + How beautiful it was! + And the new-made man and wife + Stood at the window-pane + Like two glad children kept from school.-- + O the rain! the rain! the rain! + + + + +THE LEGEND GLORIFIED. + + + + "I deem that God is not disquieted"-- + This in a mighty poet's rhymes I read; + And blazoned so forever doth abide + Within my soul the legend glorified. + + Though awful tempests thunder overhead, + I deem that God is not disquieted,-- + The faith that trembles somewhat yet is sure + Through storm and darkness of a way secure. + + Bleak winters, when the naked spirit hears + The break of hearts, through stinging sleet of tears, + I deem that God is not disquieted; + Against all stresses am I clothed and fed. + + Nay, even with fixed eyes and broken breath, + My feet dip down into the tides of death, + Nor any friend be left, nor prayer be said, + I deem that God is not disquieted. + + + + +WANT TO BE WHUR MOTHER IS. + + + + "Want to be whur mother is! Want to be whur mother is!" + Jeemses Rivers! won't some one ever shet that howl o' his? + That-air yellin' drives me wild! + Cain't none of ye stop the child? + Want jer Daddy? "Naw." Gee whizz! + "Want to be whur mother is!" + + "Want to be whur mother is! Want to be whur mother is!" + Coax him, Sairy! Mary, sing somepin far him! Lift him, Liz-- + Bang the clock-bell with the key-- + Er the _meat-ax!_ Gee-mun-nee! + Listen to them lungs o' his! + "Want to be whur mother is!" + + "Want to be whur mother is! Want to be whur mother is!" + Preacher guess'll pound all night on that old pulpit o' his; + 'Pears to me some wimmin jest + Shows religious interest + Mostly 'fore their fambly's riz! + "Want to be whur mother is!" + + * * * * * + + "Want to be whur mother is! Want to be whur mother is!" + Nights like these and whipperwills allus brings that voice of his! + Sairy; Mary; 'Lizabeth; + Don't set there and ketch yer death + In the dew--er rheumatiz-- + Want to be whur mother is? + + + + +OLD MAN'S NURSERY RHYME. + + + +I. + + In the jolly winters + Of the long-ago, + It was not so cold as now-- + O! No! No! + Then, as I remember, + Snowballs, to eat, + Were as good as apples now, + And every bit as sweet! + + + +II. + + In the jolly winters + Of the dead-and-gone, + Bub was warm as summer, + With his red mitts on,-- + Just in his little waist- + And-pants all together, + Who ever heard him growl + About cold weather? + + + +III. + + In the jolly winters of the long-ago-- + Was it _half_ so cold as now? + O! No! No! + Who caught his death o' cold, + Making prints of men + Flat-backed in snow that now's + Twice as cold again? + + + +IV. + + In the jolly winters + Of the dead-and-gone, + Startin' out rabbit-hunting + Early as the dawn,-- + Who ever froze his fingers, + Ears, heels, or toes,-- + Or'd a cared if he had? + Nobody knows! + + + +V. + + Nights by the kitchen-stove, + Shelling white and red + Corn in the skillet, and + Sleepin' four abed! + Ah! the jolly winters + Of the long-ago! + We were not so old as now-- + O! No! No! + + + + +THREE DEAD FRIENDS. + + + + Always suddenly they are gone-- + The friends we trusted and held secure-- + Suddenly we are gazing on, + Not a _smiling_ face, but the marble-pure + Dead mask of a face that nevermore + To a smile of ours will make reply-- + The lips close-locked as the eyelids are-- + Gone--swift as the flash of the molten ore + A meteor pours through a midnight sky, + Leaving it blind of a single star. + + Tell us, O Death, Remorseless Might! + What is this old, unescapable ire + You wreak on us?--from the birth of light + Till the world be charred to a core of fire! + We do no evil thing to you-- + We seek to evade you--that is all-- + That is your will--you will not be known + Of men. What, then, would you have us do?-- + Cringe, and wait till your vengeance fall, + And your graves be fed, and the trumpet blown? + + You desire no friends; but _we_--O we + Need them so, as we falter here, + Fumbling through each new vacancy, + As each is stricken that we hold dear. + One you struck but a year ago; + And one not a month ago; and one-- + (God's vast pity!)--and one lies now + Where the widow wails, in her nameless woe, + And the soldiers pace, with the sword and gun, + Where the comrade sleeps, with the laureled brow. + + And what did the first?--that wayward soul, + Clothed of sorrow, yet nude of sin, + And with all hearts bowed in the strange control + Of the heavenly voice of his violin. + Why, it was music the way he _stood_, + So grand was the poise of the head and so + Full was the figure of majesty!-- + One heard with the eyes, as a deaf man would, + And with all sense brimmed to the overflow + With tears of anguish and ecstasy. + + And what did the girl, with the great warm light + Of genius sunning her eyes of blue, + With her heart so pure, and her soul so white-- + What, O Death, did she do to you? + Through field and wood as a child she strayed, + As Nature, the dear sweet mother led; + While from her canvas, mirrored back, + Glimmered the stream through the everglade + Where the grapevine trailed from the trees to wed + Its likeness of emerald, blue and black. + + And what did he, who, the last of these, + Faced you, with never a fear, O Death? + Did you hate _him_ that he loved the breeze, + And the morning dews, and the rose's breath? + Did you hate him that he answered not + Your hate again--but turned, instead, + His only hate on his country's wrongs? + Well--you possess him, dead!--but what + Of the good he wrought? With laureled head + He bides with us in his deeds and songs. + + Laureled, first, that he bravely fought, + And forged a way to our flag's release; + Laureled, next--for the harp he taught + To wake glad songs in the days of peace-- + Songs of the woodland haunts he held + As close in his love as they held their bloom + In their inmost bosoms of leaf and vine-- + Songs that echoed, and pulsed and welled + Through the town's pent streets, and the sick child's room, + Pure as a shower in soft sunshine. + + Claim them, Death; yet their fame endures, + What friend next will you rend from us + In that cold, pitiless way of yours, + And leave us a grief more dolorous? + Speak to us!--tell us, O Dreadful Power!-- + Are we to have not a lone friend left?-- + Since, frozen, sodden, or green the sod,-- + In every second of every hour, + _Some one_, Death, you have left thus bereft, + Half inaudibly shrieks to God. + + + + +IN BOHEMIA. + + + + Ha! My dear! I'm back again-- + Vendor of Bohemia's wares! + Lordy! How it pants a man + Climbing up those awful stairs! + Well, I've made the dealer say + Your sketch _might_ sell, anyway! + And I've made a publisher + Hear my poem, Kate, my dear. + + In Bohemia, Kate, my dear-- + Lodgers in a musty flat + On the top floor--living here + Neighborless, and used to that,-- + Like a nest beneath the eaves, + So our little home receives + Only guests of chirping cheer-- + We'll be happy, Kate, my dear! + + Under your north-light there, you + At your easel, with a stain + On your nose of Prussian blue, + Paint your bits of shine and rain; + With my feet thrown up at will + O'er my littered window-sill, + I write rhymes that ring as clear + As your laughter, Kate, my dear. + + Puff my pipe, and stroke my hair-- + Bite my pencil-tip and gaze + At you, mutely mooning there + O'er your "Aprils" and your "Mays!" + Equal inspiration in + Dimples of your cheek and chin, + And the golden atmosphere + Of your paintings, Kate, my dear! + + _Trying_! Yes, at times it is, + To clink happy rhymes, and fling + On the canvas scenes of bliss, + When we are half famishing!-- + When your "jersey" rips in spots, + And your hat's "forget-me-nots" + Have grown tousled, old and sere-- + It is trying, Kate, my dear! + + But--as sure--_some_ picture sells, + And--sometimes--the poetry-- + Bless us! How the parrot yells + His acclaims at you and me! + How we revel then in scenes + Of high banqueting!--sardines-- + Salads--olives--and a sheer + Pint of sherry, Kate, my dear! + + Even now I cross your palm, + With this great round world of gold!-- + "Talking wild?" Perhaps I am-- + Then, this little five-year-old!-- + Call it anything you will, + So it lifts your face until + I may kiss away that tear + Ere it drowns me, Kate, my dear. + + + + +IN THE DARK. + + + + O in the depths of midnight + What fancies haunt the brain! + When even the sigh of the sleeper + Sounds like a sob of pain. + + A sense of awe and of wonder + I may never well define,-- + For the thoughts that come in the shadows + Never come in the shine. + + The old clock down in the parlor + Like a sleepless mourner grieves, + And the seconds drip in the silence + As the rain drips from the eaves. + + And I think of the hands that signal + The hours there in the gloom, + And wonder what angel watchers + Wait in the darkened room. + + And I think of the smiling faces + That used to watch and wait, + Till the click of the clock was answered + By the click of the opening gate.-- + + They are not there now in the evening-- + Morning or noon--not there; + Yet I know that they keep their vigil, + And wait for me Somewhere. + + + + +WET WEATHER TALK. + + + + It ain't no use to grumble and complain; + It's jest as cheap and easy to rejoice: + When God sorts out the weather and sends rain, + W'y, rain's my choice. + + Men giner'ly, to all intents-- + Although they're ap' to grumble some-- + Puts most their trust in Providence, + And takes things as they come;-- + That is, the commonality + Of men that's lived as long as me, + Has watched the world enough to learn + They're not the boss of the concern. + + With _some_, of course, it's different-- + I've seed _young_ men that knowed it all, + And didn't like the way things went + On this terrestial ball! + But, all the same, the rain some way + Rained jest as hard on picnic-day; + Er when they railly wanted it, + It maybe wouldn't rain a bit! + + In this existence, dry and wet + Will overtake the best of men-- + Some little skift o' clouds'll shet + The sun off now and then; + But maybe, while you're wondern' who + You've fool-like lent your umbrell' to, + And _want_ it--out'll pop the sun, + And you'll be glad you ain't got none! + + It aggervates the farmers, too-- + They's too much wet, er too much sun, + Er work, er waiting round to do + Before the plowin''s done; + And maybe, like as not, the wheat, + Jest as it's lookin' hard to beat, + Will ketch the storm--and jest about + The time the corn 's a-jintin' out! + + These here cy-clones a-foolin' round-- + And back'ard crops--and wind and rain, + And yit the corn that's wallered down + May elbow up again! + They ain't no sense, as I kin see, + In mortals, sich as you and me, + A-faultin' Nature's wise intents, + And lockin' horns with Providence! + + It ain't no use to grumble and complain; + It's jest as cheap and easy to rejoice: + When God sorts out the weather and sends rain, + W'y, rain's my choice. + + + + +WHERE SHALL WE LAND. + + + + "_Where shall we land you, sweet_?"--Swinburne. + + + + All listlessly we float + Out seaward in the boat + That beareth Love. + Our sails of purest snow + Bend to the blue below + And to the blue above. + Where shall we land? + + We drift upon a tide + Shoreless on every side, + Save where the eye + Of Fancy sweeps far lands + Shelved slopingly with sands + Of gold and porphyry. + Where shall we land? + + The fairy isles we see, + Loom up so mistily-- + So vaguely fair, + We do not care to break + Fresh bubbles in our wake + To bend our course for there. + Where shall we land? + + The warm winds of the deep + Have lulled our sails to sleep, + And so we glide + Careless of wave or wind, + Or change of any kind, + Or turn of any tide. + Where shall we land? + + We droop our dreamy eyes + Where our reflection lies + Steeped in the sea, + And, in an endless fit + Of languor, smile on it + And its sweet mimicry. + Where shall we land? + + "Where shall we land?" God's grace! + I know not any place + So fair as this-- + Swung here between the blue + Of sea and sky, with you + To ask me, with a kiss, + "Where shall we land?" + + + + +AN OLD SETTLER'S STORY + + + +William Williams his name was--or so he said;--Bill Williams they +called him, and them 'at knowed him best called him Bill Bills. + +The first I seed o' Bills was about two weeks after he got here. The +Settlement wasn't nothin' but a baby in them days, far I mind 'at old +Ezry Sturgiss had jist got his saw and griss-mill a-goin', and Bills +had come along and claimed to know all about millin', and got a job +with him; and millers in them times was wanted worse'n congerss-men, +and I reckon got better wages; far afore Ezry built, ther wasn't a +dust o' meal er flour to be had short o' the White Water, better'n +sixty mild from here, the way we had to fetch it. And they used to +come to Ezry's far ther grindin' as far as that; and one feller I +knowed to come from what used to be the old South Fork, over eighty +mild from here, and in the wettest, rainyest weather; and mud! _Law!_ + +Well, this-here Bills was a-workin' far Ezry at the time--part the +time a-grindin', and part the time a-lookin' after the sawin', and +gittin' out timber and the like. Bills was a queer-lookin' feller, +shore! About as tall a build man as Tom Carter--but of course you +don't know nothin' o' Tom Carter. A great big hulk of a feller, Tom +was; and as far back as Fifty-eight used to make his brags that he +could cut and put up his seven cord a day. + +Well, what give Bills this queer look, as I was a-goin' on to say, was +a great big ugly scar a-runnin' from the corner o' one eye clean down +his face and neck, and I don't know how far down his breast--awful +lookin'; and he never shaved, and ther wasn't a hair a-growin' in that +scar, and it looked like a--some kind o' pizen snake er somepin' a +crawlin' in the grass and weeds. I never seed sich a' out-an'-out +onry-lookin' chap, and I'll never fergit the first time I set eyes on +him. + +Steve and me--Steve was my youngest brother; Steve's be'n in Californy +now far, le' me see,--well, anyways, I reckon, over thirty +year.--Steve was a-drivin' the team at the time--I allus let Steve +drive; 'peared like Steve was made a-purpose far hosses. The +beatin'est hand with hosses 'at ever you _did_ see-an'-I-know! W'y, a +hoss, after he got kind o' used to Steve a-handlin' of him, would do +anything far _him_! And I've knowed that boy to swap far hosses 'at +cou'dn't hardly make a shadder; and, afore you knowed it, Steve would +have 'em a-cavortin' around a-lookin' as peert and fat and slick! + +Well, we'd come over to Ezry's far some grindin' that day; and Steve +wanted to price some lumber far a house, intendin' to marry that +Fall--and would a-married, I reckon, ef the girl hadn't a-died jist as +she'd got her weddin' clothes done, and that set hard on Steve far +awhile. Yit he rallied, you know, as a youngster will; but he never +married, someway--never married. Reckon he never found no other woman +he could love well enough, 'less it was--well, no odds.--The Good +Bein's jedge o' what's best far each and all. + +We lived _then_ about eight mild from Ezry's, and it tuck about a day +to make the trip; so you kin kind o' git an idee o' how the roads was +in them days. + +Well, on the way over I noticed Steve was mighty quiet-like, but I +didn't think nothin' of it, tel at last he says, says he, "Tom, I want +you to kind o' keep an eye out far Ezry's new hand," meanin Bills. And +then I kind o' suspicioned somepin' o' nother was up betwixt 'em; and +shore enough ther was, as I found out afore the day was over. + +I knowed 'at Bills was a mean sort of a man, from what I'd heerd. His +name was all over the neighborhood afore he'd be'n here two weeks. + +In the first place, he come in a suspicious sort o' way. Him and his +wife, and a little baby only a few months old, come through in a +kivvered wagon with a fambly a-goin' som'ers in The Illinoy; and they +stopped at the mill, far some meal er somepin', and Bills got to +talkin' with Ezry 'bout millin', and one thing o' nother, and said he +was expeerenced some 'bout a mill hisse'f, and told Ezry ef he'd give +him work he'd stop; said his wife and baby wasn't strong enough to +stand trav'lin', and ef Ezry'd give him work he was ready to lick into +it then and there; said his woman could pay her board by sewin' and +the like, tel they got ahead a little; and then, ef he liked the +neighberhood, he said he'd as leave settle there as anywheres; he was +huntin' a home, he said, and the outlook kind o' struck him, and his +woman railly needed rest, and wasn't strong enough to go much furder. +And old Ezry kind o' tuck pity on the feller; and havin' houseroom to +spare, and railly in need of a good hand at the mill, he said all +right; and so the feller stopped and the wagon druv ahead and left +'em; and they didn't have no things ner nothin'--not even a +cyarpet-satchel, ner a stitch o' clothes, on'y what they had on their +backs. And I think it was the third er fourth day after Bills stopped +'at he whirped Tomps Burk, the bully o' here them days, tel you would +n't a-knowed him! + +Well, I'd heerd o' this, and the fact is I'd made up my mind 'at Bills +was a bad stick, and the place was n't none the better far his bein' +here. But, as I was a-goin' on to say,--as Steve and me driv up to the +mill, I ketched sight o' Bills the first thing, a-lookin' out o' where +some boards was knocked off, jist over the worter-wheel; and he knowed +Steve--I could see that by his face; and he hollered somepin', too, +but what it was I couldn't jist make out, far the noise o' the wheel; +but he looked to me as ef he'd hollered somepin' mean a-purpose so's +Steve _wouldn't_ hear it, and _he'd_ have the consolation o' knowin' +'at he'd called Steve some onry name 'thout givin' him a chance to +take it up. Steve was allus quiet like, but ef you raised his dander +one't--and you could do that 'thout much trouble, callin' him names er +somepin', particular' anything 'bout his mother. Steve loved his +mother--allus loved his mother, and would fight far her at the drap o' +the hat. And he was her favo-_rite_--allus a-talkin' o' "her boy, +Steven," as she used to call him, and so proud of him, and so keerful +of him allus, when he 'd be sick er anything; nuss him like a baby, +she would. + +So when Bills hollered, Steve didn't pay no attention; and I said +nothin', o' course, and didn't let on like I noticed him. So we druv +round to the south side and hitched; and Steve 'lowed he'd better +feed; so I left him with the hosses and went into the mill. + +They was jist a-stoppin' far dinner. Most of 'em brought ther +dinners--lived so far away, you know. The two Smith boys lived on what +used to be the old Warrick farm, five er six mild, anyhow, from wher' +the mill stood. Great stout fellers, they was; and little Jake, the +father of 'em, wasn't no man at all--not much bigger'n you, I rickon. +Le' me see, now:--Ther was Tomps Burk, Wade Elwood, and Joe and Ben +Carter, and Wesley Morris, John Coke--wiry little cuss, he was, afore +he got his leg sawed off--and Ezry, and--Well, I don't jist mind all +the boys--'s a long time ago, and I never was much of a hand far +names.--Now, some folks'll hear a name and never fergit it, but I +can't boast of a good ricollection, 'specially o' names; and far the +last thirty year my mem'ry's be'n a-failin' me, ever sence a spell o' +fever 'at I brought on onc't--fever and rheumatiz together. You see, I +went a-sainin' with a passel o' the boys, fool-like, and let my +clothes freeze on me a-comin' home. Wy, my breeches was like +stove-pipes when I pulled 'em off. 'Ll, ef I didn't pay far that +spree! Rheumatiz got a holt o' me and helt me there flat o' my back +far eight weeks, and couldn't move hand er foot 'thout a-hollerin' +like a' Injun. And I'd a-be'n there yit, I reckon, ef it had n't +a-be'n far a' old hoss-doctor, name o' Jones; and he gits a lot o' sod +and steeps it in hot whisky and pops it on me, and +I'll-be-switched-to-death ef it didn't cuore me up, far all I laughed +and told him I'd better take the whisky inardly and let him keep the +grass far his doctor bill. But that's nuther here ner there:--As I was +a-saying 'bout the mill: As I went in, the boys had stopped work and +was a-gittin' down ther dinners, and Bills amongst 'em, and old Ezry +a-chattin' away--great hand, he was, far his joke, and allus a-cuttin' +up and a-gittin' off his odd-come-shorts on the boys. And that day he +was in particular good humor. He'd brought some liquor down far the +boys, and he'd be'n drinkin' a little hisse'f, enough to feel it. He +didn't drink much--that is to say, he didn't git drunk adzactly; but +he tuck his dram, you understand. You see, they made ther own whisky +in them days, and it was n't nothin' like the bilin' stuff you git +now. Old Ezry had a little still, and allus made his own whisky, +enough far fambly use, and jist as puore as worter, and as harmless. +But now-a-days the liquor you git's rank pizen. They say they put +tobacker in it, and strychnine, and the Lord knows what; ner I never +knowed why, 'less it was to give it a richer-lookin' flavor, like. +Well, Ezry he 'd brought up a jug, and the boys had be'n a-takin' it +purty free; I seed that as quick as I went in. And old Ezry called out +to me to come and take some, the first thing. Told him I did n't +b'lieve I keered about it; but nothin' would do but I must take a +drink with the boys; and I was tired anyhow and I thought a little +would n't hurt; so I takes a swig; and as I set the jug down Bills +spoke up and says, "You're a stranger to me, and I'm a stranger to +you, but I reckon we can drink to our better acquaintance," er +somepin' to that amount, and poured out another snifter in a gourd +he'd be'n a-drinkin' coffee in, and handed it to me. Well, I could n't +well refuse, of course, so I says, "Here 's to us," and drunk her +down--mighty nigh a half pint, I reckon. Now, I railly did n't want +it, but, as I tell you, I was obleeged to take it, and I downed her at +a swaller and never batted an eye, far, to tell the fact about it, I +liked the taste o' liquor; and I do yit, only I know when I' got +enough. Jist then I didn't want to drink on account o' Steve. Steve +couldn't abide liquor in no shape ner form--far medicine ner nothin', +and I 've allus thought it was his mother's doin's. + +Now, a few months afore this I 'd be'n to Vincennes, and I was jist +a-tellin' Ezry what they was a-astin' far ther liquor there--far I 'd +fetched a couple o' gallon home with me 'at I 'd paid six bits far, +and pore liquor at that: And I was a-tellin' about it, and old Ezry +was a-sayin' what an oudacious figger that was, and how he could make +money a-sellin' it far half that price, and was a-goin' on a-braggin' +about his liquor--and it was a good article--far new whisky,--and jist +then Steve comes in, jist as Bills was a-sayin' 'at a man 'at wouldn't +drink that whisky wasn't no man at all. So, of course, when they ast +Steve to take some and he told 'em no, 'at he was much obleeged, Bills +was kind o' tuck down, you understand, and had to say somepin'; and +says he, "I reckon you ain't no better 'n the rest of us, and _we 've_ +be'n a-drinkin' of it." But Steve did n't let on like he noticed Bills +at all, and rech and shuck hands with the other boys and ast how they +was all a-comin' on. + +I seed Bills was riled, and more 'n likely wanted trouble; and shore +enough, he went on to say, kind o' snarlin' like, 'at "he'd knowed o' +men in his day 'at had be'n licked far refusin' to drink when their +betters ast 'em;" and said furder 'at "a lickin' wasn't none too good +far anybody 'at would refuse liquor like that o' Ezry's, and in his +own house too"--er _buildin'_, ruther. Ezry shuck his head at him, but +I seed 'at Bills was bound far a quarrel, and I winks at Steve, as +much as to say, "Don't you let him bully you; you'll find your brother +here to see you have fair play!" _I_ was a-feelin' my oats some about +then, and Steve seed I was, and looked so sorry like, and like his +mother, 'at I jist thought, "I kin fight far you, and die far you, +'cause you're wuth it!"--And I didn't someway feel like it would +amount to much ef I did die er git killed er somepin' on his account. +I seed Steve was mighty white around the mouth and his eyes was a +glitterin' like a snake's; but Bills didn't seem to take warnin', but +went on to say 'at he'd knowed boys 'at loved the'r mothers so well +they couldn't drink nothin' stronger 'n milk.--And then you'd ort o' +seed Steve's coat fly off, jist like it wanted to git out of his way, +and give the boy room accordin' to his stren'th. I seed Bills grab a +piece o' scantlin' jist in time to ketch his arm as he struck at +Steve,--far Steve was a-comin' far him dangerss. But they'd ketched +Steve from behind jist then; and Bills turned far me. I seed him draw +back, and I seed Steve a-scufflin' to ketch his arm; but he didn't +reach it quite in time to do me no good. It must a-come awful suddent. +The first I ricollect was a roarin' and a buzzin' in my ears, and when +I kind o' come a little better to, and crawled up and peeked over the +saw-log I was a-layin' the other side of, I seed a couple clinched and +a rollin' over and over, and a-makin' the chips and saw-dust fly, now +I tell you! Bills and Steve it was--head and tail, tooth and toenail, +and a-bleedin' like good fellers. I seed a gash o' some kind in +Bills's head, and Steve was purty well tuckered, and a-pantin' like a +lizard; and I made a rush in, and one o' the Carter boys grabbed me +and told me to jist keep cool; 'at Steve didn't need no he'p, and they +might need me to keep Bills's friends off ef they made a rush. By this +time Steve had whirlt Bills, and was a-jist a-gittin' in a fair way to +finish him up in good style, when Wesley Morris run in--I seed him do +it--run in, and afore we could ketch him he struck Steve a deadener in +the butt o' the ear and knocked him as limber as a rag. And then Bills +whirlt Steve and got him by the throat, and Ben Carter and me and old +Ezry closed in--Carter tackled Morris, and Ezry and me grabs +Bills--and as old Ezry grabbed him to pull him off, Bills kind o' give +him a side swipe o' some kind and knocked him--I don't know how far! +And jist then Carter and Morris come a-scufflin' back'ards right +amongst us, and Carter throwed him right acrost Bills and Steve. Well, +it ain't fair, and I don't like to tell it, but I seed it was the last +chance and I tuck advantage of it:--As Wesley and Ben fell it pulled +Bills down in a kind o' twist, don't you understand, so's he couldn't +he'p hisse'f, yit still a-clinchin' Steve by the throat, and him black +in the face: Well, as they fell I grabbed up a little hick'ry limb, +not bigger 'n my two thumbs, and I struck Bills a little tap kind o' +over the back of his head like, and blame me ef he didn't keel over +like a stuck pig--and not any too soon, nuther, far he had Steve's +chunk as nigh put out as you ever seed a man's, to come to agin. But +he was up th'reckly and ready to a-went at it ef Bills could a-come to +the scratch; but Mister Bills he wasn't in no fix to try it over! +After a-waitin' awhile far him to come to, and him not a-comin' to, we +concluded 'at we'd better he'p him, maybe. And we worked with him, and +washed him, and drenched him with whisky, but it 'peared like it +wasn't no use: He jist laid there with his eyes about half shet, and +a-breathin' like a hoss when he's bad sceart; and I'll be dad-limbed +ef I don't believe he'd a-died on our hands ef it hadn't a-happened +old Doc Zions come a-ridin' past on his way home from the Murdock +neighberhood, where they was a-havin' sich a time with the milk-sick. +And he examined Bills, and had him laid on a plank and carried down to +the house--'bout a mild, I reckon, from the mill. Looked kind o' +curous to see Steve a-heppin' pack the feller, after his nearly +chokin' him to death. Oh, it was a bloody fight, I tell you! W'y, ther +wasn't a man in the mill 'at didn't have a black eye er somepin'; and +old Ezry, where Bills hit him, had his nose broke, and was as bloody +as a butcher. And you'd ort a-seed the women-folks when our p'session +come a-bringin' Bills in. I never seed anybody take on like Bills's +woman. It was distressin'; it was, indeed.--Went into hysterics, she +did; and we thought far awhile she'd gone plum crazy, far she cried so +pitiful over him, and called him "Charley! Charley!" 'stid of his +right name, and went on, clean out of her head, tel she finally jist +fainted clean away. + +Far three weeks Bills laid betwixt life and death, and that woman set +by him night and day, and tended him as patient as a' angel--and she +was a' angel, too; and he'd a-never lived to bother nobody agin ef it +hadn't a-be'n far Annie, as he called her. Zions said ther was a +'brazure of the--some kind o' p'tubernce, and ef he'd a-be'n struck +jist a quarter of a' inch below--jist a quarter of a' inch--he'd +a-be'n a dead man. And I've sence wished--not 'at I want the life of a +human bein' to account far, on'y, well, no odds--I've sence wished 'at +I had a-hit him jist a quarter of a' inch below! + +Well, of course, them days ther wasn't no law o' no account, and +nothin' was ever done about it. So Steve and me got our grindin', and +talked the matter over with Ezry and the boys. Ezry said he was +a-goin' to do all he could far Bills, 'cause he was a good hand, and +when he wasn't drinkin' ther wasn't no peaceabler man in the +settlement. I kind o' suspicioned what was up, but I said nothin' +then. And Ezry said furder, as we was about drivin' off, that Bills +was a despert feller, and it was best to kind o' humor him a little. +"And you must kind o' be on your guard," he says, "and I'll watch him +and ef anything happens 'at I git wind of I'll let you know," he says; +and so we put out far home. + +Mother tuck on awful about it. You see, she thought she'd be'h the +whole blame of it, 'cause the Sunday afore that her and Steve had went +to meetin', and they got there late, and the house was crowded, and +Steve had ast Bills to give up his seat to Mother, and he wouldn't do +it, and said somepin' 'at disturbed the prayin', and the preacher +prayed 'at the feller 'at was a-makin' the disturbance might be +forgive; and that riled Bills so he got up and left, and hung around +till it broke up, so's he could git a chance at Steve to pick a fight. +And he did try it, and dared Steve and double-dared him far a fight, +but Mother begged so hard 'at she kep' him out of it. Steve said 'at +he'd a-told me all about it on the way to Ezry's, on'y he'd promised +Mother, you know, not to say nothin' to me. + + * * * * * + +Ezry was over at our house about six weeks after the fight, +appearantly as happy as you please. We ast him how him and Bills was +a-makin' it, and he said firstrate; said 'at Bills was jist a-doin' +splendid; said he'd got moved in his new house 'at he'd fixed up far +him, and ever'thing was a-goin' on as smooth as could be; and Bills +and the boys was on better terms 'n ever; and says he, "As far as you +and Steve 's concerned, Bills don't 'pear to bear you no ill feelin's, +and says as far as he 's concerned the thing 's settled." "Well," says +I, "Ezry, I hope so; but I can't he'p but think ther 's somepin' at +the bottom of all this;" and says I, "I do n't think it's in Bills to +ever amount to anything good;" and says I, "It's my opinion ther 's a +dog in the well, and now you mark it!" + +Well, he said he _wasn't_ jist easy, but maybe he 'd come out all +right; said he couldn't turn the feller off--he hadn't the heart to do +that, with that-air pore, dilicate woman o' his, and the baby. And +then he went on to tell what a smart sort o' woman Bills's wife +was,--one of the nicest little women he 'd ever laid eyes on, said she +was; said she was the kindest thing, and the sweetest-tempered, and +all--and the handiest woman 'bout the house, and 'bout sewin', and +cookin', and the like, and all kinds o' housework; and so good to the +childern, and all; and how they all got along so well; and how proud +she was of her baby, and allus a-goin' on about it and a-cryin' over +it and a-carryin' on, and wouldn't leave it out of her sight a minute. +And Ezry said 'at she could write so purty, and made sich purty +pictures far the childern; and how they all liked her better'n ther +own mother. And, sence she'd moved, he said it seemed so lonesome like +'thout _her_ about the house--like they'd lost one o' ther own fambly; +said they didn't git to see her much now, on'y sometimes, when her man +would be at work, she'd run over far awhile, and kiss all the childern +and women-folks about the place,--the greatest hand far the childern, +she was; tell 'em all sorts o'little stories, you know, and sing far +'em; said 'at she could sing so sweet-like,'at time and time agin +she'd break clean down in some song o'nuther, and her voice would +trimble so mournful-like 'at you'd find yourse'f a-cryin' afore you +knowed it. And she used to coax Ezry's woman to let her take the +childern home with her; and they used to allus want to go, 'tel Bills +come onc't while they was there, and they said he got to jawin' her +far a-makin' some to-do over the baby, and swore at her and tuck it +away from her and whipped it far cryin', and she cried and told him to +whip her and not little Annie, and he said that was jist what he was +a-doin'. And the childern was allus afear'd to go there any more after +that--'fear'd he'd come home and whip little Annie agin. Ezry said he +jist done that to skeer 'em away--'cause he didn't want a passel o' +childern a-whoopin' and a-howlin' and a-trackin' 'round the house all +the time. + +But, shore enough, Bills, after the fight, 'peared like he 'd settled +down, and went 'bout his business so stiddy-like, and worked so well, +the neighbors begin to think he was all right after all, and railly +_some_ got to _likin'_ him. But far me, well, I was a leetle slow to +argy 'at the feller wasn't "a-possumin'." But the next time I went +over to the mill--and Steve went with me--old Ezry come and met us, +and said 'at Bills didn't have no hard feelin's ef _we_ didn't, and +'at he wanted us to fergive him; said 'at Bills wanted him to tell us +'at he was sorry the way he'd acted, and wanted us to fergive him. +Well, I looked at Ezry, and we both looked at him, jist perfectly tuck +back--the idee o' Bills a-wantin' anybody to fergive him! And says I, +"Ezry, what in the name o' common sense do you mean?" And says he, "I +mean jist what I say; Bills jined meetin' last night and had 'em all +a-prayin' far him; and we all had _a glorious time_," says old Ezry; +"and his woman was there and jined, too, and prayed and shouted and +tuck on to beat all; and Bills got up and spoke and give in his +experience, and said he'd be'n a bad man, but, glory to God, them +times was past and gone; said 'at he wanted all of 'em to pray far +him, and he wanted to prove faithful, and wanted all his inemies to +fergive him; and prayed 'at you and Steve and your folks would fergive +him, and ever'body 'at he ever wronged anyway." And old Ezry was +a-goin' on, and his eyes a-sparklin', and a-rubbin' his hands, he was +so excited and tickled over it, 'at Steve and me we jist stood there +a-gawkin' like, tel Bills hisse'f come up and rech out one hand to +Steve and one to me; and Steve shuck with him kind o' oneasy like, and +I--well, sir, I never felt cur'oser in my born days than I did that +minute. The cold chills crep' over me, and I shuck as ef I had the +agur, and I folded my hands behind me and I looked that feller square +in the eye, and I tried to speak three or four times afore I could +make it, and when I did, my voice wasn't natchurl--sounded like a +feller a-whisperin' through a tin horn er somepin'.--and I says, says +I, "You're a liar," slow and delibert. That was all. His eyes blazed a +minute, and drapped; and he turned, 'thout a word, and walked off. And +Ezry says, "He's in airnest; I know he's in airnest, er he'd a-never +a-tuck that!" And so he went on, tel finally Steve jined in, and +betwixt 'em they p'suaded me 'at I was in the wrong and the best thing +to do was to make it all up, which I finally did. And Bills said 'at +he'd a-never a-felt jist right 'thout _my_ friendship, far he'd +wronged me, he said, and he'd wronged Steve and Mother, too, and he +wanted a chance, he said, o' makin' things straight agin. + +Well, a-goin' home, I don't think Steve and me talked o' nothin' else +but Bills--how airnest the feller acted 'bout it, and how, ef he +_wasn't_ in airnest he'd a-never a-swallered that 'lie,' you see. +That's what walked my log, far he could a-jist as easy a-knocked me +higher 'n Kilgore's kite as he could to walk away 'thout a-doin' of +it. + +Mother was awful tickled when she heerd about it, far she'd had an +idee 'at we'd have trouble afore we got back, and a-gitten home safe, +and a-bringin' the news 'bout Bills a-jinin' church and all, tickled +her so 'at she mighty nigh shouted far joy. You see, Mother was a' old +church-member all her life; and I don't think she ever missed a +sermont er a prayer-meetin' 'at she could possibly git to--rain er +shine, wet er dry. When ther was a meetin' of any kind a-goin' on, go +she would, and nothin' short o' sickness in the fambly, er knowin' +nothin' of it would stop _her_! And clean up to her dyin' day she was +a God-fearin' and consistent Christian ef ther ever was one. I mind +now when she was tuck with her last spell and laid bedfast far +eighteen months, she used to tell the preacher, when he 'd come to see +her and pray and go on, 'at she could die happy ef she could on'y be +with 'em all agin in their love-feasts and revivals. She was purty low +then, and had be'n a-failin' fast far a day er two; and that day +they'd be'n a-holdin' service at the house. It was her request, you +know, and the neighbers had congergated and was a-prayin' and +a-singin' her favorite hymns--one in p'tickler, "God moves in a +mysterous way his wunders to p'form," and 'bout his "Walkin' on the +sea and a-ridin' of the storm."--Well, anyway, they'd be'n a-singin' +that hymn far her--she used to sing that 'n so much, I ricollect as +far back as I kin remember; and I mind how it used to make me feel so +lonesome-like and solemn, don't you know,--when I'd be a-knockin' +round the place along of evenin's, and she'd be a-milkin', and I'd +hear her, at my feedin', way off by myse'f, and it allus somehow made +me feel like a feller'd ort o' try and live as nigh right as the law +allows, and that's about my doctern yit. Well, as I was a-goin' on to +say, they'd jist finished that old hymn, and Granny Lowry was jist +a-goin to lead in prayer, when I noticed mother kind o' tried to turn +herse'f in bed, and smiled so weak and faint-like, and looked at me, +with her lips a-kind o' movin'; and I thought maybe she wanted another +dos't of her syrup 'at Ezry's woman had fixed up far her, and I kind +o' stooped down over her and ast her if she wanted anything. "Yes," +she says, and nodded, and her voice sounded so low and solemn and so +far away-like 'at I knowed she'd never take no more medicine on this +airth. And I tried to ast her what it was she wanted, but I couldn't +say nothin'; my throat hurt me, and I felt the warm tears a-boolgin' +up, and her kind old face a-glimmerin' a-way so pale-like afore my +eyes, and still a-smilin' up so lovin' and forgivin' and so good 'at +it made me think so far back in the past I seemed to be a little boy +agin; and seemed like her thin gray hair was brown, and a-shinin' in +the sun as it used to do when she helt me on her shoulder in the open +door, when Father was a-livin' and we used to go to meet him at the +bars; seemed like her face was young agin, and a-smilin' like it allus +used to be, and her eyes as full o' hope and happiness as afore they +ever looked on grief er ever shed a tear. And I thought of all the +trouble they had saw on my account, and of all the lovin' words her +lips had said, and of all the thousand things her pore old hands had +done far me 'at I never even thanked her far; and how I loved her +better 'n all the world besides, and would be so lonesome ef she went +away--Lord! I can't tell you what I didn't think and feel and see. And +I knelt down by her, and she whispered then far Steven, and he come, +and we kissed her--and she died--a smilin' like a child--jist like a +child. + +Well--well! 'Pears like I'm allus a-runnin' into somepin' else. I +wisht I could tell a story 'thout driftin' off in matters 'at hain't +no livin' thing to do with what I started out with. I try to keep from +thinkin' of afflictions and the like, 'cause sich is bound to come to +the best of us; but a feller's ricollection will bring 'em up, and I +reckon it'd ort 'o be er it wouldn't be; and I've thought, sometimes, +it was done may be to kind o' admonish a feller, as the Good Book +says, of how good a world 'd be 'thout no sorrow in it. + +Where was I? Oh, yes, I ricollect;--about Bills a-jinin' church. Well, +sir, ther' wasn't a better-actin' feller and more religious-like in +all the neighberhood. Spoke in meetin's, he did, and tuck a' active +part in all religious doin's, and, in fact, was jist as square a man, +appearantly, as the preacher hisse'f. And about six er eight weeks +after he'd jined, they got up another revival, and things run high. +Ther' was a big excitement, and ever'body was a'tendin' from far and +near. Bills and Ezry got the mill-hands to go, and didn't talk o' +nothin' but religion. People thought awhile 'at old Ezry 'd turn +preacher, he got so interested 'bout church matters. He was easy +excited 'bout anything; and when he went into a thing it was in dead +earnest, shore!--"jist flew off the handle," as I heerd a comical +feller git off onct. And him and Bills was up and at it ever' +night--prayin' and shoutin' at the top o' the'r voice. Them railly did +seem like good times--when ever'body jined together, and prayed and +shouted ho-sanner, and danced around together, and hugged each other +like they was so full o' glory they jist couldn't he'p +theirse'v's--that's the reason I jined; it looked so kind o' +whole-souled-like and good, you understand. But la! I didn't hold out +on'y far a little while, and no wunder! + +Well, about them times Bills was tuck down with the agur; first got to +chillin' ever'-other-day, then ever' day, and harder and harder, tel +sometimes he 'd be obleeged to stay away from meetin' on account of +it. And one't I was at meetin' when he told about it, and how when he +couldn't be with 'em he allus prayed at home, and he said 'at he +believed his prayers was answered, far onc't he'd prayed far a new +outpourin' of the Holy Sperit, and that very night ther' was three new +jiners. And another time he said 'at he 'd prayed 'at Wesley Morris +would jine, and lo and behold you! he _did_ jine, and the very night +'at he prayed he would. + +Well, the night I'm a-speakin' of he'd had a chill the day afore and +couldn't go that night, and was in bed when Ezry druv past far him; +said he'd like to go, but had a high fever and couldn't. And then +Ezry's woman ast him ef he was too sick to spare Annie; and he said +no, they could take her and the baby: and told her to fix his medicine +so's he could reach it 'thout gittin' out o' bed, and he'd git along +'thout her. And so she tuck the baby and went along with Ezry and his +folks. + +I was at meetin' that night and ricollect 'em comin' in. Annie got a +seat jist behind me--Steve give her his'n and stood up; and I +ricollect a-astin' her how Bills was a-gittin' along with the agur; +and little Annie, the baby, kep' a-pullin' my hair and a-crowin' tel +finally she went to sleep; and Steve ast her mother to let _him_ hold +her--cutest little thing you ever laid eyes on, and the very pictur' +_of_ her mother. + +Old Daddy Barker preached that night, and a mighty good sermont. His +text, ef I ricollect right, was "workin' out your own salvation;" and +when I listen to preachers nowadays in ther big churches and ther fine +pulpits, I allus think o' Daddy Barker, and kind o' some way wisht the +old times could come agin, with the old log meetin'-house with its +puncheon floor and the chinkin' in the walls, and old Daddy Barker in +the pulpit. He'd make you feel 'at the Lord could make hissef at home +there, and find jist as abundant comfort in the old log house as he +could in any of your fine-furnished churches 'at you can't set down in +'thout payin' far the privilege, like it was a theater. + +Ezry had his two little girls jine that night, and I ricollect the +preacher made sich a purty prayer about the Savior a-cotin' from the +Bible 'bout "Suffer little childern to come unto me" and all; and +talked so purty about the jedgment day, and mothers a-meetin' the'r +little ones there and all; and went on tel ther wasn't a dry eye in +the house--and jist as he was a-windin' up, Abe Riggers stuck his head +in at the door and hollered "fire" loud as he could yell. We all +rushed out, a-thinkin' it was the meetin'-house; but he hollered it +was the mill; and shore enough, away off to the southards we could see +the light acrost the woods, and see the blaze a-lickin' up above the +trees. I seed old Ezry as he come a-scufflin' through the crowd; and +we put out together far it. Well, it was two mild to the mill, but by +the time we'd half way got there, we could tell it wasn't the mill +a-burnin', 'at the fire was furder to the left, and that was Ezry's +house; and by the time we got there it wasn't much use. We pitched +into the household goods, and got out the beddin', and the furnitur' +and cheers and the like o' that; saved the clock and a bedstid, and +got the bureau purt' nigh out when they hollered to us 'at the roof +was a cavin' in, and we had to leave it; well, we'd tuck the drawers +out, all but the big one, and that was locked; and it and all in it +went with the buildin', and that was a big loss: All the money 'at +Ezry was a-layin' by was in that-air drawer, and a lot o' keepsakes +and trinkets 'at Ezry's woman said she wouldn't a-parted with far the +world and all. + +I never seed a troubleder fambly than they was. It jist 'peared like +old Ezry give clean down, and the women and childern a-cryin' and +a-takin' on. It looked jist awful--shore's you're born!--Losin' +ever'thing they'd worked so hard far--and there it was, purt' nigh +midnight, and a fambly, jist a little while ago all so happy, and now +with no home to go to ner nothin'! + +It was arranged far Ezry's to move in with Bills--that was about the +on'y chance--on'y one room and a loft; but Bills said they could +manage _some_ way, far a while anyhow. + +Bills said he seed the fire when it first started, and could a-put it +out ef he'd on'y be'n strong enough to git there; said he started +twic't to go, but was too weak and had to go back to bed agin; said it +was a-blazin' in the kitchen roof when he first seed it. So the +gineral conclusion 'at we all come to was--it must a-ketched from the +flue. + +It was too late in the Fall then to think o' buildin' even the onryest +kind o' shanty, and so Ezry moved in with Bills. And Bills used to say +ef it had n't a-be'n far Ezry _he'd_ a-never a-had no house, ner +nuthin' to put in it, nuther. You see, all the household goods 'at +Bills had in the world he'd got of Ezry, and he 'lowed he'd be a +triflin' whelp ef he didn't do all in his power to make Ezry perfeckly +at home 's long as he wanted to stay there. And together they managed +to make room far 'em all, by a-buildin' a kind o' shed-like to the +main house, intendin' to build when Spring come. And ever'thing went +along first-rate, I guess; never heerd no complaints--that is, +p'ticular. + +Ezry was kind o' down far a long time, though; didn't like to talk +about his trouble much, and didn't 'tend meetin' much, like he used +to; said it made him think 'bout his house burnin', and he didn't feel +safe to lose sight o' the mill. And the meetin's kind o' broke up +altogether that winter. Almost broke up religious doin's, it did. 'S +long as I've lived here I never seed jist sich a slack in religion as +ther' was that winter; and 'fore then, I kin mind the time when ther' +wasn't a night the whole endurin' winter when they didn't have +preachin' er prayer-meetin' o' some kind a-goin' on. W'y, I ricollect +one night in p'ticular--_the coldest_ night, _whooh!_ And somebody had +stold the meetin'-house door, and they was obleeged to preach 'thout +it. And the wind blowed in so they had to hold the'r hats afore the +candles, and then one't-in-a-while they'd git sluffed out. And the +snow drifted in so it was jist like settin' out doors; and they had to +stand up when they prayed--yessir! stood up to pray. I noticed that +night they was a' oncommon lot o' jiners, and I believe to this day +'at most of 'em jined jist to git up wher' the stove was. Lots o' +folks had the'r feet froze right in meetin'; and Steve come home with +his ears froze like they was whittled out o' bone; and he said 'at +Mary Madaline Wells's feet was froze, and she had two pair o' socks on +over her shoes. Oh, it was cold, now I tell you! + +They run the mill part o' that winter--part they couldn't. And they +didn't work to say stiddy tel along in Aprile, and then ther' was snow +on the ground yit--in the shadders--and the ground froze, so you +couldn't hardly dig a grave. But at last they got to kind o' jiggin' +along agin. Plenty to do ther' was; and old Ezry was mighty tickled, +too; 'peared to recruit right up like. Ezry was allus best tickled +when things was a-stirrin', and then he was a-gittin' ready far +buildin', you know, wanted a house of his own, he said--and of course +it wasn't adzackly like home, all cluttered up as they was there at +Bills's. They got along mighty well, though, together; and the +women-folks and childern got along the best in the world. Ezry's woman +used to say she never laid eyes on jist sich another woman as Annie +was. Said it was jist as good as a winter's schoolin' far the +childern; said her two little girls had learnt to read, and didn't +know the'r a-b abs afore Annie learnt 'em; well, the oldest one, Mary +Patience, she did know her letters, I guess--fourteen year old, she +was; but Mandy, the youngest, had never seed inside a book afore that +winter; and the way she learnt was jist su'prisin'. She was puny-like +and frail-lookin' allus, but ever'body 'lowed she was a heap smarter +'n Mary Patience, and she was; and in my opinion she railly had more +sense 'n all the rest o' the childern put together, 'bout books and +cipherin' and arethmetic, and the like; and John Wesley, the oldest of +'em, he got to teachin' at last, when he growed up,--but, la! he +couldn't write his own name so 's you could read it. I allus thought +ther was a good 'eal of old Ezry in John Wesley. Liked to romance +'round with the youngsters 'most too well.--Spiled him far teachin', I +allus thought; far instance, ef a scholard said somepin' funny in +school, John-Wes he'd jist have to have his laugh out with the rest, +and it was jist fun far the boys, you know, to go to school to him. +Allus in far spellin'-matches and the like, and learnin' songs and +sich. I ricollect he give a' exhibition onc't, one winter, and I'll +never fergit it, I reckon. + +The school-house would on'y hold 'bout forty, comfortable, and that +night ther' was up'ards of a hunderd er more--jist crammed and jammed! +And the benches was piled back so's to make room far the flatform +they'd built to make the'r speeches and dialogues on; and fellers +a-settin' up on them back seats, the'r heads was clean aginst the +j'ist. It was a low ceilin', anyhow, and o' course them 'at tuck a +part in the doin's was way up, too. Janey Thompson had to give up her +part in a dialogue, 'cause she looked so tall she was afeard the +congergation would laugh at her; and they couldn't git her to come out +and sing in the openin' song 'thout lettin' her set down first and git +ready 'fore they pulled the curtain. You see, they had sheets sewed +together, and fixed on a string some way, to slide back'ards and +for'ards, don't you know. But they was a big bother to 'em--couldn't +git 'em to work like. Ever' time they'd git 'em slid 'bout half way +acrost, somepin' would ketch, and they'd have to stop and fool with +'em awhile 'fore they could git 'em the balance o' the way acrost. +Well, finally, t'ords the last, they jist kep' 'em drawed back all the +time. It was a pore affair, and spiled purt nigh ever' piece; but the +scholards all wanted it fixed thataway, the teacher said, in a few +appropert remarks he made when the thing was over. Well, I was a +settin' in the back part o' the house on them high benches, and my +head was jist even with them on the flatform, and the lights was pore, +wher' the string was stretched far the curtain to slide on it looked +like the p'formers was strung on it. And when Lige Boyer's boy was +a-speakin'--kind o' mumbled it, you know, and you couldn't half +hear--it looked far the world like he was a-chawin' on that-air +string; and some devilish feller 'lowed ef he'd chaw it clean in two +it'd be a good thing far the balance. After that they all sung a +sleigh-ridin' song, and it was right purty, the way they got it off. +Had a passel o' sleigh-bells they'd ring ever' onc't-in-a-while, and +it sounded purty--shore! + +Then Hunicut's girl, Marindy, read a letter 'bout winter, and what fun +the youngsters allus had in winter-time, a-sleighin' and the like, and +spellin'-matches, and huskin'-bees, and all. Purty good, it was, and +made a feller think o' old times. Well, that was about the best thing +ther' was done that night; but ever'body said the teacher wrote it far +her; and I wouldn't be su'prised much, far they was married not long +afterwards. I expect he wrote it far her.--Wouldn't put it past Wes! + +They had a dialogue, too, 'at was purty good. Little Bob Arnold was +all fixed up--had on his pap's old bell-crowned hat, the one he was +married in. Well, I jist thought die I would when I seed that old hat +and called to mind the night his pap was married, and we all got him a +little how-come-you-so on some left-handed cider 'at had be'n a-layin' +in a whisky-bar'l tel it was strong enough to bear up a' egg. I kin +ricollect now jist how he looked in that hat, when it was all new, you +know, and a-settin on the back of his head, and his hair in his eyes; +and sich hair!--as red as git-out--and his little black eyes a-shinin' +like beads. Well sir, you'd a-died to a-seed him a-dancin'. We danced +all night that night, and would a-be'n a-dancin' yit, I reckon, ef the +fiddler hadn't a-give out. Wash Lowry was a-fiddlin' far us; and along +to'rds three or four in the mornin' Wash was purty well fagged out. +You see, Wash could never play far a dance er nothin' 'thout +a-drinkin' more er less, and when he got to a certain pitch you +couldn't git nothin' out o' him but "Barbary Allan;" so at last he +struck up on that, and jist kep' it up and _kep_' it up, and nobody +couldn't git nothin' else out of him! + +Now, anybody 'at ever danced knows 'at "Barbary Allan" hain't no tune +to dance by, no way you can fix it; and, o' course, the boys seed at +onc't the'r fun was gone ef they could n't git him on another +tune.--And they 'd coax and beg and plead with him, and maybe git him +started on "The Wind Blows over the Barley," and 'bout the time they'd +git to knockin' it down agin purty lively, he'd go to sawin' away on +"Barbary Allan"--and I'll-be-switched-to-death ef that feller didn't +set there and play hisse'f sound asleep on "Barbary Allan," and we had +to wake him up afore he'd quit! Now, that's jes' a plum' facts. And +ther' wasn't a better fiddler nowheres than Wash Lowry, when he was at +hisse'f. I've heerd a good many fiddlers in my day, and I never heerd +one yit 'at could play my style o' fiddlin' ekal to Wash Lowry. You +see, Wash didn't play none o' this-here newfangled music--nothin' but +the old tunes, you understand, "The Forkéd Deer," and "Old Fat Gal," +and "Gray Eagle," and the like. Now, them's music! Used to like to +hear Wash play "Gray Eagle." He could come as nigh a-makin' that old +tune talk as ever you heerd! Used to think a heap o' his fiddle--and +he had a good one, shore. I've heard him say, time and time agin, 'at +a five-dollar gold-piece wouldn't buy it, and I knowed him my-se'f to +refuse a calf far it onc't--yessir, a yearland calf--and the feller +offered him a double-bar'l'd pistol to boot, and blame ef he'd take +it; said he'd ruther part with anything else he owned than his +fiddle.--But here I am, clean out o' the furry agin. Oh, yes; I was +a-tellin' about little Bob, with that old hat; and he had on a +swaller-tail coat and a lot o' fixin's, a-actin' like he was 'squire; +and he had him a great long beard made out o' corn-silks, and you +wouldn't a-knowed him ef it wasn't far his voice. Well, he was +a-p'tendin' he was a 'squire a-tryin' some kind o' law-suit, you see; +and John Wesley he was the defendunt, and Joney Wiles, I believe it +was, played like he was the plaintive. And they'd had a fallin' out +'bout some land, and was a-lawin' far p'session, you understand. Well, +Bob he made out it was a mighty bad case when John-Wes comes to +consult him about it, and tells _him_ ef a little p'int o' law was +left out he thought he could git the land far him. And then John-Wes +bribes him, you understand, to leave out the p'int o' law, and the +'squire says he'll do all he kin, and so John-Wes goes out a feelin' +purty good. Then _Wiles_ comes in to consult the 'squire don't you +see. And the 'squire tells _him_ the same tale he told _John Wesley_. +So _Wiles_ bribes him to leave out the p'int o' law in _his_ favor, +don't you know. So when the case is tried he decides in favor o' +John-Wes, a-tellin' Wiles some cock-and-bull story 'bout havin' to +manage it thataway so 's to git the case mixed so's he could git it +far him shore; and posts him to sue far change of venue er +somepin',--anyway, Wiles gits a new trial, and then the 'squire +decides in _his_ favor, and tells John-Wes another trial will fix it +in _his_ favor, and so on.--And so it goes on tel, anyway, he gits +holt o' the land hisse'f and all ther money besides, and leaves them +to hold the bag! Wellsir, it was purty well got up; and they said it +was John-Wes's doin's, and I 'low it was--he was a good hand at +anything o' that sort, and knowed how to make fun.--But I've be'n a +tellin' you purty much ever'thing but what I started out with, and +I'll try and hurry through, 'cause I know you're tired. + +'Long 'bout the beginin' o' summer, things had got back to purty much +the old way. The boys round was a-gittin' devilish, and o' nights +'specially ther' was a sight o' meanness a-goin' on. The mill-hands, +most of'em, was mixed up in it--Coke and Morris, and them 'at had +jined meetin' 'long in the winter, had all backslid, and was +a-drinkin' and carousin' 'round worse 'n ever. + +People perdicted 'at Bills would backslide, but he helt on faithful, +to all appearance; said he liked to see a feller when he made up his +mind to do right, he liked to see him do it, and not go back on his +word; and even went so far as to tell Ezry ef they didn't put a stop +to it he'd quit the neighberhood and go some'rs else. And Bills was +Ezry's head man then, and he couldn't a-got along 'thout him; and I +b'lieve ef Bills had a-said the word old Ezry would a-turned off ever' +hand he had. He got so he jist left ever'thing to Bills. Ben Carter +was turned off far somepin', and nobody ever knowed what. Bills and +him had never got along jist right sence the fight. + +Ben was with this set I was a-tellin' you 'bout, and they'd got him to +drinkin' and in trouble, o' course. I'd knowed Ben well enough to know +he wouldn't do nothin' onry ef he wasn't agged on, and ef he ever was +mixed up in anything o' the kind Wes Morris and John Coke was at the +bottom of it, and I take notice they wasn't turned off when Ben was. + +One night the crowd was out, and Ben amongst 'em, o' course.--Sence +he'd be'n turned off he'd be'n a-drinkin',--and I never blamed him +much; he was so good-hearted like and easy led off, and I allus +b'lieved it wasn't his own doin's. + +Well, this night they cut up awful, and ef ther was one fight ther was +a dozend; and when all the devilment was done they _could_ do, they +started on a stealin' expedition, and stold a lot o' chickens and tuck +'em to the mill to roast'em; and, to make a long story short, that +night the mill burnt clean to the ground. And the whole pack of 'em +cologued together aginst Carter to saddle it onto him; claimed 'at +they left Ben there at the mill 'bout twelve o'clock--which was a +fact, far he was dead drunk and couldn't git away. Steve stumbled over +him while the mill was a-burnin' and drug him out afore he knowed what +was a-goin' on, and it was all plain enough to Steve 'at Ben didn't +have no hand in the firm' of it. But I'll tell you he sobered up +mighty suddent when he seed what was a-goin' on, and heerd the +neighbors a-hollerin', and a-threatenin', and a-goin' on!--far it +seemed to be the ginerl idee 'at the buildin' was fired a-purpose. And +says Ben to Steve, says he, "I expect I'll have to say good-bye to +you, far they've got me in a ticklish place! I kin see through it all +now, when it's too late!" And jist then Wesley Morris hollers out, +"Where's Ben Carter?" and started to'rds where me and Ben and Steve +was a-standin'; and Ben says, wild like, "Don't you two fellers ever +think it was my doin's," and whispers "Good-bye," and started off, and +when we turned, Wesley Morris was a-layin' flat of his back, and we +heerd Carter yell to the crowd 'at "that man"--meanin' Morris--" +needed lookin' after worse than _he_ did," and another minute he +plunged into the river and swum acrost; and we all stood and watched +him in the flickerin' light tel he clum out on t'other bank; and 'at +was last anybody ever seed o' Ben Carter! + +It must a-be'n about three o'clock in the mornin' by this time, and +the mill then was jist a-smoulderin' to ashes--far it was as dry as +tinder and burnt like a flash--and jist as a party was a-talkin' o' +organizin' and follerin' Carter, we heerd a yell 'at I'll never fergit +ef I'd live tel another flood. Old Ezry, it was, as white as a corpse, +and with the blood a-streamin' out of a gash in his forehead, and his +clothes half on, come a-rushin' into the crowd and a-hollerin' fire +and murder ever' jump. "My house is a-burnin', and my folks is all +a-bein' murdered while you 're a-standin' here! And Bills done it! +Bills done it!" he hollered, as he headed the crowd and started back +far home. "Bills done it! I caught him at it; and he would a-murdered +me in cold blood ef it had n't a-be'n far his woman. He knocked me +down, and had me tied to a bed-post in the kitchen afore I come to. +And his woman cut me loose and told me to run far he'p; and says I, +'Where's Bills?' and she says, 'He's after me by this time.' And jist +then we heerd Bills holler, and we looked, and he was a-standin' out +in the clearin' in front o' the house, with little Annie in his arms; +and he hollered wouldn't she like to kiss the baby good-bye." + +"And she hollered My God! far me to save little Annie, and fainted +clean dead away. And I heerd the roof a-crackin', and grabbed her up +and packed her out jist in time. And when I looked up, Bills hollered +out agin, and says, 'Ezry,' he says, 'You kin begin to kind a' git an +idee o' what a good feller I am! And ef you hadn't a-caught me you 'd +a-never a-knowed it, and 'Brother Williams' wouldn't a-be'n called +away to another app'intment like he is.' And says he, 'Now, ef you +foller me I'll finish you shore!--You're safe now, far I hain't got +time to waste on you furder.' And jist then his woman kind o' come to +her senses agin and hollered far little Annie, and the child heerd her +and helt out its little arms to go to her, and hollered 'Mother! +Mother!' And Bills says, Dam your mother! ef it hadn't a-be'n far +_her_ I'd a-be'n all right. And dam you too!' he says to me,--'This'll +pay you far that lick you struck me; and far you a-startin' reports +when I first come 'at more 'n likely I'd done somepin' mean over east +and come out west to reform! And I wonder ef I _didn't_ do somepin' +mean afore I come here?' he went on; 'kill somebody er somepin'? And I +wonder ef I ain't reformed enough to go back? Good-bye, Annie!' he +hollered; 'and you needn't fret about your baby, I 'll be the same +indulgent father to it I 've allus be'n!' And the baby was a-cryin' +and a-reachin' out its little arms to'rds its mother, when Bills he +turned and struck oft' in the dark to'rds the river." + +This was about the tale 'at Ezry told us, as nigh as I can ricollect, +and by the time he finished, I never want to see jist sich another +crowd o' men as was a-swarmin' there. Ain't it awful when sich a crowd +gits together? I tell you it makes my flesh creep to think about it! + +As Bills had gone in the direction of the river, we wasn't long in +makin' our minds up 'at he'd have to cross it, and ef he done _that_ +he'd have to use the boat 'at was down below the mill, er wade it at +the ford, a mild er more down. So we divided in three sections, +like--one to go and look after the folks at the house, and another to +the boat, and another to the ford. And Steve and me and Ezry was in +the crowd 'at struck far the boat, and we made time a-gittin' there! +It was awful dark, and the sky was a-cloudin'up like a storm; but we +wasn't long a-gittin' to the p'int where the boat was allus tied; but +ther' wasn't no boat there! Steve kind o' tuck the lead, and we all +talked in whispers. And Steve said to kind o' lay low and maybe we +could hear somepin', and some feller said he thought he heerd somepin' +strange like, but the wind was kind o' raisin' and kep' up sich a +moanin' through the trees along the bank 't we couldn't make out +nothin'. "Listen!" says Steve, suddent like, "I hear somepin!" We was +all still again--and we all heerd a moanin' 'at was sadder 'n the +wind--sounded mournfuller to me 'cause I knowed it in a minute, and I +whispered, "Little Annie." And 'way out acrost the river we could hear +the little thing a-sobbin', and we all was still 's death; and we +heerd a voice we knowd was Bills's say, "Dam ye! Keep still, or I'll +drownd ye!" And the wind kind o' moaned agin and we could hear the +trees a-screechin' together in the dark, and the leaves a-rustlin'; +and when it kind o' lulled agin, we heerd Bills make a kind o' splash +with the oars; and jist then Steve whispered far to lay low and be +ready--he was a-goin' to riconnitre; and he tuck his coat and shoes +off, and slid over the bank and down into the worter as slick as a' +eel. Then ever'thing was still agin, 'cept the moanin' o' the child, +which kep' a-gittin' louder and louder; and then a voice whispered to +us, "He's a-comin' back; the crowd below has sent scouts up, and +they're on t' other side. Now watch clos't, and he's our meat." We +could hear Bills, by the moanin' o' the baby, a-comin' nearder and +nearder, tel suddently he made a sort o' miss-lick with the oar, I +reckon, and must a splashed the baby, far she set up a loud cryin; and +jist then old Ezry, who was a-leanin' over the bank, kind o' lost his +grip some way o' nuther, and fell kersplash in the worter like a' old +chunk. "Hello!" says Bills, through the dark, "you're there, too, air +ye?" as old Ezry splashed up the bank agin. And "Cuss you!" he says +then, to the baby--"ef it hadn't be'n far your infernal squawkin' I'd +a-be'n all right; but you've brought the whole neighberhood out, and, +dam you, I'll jist let you swim out to 'em!" And we heerd a splash, +then a kind o' gurglin', and then Steve's voice a-hollerin', "Close in +on him, boys; I've got the baby!" And about a dozend of us bobbed off +the bank like so many bull-frogs, and I'll tell you the worter b'iled! +We could jist make out the shape o' the boat, and Bills a-standin' +with a' oar drawed back to smash the first head 'at come in range. It +was a mean place to git at him. We knowed he was despert, and far a +minute we kind o' helt back. Fifteen foot o' worter 's a mighty +onhandy place to git hit over the head in! And Bills says, "You hain't +afeard, I reckon--twenty men agin one!" "You'd better give your se'f +up!" hollered Ezry from the shore. "No, Brother Sturgiss," says Bills, +"I can't say 'at I'm at all anxious 'bout bein' borned agin, jist yit +awhile," he says; "I see you kind o' 'pear to go in far babtism; guess +you'd better go home and git some dry clothes on; and, speakin' o' +home, you'd ort 'o be there by all means--your house might catch afire +and burn up while you're gone!" And jist then the boat give a suddent +shove under him--some feller'd div under and tilted it--and far a +minute it throwed him off his guard and the boys closed in. Still he +had the advantage, bein' in the boat, and as fast as a feller would +climb in he'd git a whack o' the oar, tel finally they got to pilin' +in a little too fast far him to manage, and he hollered then 'at we'd +have to come to the bottom ef we got him, and with that he div out o' +the end o' the boat, and we lost sight of him; and I'll be blame ef he +didn't give us the slip after all. + +Wellsir, we watched far him, and some o' the boys swum on down stream, +expectin' he'd raise, but couldn't find hide ner hair of him; so we +left the boat a-driftin' off down stream and swum ashore, a-thinkin' +he'd jist drownded hisse'f a-purpose. But ther' was more su'prise +waitin' far us yit,--for lo-and-behold-you, when we got ashore ther' +wasn't no trace o' Steve er the baby to be found. Ezry said he seed +Steve when he fetched little Annie ashore, and she was all right on'y +she was purt nigh past cryin'; and he said Steve had lapped his coat +around her and give her to him to take charge of, and he got so +excited over the fight he laid her down betwixt a couple o' logs and +kind o' forget about her tel the thing was over, and he went to look +far her, and she was gone. Couldn't a-be'n 'at she'd a-wundered off +her-own-se'f; and it couldn't a-be'n 'at Steve'd take her, 'thout +a-lettin us know it. It was a mighty aggervatin' conclusion to come +to, but we had to do it, and that was, Bills must a got ashore +unbeknownst to us and packed her off. Sich a thing wasn't hardly +probable, yit it was a thing 'at might be; and after a-talkin' it over +we had to admit 'at it must a-be'n the way of it. But where was Steve? +W'y, we argied, he'd discivvered she was gone, and had put out on +track of her 'thout losin' time to stop and explain the thing. The +next question was, what did Bills want with her agin? He'd tried to +drownd her onc't. We could ast questions enough, but c'rect answers +was mighty skearce, and we jist concluded 'at the best thing to do was +to put out far the ford, far that was the nighdest place Bills could +cross 'thout a boat, and ef it was him tuck the child he was still on +our side o' the river, o' course. So we struck out far the ford, +a-leav-in' a couple o' men to search up the river. A drizzlin' sort o' +rain had set in by this time, and with that and the darkness and the +moanin' of the wind, it made 'bout as lonesome a prospect as a feller +ever wants to go through agin. + +It was jist a-gittin' a little gray-like in the mornin' by the time we +reached the ford, but you couldn't hardly see two rods afore you far +the mist and the fog 'at had settled along the river. We looked far +tracks, but couldn't make out nuthin'. Thereckly old Ezry punched me +and p'inted out acrost the river. "What's that?" he whispers. Jist +'bout half way acrost was somepin' white-like in the worter--couldn't +make out what--perfeckly still it was. And I whispered back and told +him I guess it wasn't nothin' but a sycamore snag. "Listen!" says he; +"Sycamore snags don't make no noise like that!" And, shore enough, it +was the same moanin' noise we'd heerd the baby makin' when we first +got on the track. Sobbin' she was, as though nigh about dead. "Well, +ef that's Bills," says I--"and I reckon ther' hain't no doubt but it +is--what in the name o' all that's good and bad's the feller +a-standin' there far?" And a-creep-in' clos'ter, we could make him out +plainer and plainer. It was him; and there he stood breast-high in the +worter, a-holdin' the baby on his shoulder like, and a lookin' up +stream, and a-waitin'. + +"What do you make out of it?" says Ezry. "What's he waitin' far?" + +And a strainin' my eyes in the direction he was a-lookin' I seed +somepin' a-movin' down the river, and a minute later I'd made out the +old boat a-driftin' down stream; and then of course ever'thing was +plain enough: He was waitin' far the boat, and ef he got _that_ he'd +have the same advantage on us he had afore. + +"Boys," says I, "he mustn't git that boat agin! Foller me, and don't +let him git to the shore alive." And in we plunged. He seed us, but he +never budged, on'y to grab the baby by its little legs, and swing it +out at arms-len'th. "Stop, there," he hollered. "Stop jist where you +air! Move another inch and I'll drownd this dam young-un afore your +eyes!" he says.--And he 'd a done it. "Boys," says I, "he's got us. +Don't move! This thing'll have to rest with a higher power 'n our 'n! +Ef any of you kin pray," says I, "now's a good time to do it!" + +Jist then the boat swung up, and Bills grabbed it and rech 'round and +set the baby in it, never a-takin' his eye off o' us, though, far a +minute. "Now," says he, with a sort o' snarlin' laugh, "I've on'y got +a little while to stay with you, and I want to say a few words afore I +go. I want to tell you fellers, in the first place, 'at you've be'n +_fooled_ in me: I _hain't_ a good feller, now, honest! And ef you're a +little the worse far findin' it out so late in the day, you hain't +none the worse far losin' me so soon--far I'm a-goin' away now, and +any interference with my arrangements 'll on'y give you more trouble; +so it's better all around to let me go peaceable and jist while I'm in +the notion. I expect it'll be a disapp'intment to some o' you that my +name hain't 'Williams,' but it hain't. And maybe you won't think nigh +as much o' me when I tell you furder 'at I was obleeged to 'dopt the +name o' 'Williams' onc't to keep from bein' strung up to a lamp-post, +but sich is the facts. I was so extremely unfortunit onc't as to kill +a p'ticular friend o' mine, and he forgive me with his dyin' breath, +and told me to run while I could, and be a better man. But he'd +spotted me with a' ugly mark 'at made it kind o' onhandy to git away, +but I did at last; and jist as I was a-gittin' reformed-like, you +fellers had to kick in the traces, and I've made up my mind to hunt +out a more moraler community, where they don't make sich a fuss about +trifles. And havin' nothin' more to say, on'y to send Annie word 'at +I'll still be a father to her youngun here, I'll bid you all +good-bye." And with that he turned and clum in the boat--or ruther +fell in,--far somepin' black-like had riz up in it, with a' awful +lick--my--God!--and, a minute later, boat and baggage was a-gratin' on +the shore, and a crowd come thrashin' 'crost from tother side to jine +us, and 'peared like wasn't a _second_ longer tel a feller was +a-swingin' by his neck to the limb of a scrub-oak, his feet clean off +the ground, and his legs a-jerkin' up and down like a limber-jack's. + +And Steve it was a-layin' in the boat, and he'd rid a mild or more +'thout knowin' of it. Bills had struck and stunt him as he clum in +while the rumpus was a-goin' on, and he'd on'y come to in time to hear +Bills's farewell address to us there at the ford. + +Steve tuck charge o' little Annie agin, and ef she'd a-be'n his own +child he wouldn't a-went on more over her than he did; and said nobody +but her mother would git her out o' his hands agin. And he was as good +as his word; and ef you could a-seed him a half hour after that, when +he _did_ give her to her mother--all lapped up in his coat and as +drippin'-wet as a little drownded angel--it would a-made you wish't +you was him to see that little woman a caperin' round him, and +a-thankin' him, and a-cryin' and a-laughin', and almost a-huggin' him, +she was so tickled,--Well, I thought in my soul she'd die! And Steve +blushed like a girl to see her a-taking' on, and a-thankin' him, and +a-cryin', and a-kissin' little Annie, and a-goin' on. And when she +inquired 'bout Bills, which she did all suddent like, with a burst o' +tears, we jist didn't have the heart to tell her--on'y we said he'd +crossed the river and got away. And he had! + +And now comes a part o' this thing 'at 'll more 'n like tax you to +believe it: Williams and her wasn't man and wife--and you needn't look +su'prised, nuther, and I'll tell you far why--They was own brother and +sister; and that brings me to _her_ part of the story, which you'll +have to admit beats anything 'at you ever read about in books. + + * * * * * + +Her and Williams--that _wasn't_ his name, like he acknowledged, +hisse'f, you ricollect--ner she didn't want to tell his right name; +and we forgive her far that. Her and 'Williams' was own brother and +sister, and the'r parents lived in Ohio some'ers. The'r mother had +be'n dead five year' and better--grieved to death over her onnachurl +brother's recklessness, which Annie hinted had broke her father up in +some way, in tryin' to shield him from the law. And the secret of her +bein' with him was this: She had married a man o' the name of Curtis +or Custer, I don't mind which, adzackly--but no matter; she'd married +a well-to-do young feller 'at her brother helt a' old grudge agin, she +never knowed what; and sence her marriage her brother had went on from +bad to worse tel finally her father jist give him up and told him to +go it his own way--he'd killed his mother and ruined him, and he'd +jist give up all hopes. But Annie--you know how a sister is--she still +clung to him and done ever'thing far him, tel finally, one night about +three years after she was married she got word some way that he was in +trouble agin, and sent her husband to he'p him; and a half hour after +he'd gone, her brother come in, all excited and bloody, and told her +to git the baby and come with him, 'at her husband had got in a +quarrel with a friend o' his and was bad hurt. And she went with him, +of course, and he tuck her in a buggy, and lit out with her as tight +as he could go all night; and then told her 'at _he_ was the feller +'at had quarreled with her husband, and the officers was after him and +he was obleeged to leave the country, and far fear he hadn't made +shore work o' him, he was a-takin' her along to make shore of his +gittin' his revenge; and he swore he'd kill her and the baby too ef +she dared to whimper. And so it was, through a hunderd hardships he'd +made his way at last to our section o' the country, givin' out 'at +they was man and wife, and keepin' her from denyin' of it by threats, +and promises of the time a-comin' when he'd send her home to her man +agin in case he hadn't killed him. And so it run on tel you'd a-cried +to hear her tell it, and still see her sister's love far the feller +a-breakin' out by a-declarin' how kind he was to her _at times_, and +how he wasn't railly bad at heart, on'y far his ungov'nable temper. +But I couldn't he'p but notice, when she was a tellin' of her hist'ry, +what a quiet sort o' look o' satisfaction settled on the face o' Steve +and the rest of 'em, don't you understand. + +And now ther' was on'y one thing she wanted to ast, she said; and that +was, could she still make her home with us tel she could git word to +her friends?--and there she broke down agin, not knowin', of course, +whether _they_ was dead er alive; far time and time agin she said +somepin' told her she'd never see her husband agin on this airth; and +then the women-folks would cry with her and console her, and the boys +would speak hopeful--all but Steve; some way o' nuther Steve was never +like hisse'f from that time on. + +And so things went far a month and better. Ever'thing had quieted +down, and Ezry and a lot o' hands, and me and Steve amongst 'em, was +a-workin' on the frame-work of another mill. It was purty weather, and +we was all in good sperits, and it 'peared like the whole neighberhood +was interested--and they _-was_, too--women-folks and ever'body. And +that day Ezry's woman and amongst 'em was a-gittin' up a big dinner to +fetch down to us from the house; and along about noon a spruce-lookin' +young feller, with a pale face and a black beard, like, come a-ridin' +by and hitched his hoss, and comin' into the crowd, said "Howdy," +pleasant like, and we all stopped work as he went on to say 'at he was +on the track of a feller o' the name o' 'Williams,' and wanted to know +ef we could give him any infermation 'bout sich a man. Told him +maybe,--'at a feller bearin' that name desappeared kind o' myster'ous +from our neighberhood 'bout five weeks afore that. "My God!" says he, +a-turnin' paler'n ever, "am I too late? Where did he go, and was his +sister and her baby with him?" Jist then I ketched sight o' the +women-folks a-comin' with the baskets, and Annie with 'em, with a jug +o' worter in her hand; so I spoke up quick to the stranger, and says +I, "I guess 'his sister and baby' wasn't along," says I, "but his +_wife_ and _baby's_ some'eres here in the neighberhood yit." And then +a-watchin' him clos't, I says, suddent, a-pin'tin' over his shoulder, +"There his woman is now--that one with the jug, there." Well, Annie +had jist stooped to lift up one o' the little girls, when the feller +turned, and the'r eyes met, "Annie! My wife!" he says; and Annie she +kind o' give a little yelp like and come a-flutterin' down in his +arms; and the jug o' worter rolled clean acrost the road, and turned a +somerset and knocked the cob out of its mouth and jist laid back and +hollered "Good--good--good--good--good!" like as ef it knowed what was +up and was jist as glad and tickled as the rest of us. + + + + +SWEET-KNOT AND GALAMUS + + + + +AN OLD SWEETHEART. + + + + As one who cons at evening o'er an album all alone, + And muses on the faces of the friends that he has known, + So I turn the leaves of fancy till, in shadowy design, + I find the smiling features of an old sweetheart of mine. + + The lamplight seems to glimmer with a flicker of surprise, + As I turn it low to rest me of the dazzle in my eyes, + And light my pipe in silence, save a sigh that seems to yoke + Its fate with my tobacco and to vanish with the smoke. + + 'Tis a fragrant retrospection--for the loving thoughts that start + Into being are like perfumes from the blossom of the heart; + And to dream the old dreams over is a luxury divine-- + When my truant fancy wanders with that old sweeheart of mine. + + Though I hear, beneath my study, like a fluttering of wings, + The voices of my children, and the mother as she sings, + I feel no twinge of conscience to deny me any theme + When care has cast her anchor in the harbor of a dream + + In fact, to speak in earnest, I believe it adds a charm + To spice the good a trifle with a little dust of harm-- + For I find an extra flavor in Memory's mellow wine + That makes me drink the deeper to that old sweetheart of mine. + + A face of lily-beauty, with a form of airy grace, + Floats out of my tobacco as the genii from the vase; + And I thrill beneath the glances of a pair of azure eyes + As glowing as the summer and as tender as the skies. + + I can see the pink sunbonnet and the little checkered dress + She wore when first I kissed her and she answered the caress + With the written declaration that, "as surely as the vine + Grew 'round the stump," she loved me--that old sweetheart of mine. + + And again I feel the pressure of her slender little hand, + As we used to talk together of the future we had planned-- + When I should be a poet, and with nothing else to do + But write the tender verses that she set the music to: + + When we should live together in a cozy little cot + Hid in a nest of roses, with a fairy garden-spot, + Where the vines were ever fruited, and the weather ever fine, + And the birds were ever singing for that old sweetheart of mine: + + When I should be her lover forever and a day, + And she my faithful sweetheart till the golden hair was gray; + And we should be so happy that when either's lips were dumb + They would not smile in Heaven till the other's kiss had come. + + * * * * * + + But, ah! my dream is broken by a step upon the stair, + And the door is softly opened, and--my wife is standing there; + Yet with eagerness and rapture all my visions I resign + To greet the living presence of that old sweetheart of mine. + + + + +MARTHY ELLEN. + + + + They's nothin' in the name to strike + A feller more'n common like! + 'Taint liable to git no praise + Ner nothin' like it nowadays; + An' yit that name o' her'n is jest + As purty as the purtiest-- + And more 'n that, I'm here to say + I'll live a-thinkin' thataway + And die far Marthy Ellen! + + It may be I was prejudust + In favor of it from the fust-- + 'Cause I kin ricollect jest how + We met, and hear her mother now + A-callin' of her down the road-- + And, aggervatin' little toad!-- + I see her now, jes' sort o' half- + Way disapp'inted, turn and laugh + And mock her--"Marthy Ellen!" + + Our people never had no fuss, + And yit they never tuck to us; + We neighbered back and foreds some; + Until they see she liked to come + To our house--and me and her + Were jest together ever'whur + And all the time--and when they'd see + That I liked her and she liked me, + They'd holler "Marthy Ellen!" + + When we growed up, and they shet down + On me and her a-runnin' roun' + Together, and her father said + He'd never leave her nary red, + So he'p him, ef she married me, + And so on--and her mother she + Jest agged the gyrl, and said she 'lowed + She'd ruther see her in her shroud, + I _writ_ to Marthy Ellen-- + + That is, I kindo' tuck my pen + In hand, and stated whur and when + The undersigned would be that night, + With two good hosses saddled right + Far lively travelin' in case + Her folks 'ud like to jine the race. + She sent the same note back, and writ + "The rose is red!" right under it-- + "Your 'n allus, Marthy Ellen." + + That's all, I reckon--Nothin' more + To tell but what you've heerd afore-- + The same old story, sweeter though + Far all the trouble, don't you know. + Old-fashioned name! and yit it's jest + As purty as the purtiest; + And more 'n that, I'm here to say + I'll live a-thinking thataway, + And die far Marthy Ellen! + + + + +MOON-DROWNED. + + + + 'Twas the height of the fete when we quitted the riot, + And quietly stole to the terrace alone, + Where, pale as the lovers that ever swear by it, + The moon it <gazed down as a god from his throne. + We stood there enchanted.--And O the delight of + The sight of the stars and the moon and the sea, + And the infinite skies of that opulent night of + Purple and gold and ivory! + + The lisp of the lip of the ripple just under-- + The half-awake nightingale's dream in the yews-- + Came up from the water, and down from the wonder + Of shadowy foliage, drowsed with the dews,-- + Unsteady the firefly's taper--unsteady + The poise of the stars, and their light in the tide, + As it struggled and writhed in caress of the eddy, + As love in the billowy breast of a bride. + + The far-away lilt of the waltz rippled to us, + And through us the exquisite thrill of the air: + Like the scent of bruised bloom was her breath, and its dew was + Not honier-sweet than her warm kisses were. + We stood there enchanted.--And O the delight of + The sight of the stars and the moon and the sea, + And the infinite skies of that opulent night of + Purple and gold and ivory! + + + + +LONG AFORE HE KNOWED WHO SANTY-CLAUS WUZ. + + + + Jes' a little bit o' feller--I remember still,-- + Ust to almost _cry_ far Christmas, like a youngster will. + Fourth o' July's nothin' to it!--New-Year's ain't a smell: + Easter-Sunday--Circus-day--jes' all dead in the shell! + Lordy, though! at night, you know, to set around and hear + The old folks work the story off about the sledge and deer, + And "Santy" skootin' round the roof, all wrapped in fur and fuzz-- + Long afore + I knowed who + "Santy-Claus" wuz! + + Ust to wait, and set up late, a week er two ahead: + Couldn't hardly keep awake, ner wouldn't go to bed: + Kittle stewin' on the fire, and Mother settin' here + Darnin' socks, and rockin' in the skreeky rockin'-cheer; + Pap gap', and wunder where it wuz the money went, + And quar'l with his frosted heels, and spill his liniment: + And me a-dreamin' sleigh-bells when the clock 'ud whir and buzz, + Long afore + I knowed who + "Santy-Claus" wuz! + + Size the fire-place up, and figger how "Old Santy" could + Manage to come down the chimbly, like they said he would: + Wisht that I could hide and see him--wundered what he 'd say + Ef he ketched a feller layin' far him thataway! + But I _bet_ on him, and _liked_ him, same as ef he had + Turned to pat me on the back and _say_, "Look here, my lad, + Here's my pack,--jes' he'p yourse'f, like all good boys does!" + Long afore + I knowed who + "Santy-Claus" wuz! + + Wisht that yarn was _true_ about him, as it 'peared to be-- + Truth made out o' lies like that-un's good enough far me!-- + Wisht I still wuz so confidin' I could jes' go wild + Over hangin' up my stockin's, like the little child + Climbin' in my lap to-night, and beggin' me to tell + 'Bout them reindeers, and "Old Santy" that she loves so well + I'm half sorry far this little-girl-sweetheart of his-- + Long afore + She knows who + "Santy-Claus" is! + + + + +DEAR HANDS. + + + + The touches of her hands are like the fall + Of velvet snowflakes; like the touch of down + The peach just brushes 'gainst the garden wall; + The flossy fondlings of the thistle-wisp + Caught in the crinkle of a leaf of brown + The blighting frost hath turned from green to crisp. + + Soft as the falling of the dusk at night, + The touches of her hands, and the delight-- + The touches of her hands! + The touches of her hands are like the dew + That falls so softly down no one e'er knew + The touch thereof save lovers like to one + Astray in lights where ranged Endymion. + + O rarely soft, the touches of her hands, + As drowsy zephyrs in enchanted lands; + Or pulse of dying fay; or fairy sighs, + Or--in between the midnight and the dawn, + When long unrest and tears and fears are gone-- + Sleep, smoothing down the lids of weary eyes. + + + + +THIS MAN JONES. + + + + This man Jones was what you'd call + A feller 'at had no sand at all; + Kind o' consumpted, and undersize, + And sailor-complected, with big sad eyes, + And a kind-of-a sort-of-a hang-dog style, + And a sneakin' sort-of-a half-way smile + 'At kind o' give him away to us + As a preacher, maybe, er somepin' wuss. + + Didn't take with the gang--well, no-- + But still we managed to use him, though,-- + Coddin' the gilly along the rout', + And drivin' the stakes 'at he pulled out-- + Far I was one of the bosses then, + And of course stood in with the canvasmen; + And the way we put up jobs, you know, + On this man Jones jes' beat the show! + + Ust to rattle him scandalous, + And keep the feller a-dodgin' us, + And a-shyin' round half skeered to death, + And afeerd to whimper above his breath; + Give him a cussin', and then a kick, + And then a kind-of-a back-hand lick-- + Jes' far the fun of seem' him climb + Around with a head on most the time. + + But what was the curioust thing to me, + Was along o' the party--let me see,-- + Who was our "Lion Queen" last year?-- + Mamzelle Zanty, or De La Pierre?-- + Well, no matter--a stunnin' mash, + With a red-ripe lip, and a long eye-lash, + And a figger sich as the angels owns-- + And one too many far this man Jones. + + He'd allus wake in the afternoon, + As the band waltzed in on the lion-tune, + And there, from the time 'at she'd go in + Till she'd back out of the cage agin, + He'd stand, shaky and limber-kneed-- + 'Specially when she come to "feed + The beasts raw meat with her naked hand"-- + And all that business, you understand. + + And it _was_ resky in that den-- + Far I think she juggled three cubs then, + And a big "green" lion 'at used to smash + Collar-bones far old Frank Nash; + And I reckon now she hain't fergot + The afternoon old "Nero" sot + His paws on _her_!--but as far me, + It's a sort-of-a mixed-up mystery:-- + + Kind o' remember an awful roar, + And see her back far the bolted door-- + See the cage rock--heerd her call + "God have mercy!" and that was all-- + Far they ain't no livin' man can tell + _What_ it's like when a thousand yell + In female tones, and a thousand more + Howl in bass till their throats is sore! + + But the keeper said 'at dragged her out, + They heerd some feller laugh and shout-- + "Save her! Quick! I've got the cuss!" + And yit she waked and smiled on _us!_ + And we daren't flinch, far the doctor said, + Seein' as this man Jones was dead, + Better to jes' not let her know + Nothin' o' that far a week er so. + + + + +TO MY GOOD MASTER. + + + + In fancy, always, at thy desk, thrown wide, + Thy most betreasured books ranged neighborly-- + The rarest rhymes of every land and sea + And curious tongue--thine old face glorified,-- + Thou haltest thy glib quill, and, laughing-eyed, + Givest hale welcome even unto me, + Profaning thus thine attic's sanctity, + To briefly visit, yet to still abide + Enthralled there of thy sorcery of wit, + And thy songs' most exceeding dear conceits. + O lips, cleft to the ripe core of all sweets, + With poems, like nectar, issuing therefrom, + Thy gentle utterances do overcome + My listening heart and all the love of it! + + + + +WHEN THE GREEN GITS BACK IN THE TREES. + + + + In spring, when the green gits back in the trees, + And the sun comes out and stays, + And yer boots pulls on with a good tight squeeze, + And you think of yer barefoot days; + When you ort to work and you want to not, + And you and yer wife agrees + It's time to spade up the garden lot, + When the green gits back in the trees-- + Well! work is the least o' _my_ idees + When the green, you know, gits back in the trees! + + When the green gits back in the trees, and bees + Is a-buzzin' aroun' agin, + In that kind of a lazy go-as-you-please + Old gait they bum roun' in; + When the groun's all bald where the hay-rick stood, + And the crick 's riz, and the breeze + Coaxes the bloom in the old dogwood, + And the green gits back in the trees,-- + I like, as I say, in sich scenes as these, + The time when the green gits back in the trees! + + When the whole tail-feathers o' wintertime + Is all pulled out and gone! + And the sap it thaws and begins to climb, + And the sweat it starts out on + A feller's forred, a-gittin' down + At the old spring on his knees-- + I kind o' like jes' a-loaferin' roun' + When the green gits back in the trees-- + Jes' a-potterin' roun' as I--durn--please-- + When the green, you know, gits back in the trees! + + + + +AT BROAD RIPPLE. + + + + Ah, Luxury! Beyond the heat + And dust of town, with dangling feet, + Astride the rock below the dam, + In the cool shadows where the calm + Rests on the stream again, and all + Is silent save the waterfall,-- + bait my hook and cast my line, + And feel the best of life is mine. + + No high ambition may I claim-- + angle not for lordly game + Of trout, or bass, or wary bream-- + black perch reaches the extreme + Of my desires; and "goggle-eyes" + Are not a thing that I despise; + A sunfish, or a "chub," or "cat"-- + A "silver-side"--yea, even that! + + In eloquent tranquility + The waters lisp and talk to me. + Sometimes, far out, the surface breaks, + As some proud bass an instant shakes + His glittering armor in the sun, + And romping ripples, one by one, + Come dallying across the space + Where undulates my smiling face. + + The river's story flowing by, + Forever sweet to ear and eye, + Forever tenderly begun-- + Forever new and never done. + Thus lulled and sheltered in a shade + Where never feverish cares invade, + I bait my hook and cast my line, + And feel the best of life is mine. + + + + +WHEN OLD JACK DIED. + + + +I. + + When old Jack died, we staid from school (they said, + At home, we needn't go that day), and none + Of us ate any breakfast--only one, + And that was Papa--and his eyes were red + When he came round where we were, by the shed + Where Jack was lying, half way in the sun + And half way in the shade. When we begun + To cry out loud, Pa turned and dropped his head + And went away; and Mamma, she went back + Into the kitchen. Then, for a long while, + All to ourselves, like, we stood there and cried. + We thought so many good things of Old Jack, + And funny things--although we didn't smile--We + couldn't only cry when Old Jack died. + + + +II. + + When Old Jack died, it seemed a human friend + Had suddenly gone from us; that some face + That we had loved to fondle and embrace + From babyhood, no more would condescend + To smile on us forever. We might bend + With tearful eyes above him, interlace + Our chubby fingers o'er him, romp and race, + Plead with him, call and coax--aye, we might send + The old halloo up for him, whistle, hist, + (If sobs had let us) or, as wildly vain, + Snapped thumbs, called "speak," and he had not replied; + We might have gone down on our knees and kissed + The tousled ears, and yet they must remain + Deaf, motionless, we knew--when Old Jack died. + + + +III. + + When Old Jack died, it seemed to us, some way, + That all the other dogs in town were pained + With our bereavement, and some that were chained, + Even, unslipped their collars on that day + To visit Jack in state, as though to pay + A last, sad tribute there, while neighbors craned + Their heads above the high board fence, and deigned + To sigh "Poor dog!" remembering how they + Had cuffed him, when alive, perchance, because, + For love of them he leaped to lick their hands-- + Now, that he could not, were they satisfied? + We children thought that, as we crossed his paws, + And o'er his grave, 'way down the bottom-lands, + Wrote "Our First Love Lies Here," when Old Jack died. + + + + +DOC SIFERS. + + + + Of all the doctors I could cite you to in this-'ere town + Doc Sifers is my favorite, jes' take him up and down! + Count in the Bethel Neighberhood, and Rollins, and Big Bear, + And Sifers' standin's jes' as good as ary doctor's there! + + There's old Doc Wick, and Glenn, and Hall, and Wurgler, and McVeigh, + But I'll buck Sifers 'ginst 'em all and down 'em any day! + Most old Wick ever knowed, I s'pose, was _whisky!_ Wurgler--well, + He et morphine--ef actions shows, and facts' reliable! + + But Sifers--though he ain't no sot, he's got his faults; and yit + When you _git_ Sifers one't, you've got _a doctor_, don't fergit! + He ain't much at his office, er his house, er anywhere + You'd natchurly think certain far to ketch the feller there.-- + + But don't blame Doc: he's got all sorts o' cur'ous notions--as + The feller says; his odd-come-shorts, like smart men mostly has. + He'll more'n like be potter'n 'round the Blacksmith Shop; er in + Some back lot, spadin' up the ground, er gradin' it agin. + + Er at the workbench, planin' things; er buildin' little traps + To ketch birds; galvenizin' rings; er graftin' plums, perhaps. + Make anything! good as the best!--a gunstock--er a flute; + He whittled out a set o' chesstmen one't o' laurel root, + + Durin' the Army--got his trade o' surgeon there--I own + To-day a finger-ring Doc made out of a Sesesh bone! + An' glued a fiddle one't far me--jes' all so busted you + 'D a throwed the thing away, but he fixed her as good as new! + + And take Doc, now, in _ager_, say, er _biles_, er _rheumatiz_, + And all afflictions thataway, and he's the best they is! + Er janders--milksick--I don't keer--k-yore anything he tries-- + A abscess; getherin' in yer yeer; er granilated eyes! + + There was the Widder Daubenspeck they all give up far dead; + A blame cowbuncle on her neck, and clean out of her head! + First had this doctor, what's-his-name, from "Puddlesburg," and then + This little red-head, "Burnin' Shame" they call him--Dr. Glenn. + + And they "consulted" on the case, and claimed she'd haf to die,-- + I jes' was joggin' by the place, and heerd her dorter cry, + And stops and calls her to the fence; and I-says-I, "Let me + Send Sifers--bet you fifteen cents he'll k-yore her!" "Well," says + she, + + "Light out!" she says: And, lipp-tee-cut! I loped in town, and rid + 'Bout two hours more to find him, but I kussed him when I did! + He was down at the Gunsmith Shop a-stuffin' birds! Says he, + "My sulky's broke." Says I, "You hop right on and ride with me!" + + I got him there.--"Well, Aunty, ten days k-yores you," Sifers said, + "But what's yer idy livin' when yer jes' as good as dead?" + And there's Dave Banks--jes' back from war without a scratch--one + day + Got ketched up in a sickle-bar, a reaper runaway.-- + + His shoulders, arms, and hands and legs jes' sawed in strips! And + Jake + Dunn starts far Sifers--feller begs to shoot him far God-sake. + Doc, 'course, was gone, but he had penned the notice, "At Big Bear-- + Be back to-morry; Gone to 'tend the Bee Convention there." + + But Jake, he tracked him--rid and rode the whole endurin' night! + And 'bout the time the roosters crowed they both hove into sight. + Doc had to ampitate, but 'greed to save Dave's arms, and swore + He could a-saved his legs ef he'd ben there the day before. + + Like when his wife's own mother died 'fore Sifers could be found, + And all the neighbors far and wide a' all jes' chasin' round; + Tel finally--I had to laugh--it's jes' like Doc, you know,-- + Was learnin' far to telegraph, down at the old deepo. + + But all they're faultin' Sifers far, there's none of 'em kin say + He's biggoty, er keerless, er not posted anyway; + He ain't built on the common plan of doctors now-a-days, + He's jes' a great, big, brainy man--that's where the trouble lays! + + + + +AT NOON--AND MIDNIGHT. + + + + Far in the night, and yet no rest for him! The pillow next his own + The wife's sweet face in slumber pressed--yet he awake--alone! + alone! + In vain he courted sleep;--one thought would ever in his heart + arise,-- + The harsh words that at noon had brought the teardrops to her eyes. + + Slowly on lifted arm he raised and listened. All was still as death; + He touched her forehead as he gazed, and listened yet, with bated + breath: + Still silently, as though he prayed, his lips moved lightly as she + slept-- + For God was with him, and he laid his face with hers and wept. + + + + +A WILD IRISHMAN. + + + +Not very many years ago the writer was for some months stationed at +South Bend, a thriving little city of northern Indiana, its main +population on the one side of the St. Joseph river, but quite a +respectable fraction thereof taking its industrial way to the opposite +shore, and there gaining an audience and a hearing in the rather +imposing growth and hurly-burly of its big manufactories, and the +consequent rapid appearance of multitudinous neat cottages, tenement +houses and business blocks. A stranger, entering South Bend proper on +any ordinary day, will be at some loss to account for its prosperous +appearance--its flagged and bowldered streets--its handsome mercantile +blocks, banks, and business houses generally. Reasoning from cause to +effect, and seeing but a meager sprinkling of people on the streets +throughout the day, and these seeming, for the most part, merely +idlers, and in no wise accessory to the evident thrift and opulence of +their surroundings, the observant stranger will be puzzled at the +situation. But when evening comes, and the outlying foundries, +sewing-machine, wagon, plow, and other "works," together with the +paper-mills and all the nameless industries--when the operations of +all these are suspended for the day, and the workmen and workwomen +loosed from labor--then, as this vast army suddenly invades and +overflows bridge, roadway, street and lane, the startled stranger will +fully comprehend the why and wherefore of the city's high prosperity. +And, once acquainted with the people there, the fortunate sojourner +will find no ordinary culture and intelligence, and, as certainly, he +will meet with a social spirit and a wholesouled heartiness that will +make the place a lasting memory. The town, too, is the home of many +world-known notables, and a host of local celebrities, the chief of +which latter class I found, during my stay there, in the person of +Tommy Stafford, or "The Wild Irishman" as everybody called him. + +"Talk of odd fellows and eccentric characters," said Major Blowney, my +employer, one afternoon, "you must see our 'Wild Irishman' here before +you say you've yet found the queerest, brightest, cleverest chap in +all your travels. What d'ye say, Stockford?" And the Major paused in +his work of charging cartridges for his new breech-loading shotgun and +turned to await his partner's response. + +Stockford, thus addressed, paused above the shield-sign he was +lettering, slowly smiling as he dipped and trailed his pencil through +the ivory black upon a bit of broken glass and said, in his +deliberate, half-absent-minded way,--"Is it Tommy you're telling him +about?" and then, with a gradual broadening of the smile, he went on, +"Well, I should say so. Tommy! What's come of the fellow, anyway? I +haven't seen him since his last bout with the mayor, on his trial for +shakin' up that fast-horse man." + +"The fast-horse man got just exactly what he needed, too," said the +genial Major, laughing, and mopping his perspiring brow. "The fellow +was barkin' up the wrong stump when he tackled Tommy! Got beat in the +trade, at his own game, you know, and wound up by an insult that no +Irishman would take; and Tommy just naturally wore out the hall carpet +of the old hotel with him!" + +"And then collared and led him to the mayor's office himself, they +say!" + +"Oh, he did!" said the Major, with a dash of pride in the +confirmation; "that's Tommy all over!" + +"Funny trial, wasn't it?" continued the ruminating Stockford. + +"Wasn't it though?" laughed the Major. + +"The porter's testimony: You see, he was for Tommy, of course, and on +examination testified that the horse-man struck Tommy first. And there +Tommy broke in with: 'He's a-meanin' well, yer Honor, but he's lyin' +to ye--he's lyin' to ye. No livin' man iver struck me first--nor last, +nayther, for the matter o' that!' And I +thought--the--court--would--die!" concluded the Major, in a like +imminent state of merriment. + +"Yes, and he said if he struck him first," supplemented Stockford, +"he'd like to know why the horseman was 'wearin' all the black eyes, +and the blood, and the boomps on the head of um!' And it's that talk +of his that got him off with so light a fine!" + +"As it always does," said the Major, coming to himself abruptly and +looking at his watch. "Stock', you say you're not going along with our +duck-shooting party this time? The old Kankakee is just lousy with 'em +this season!" + +"Can't go possibly," said Stockford, "not on account of the work at +all, but the folks at home ain't just as well as I'd like to see them, +and I'll stay here till they're better. Next time I'll try and be +ready for you. Going to take Tommy, of course?" + +"Of course! Got to have 'The Wild Irishman' with us! I'm going around +to find him now." Then turning to me the Major continued, "Suppose you +get on your coat and hat and come along? It's the best chance you'll +ever have to meet Tommy. It's late anyhow, and Stockford'll get along +without you. Come on." + +"Certainly," said Stockford; "go ahead. And you can take him ducking, +too, if he wants to go." + +"But he doesn't want to go--and won't go," replied the Major with a +commiserative glance at me. "Says he doesn't know a duck from a +poll-parrot--nor how to load a shotgun--and couldn't hit a house if he +were inside of it and the door shut. Admits that he nearly killed his +uncle once, on the other side of a tree, with a squirrel runnin' down +it. Don't want him along!" + +Reaching the street with the genial Major, he gave me this advice: +"Now, when you meet Tommy, you mustn't take all he says for dead +earnest, and you mustn't believe, because he talks loud, and in +italics every other word, that he wants to do all the talking and +won't be interfered with. That's the way he's apt to strike folks at +first--but it's their mistake, not his. Talk back to him--controvert +him whenever he's aggressive in the utterance of his opinions, and if +you're only honest in the announcement of your own ideas and beliefs, +he'll like you all the better for standing by them. He's +quick-tempered, and perhaps a trifle sensitive, so share your greater +patience with him, and he'll pay you back by fighting for you at the +drop of the hat. In short, he's as nearly typical of his gallant +country's brave, impetuous, fun-loving individuality as such a +likeness can exist." + +"But is he quarrelsome?" I asked. + +"Not at all. There's the trouble. If he'd only quarrel there'd be no +harm done. Quarreling's cheap, and Tommy's extravagant. A big +blacksmith here, the other day, kicked some boy out of his shop, and +Tommy, on his cart, happened to be passing at the time; and he just +jumped off without a word, and went in and worked on that fellow for +about three minutes, with such disastrous results that they couldn't +tell his shop from a slaughter-house; paid an assault and battery +fine, and gave the boy a dollar beside, and the whole thing was a +positive luxury to him. But I guess we'd better drop the subject, for +here's his cart, and here's Tommy. Hi! there, you Far-down 'Irish +Mick!" called the Major, in affected antipathy, "been out raiding the +honest farmers' hen-roosts again, have you?" + +We had halted at a corner grocery and produce store, as I took it, and +the smooth-faced, shave-headed man in woolen shirt, short vest, and +suspenderless trousers so boisterously addressed by the Major, was +just lifting from the back of his cart a coop of cackling chickens. + +"Arrah! ye blasted Kerryonian!" replied the handsome fellow, +depositing the coop on the curb and straightening his tall, slender +figure; "I were jist thinking of yez and the ducks, and here ye come +quackin' into the prisence of r'yalty, wid yer canvas-back suit upon +ye and the shwim-skins bechuxt yer toes! How air yez, anyhow--and air +we startin' for the Kankakee by the nixt post?" + +"We're to start just as soon as we get the boys together," said the +Major, shaking hands. "The crowd's to be at Andrews' by 4, and it's +fully that now; so come on at once. We'll go 'round by Munson's and +have Hi send a boy to look after your horse. Come; and I want to +introduce my friend here to you, and we'll all want to smoke and +jabber a little in appropriate seclusion. Come on." And the impatient +Major had linked arms with his hesitating ally and myself, and was +turning the corner of the street. + +"It's an hour's work I have yet wid the squawkers," mildly protested +Tommy, still hanging back and stepping a trifle high; "but, as one +Irishman would say til another, 'Ye're wrong, but I'm wid ye!'" + +And five minutes later the three of us had joined a very jolly party +in a snug back room, with + + "The chamber walls depicted all around + With portraitures of huntsman, hawk, and hound, + And the hurt deer," + +and where, as well, drifted over the olfactory intelligence a certain +subtle, warm-breathed aroma, that genially combatted the chill and +darkness of the day without, and, resurrecting long-dead Christmases, +brimmed the grateful memory with all comfortable cheer. + +A dozen hearty voices greeted the appearance of Tommy and the Major, +the latter adroitly pushing the jovial Irishman to the front, with a +mock-heroic introduction to the general company, at the conclusion of +which Tommy, with his hat tucked under the left elbow, stood bowing +with a grace of pose and presence Lord Chesterfield might have +applauded. + +"Gintlemen," said Tommy, settling back upon his heels and admiringly +contemplating the group; "Gintlemen, I congratu-late yez wid a pride +that shoves the thumbs o' me into the arrum-holes of me weshkit! At +the inshtigation of the bowld O'Blowney--axin' the gintleman's +pardon--I am here wid no silver tongue of illoquence to para-lyze yez, +but I am prisent, as has been ripresinted, to jine wid yez in a +stupendeous waste of gun-powder, and duck-shot, and 'high-wines,' and +ham sand-witches, upon the silvonian banks of the ragin' Kankakee, +where the 'di-dipper' tips ye good-bye wid his tail, and the wild loon +skoots like a sky-rocket for his exiled home in the alien dunes of the +wild morass--or, as Tommy Moore so illegantly describes the blashted +birrud,-- + + 'Away to the dizhmal shwamp he shpeeds-- + His path is rugged and sore, + Through tangled juniper, beds of reeds, + And many a fen where the serpent feeds, + _And birrud niver flew before-- + And niver will fly any more_ + +if iver he arrives back safe into civilization again--and I've been in +the poultry business long enough to know the private opinion and +personal integrity of ivery fowl that flies the air or roosts on +poles. But, changin' the subject of my few small remarks here, and +thankin yez wid an overflowin' heart but a dhry tongue, I have the +honor to propose, gintlemen, long life and health to ivery mother's o' +yez, and success to the 'Duck-hunters of Kankakee.'" + +"The duck-hunters of the Kankakee!" chorussed the elated party in such +musical uproar that for a full minute the voice of the enthusiastic +Major--who was trying to say something--could not be heard. Then he +said: + +"I want to propose that theme--'The Duck-hunters of the Kankakee', for +one of Tommy's improvizations. I move we have a song now from Tommy on +the 'Duck-hunters of the Kankakee.'" + +"Hurra! Hurra! A song from Tommy," cried the crowd. "Make us up a +song, and put us all into it! A song from Tommy! A song! A song!" + +There was a queer light in the eye of the Irishman. I observed him +narrowly--expectantly. Often I had read of this phenomenal art of +improvised ballad-singing, but had always remained a little skeptical +in regard to the possibility of such a feat. Even in the notable +instances of this gift as displayed by the very clever Theodore Hook, +I had always half suspected some prior preparation--some adroit +forecasting of the sequence that seemed the instant inspiration of his +witty verses. + +Here was evidently to be a test example, and I was all alert to mark +its minutest detail. + +The clamor had subsided, and Tommy had drawn a chair near to and +directly fronting the Major's. His right hand was extended, closely +grasping the right hand of his friend which he scarce perceptibly, +though measuredly, lifted and let fall throughout the length of all +the curious performance. The voice was not unmusical, nor was the +quaint old ballad-air adopted by the singer unlovely in the least; +simply a monotony was evident that accorded with the levity and +chance-finish of the improvisation--and that the song was improvised +on the instant I am certain--though in no wise remarkable, for other +reasons, in rhythmic worth or finish. And while his smiling auditors +all drew nearer, and leant, with parted lips to catch every syllable, +the words of the strange melody trailed unhesitatingly into the lines +literally as here subjoined: + + "One gloomy day in the airly Fall, + Whin the sunshine had no chance at all-- + No chance at all for to gleam and shine + And lighten up this heart of mine: + + "'Twas in South Bend, that famous town, + Whilst I were a-strollin' round and round, + I met some friends and they says to me: + 'It's a hunt we'll take on the Kankakee!'" + +"Hurra for the Kankakee! Give it to us, Tommy!" cried an enthused +voice between verses. "Now give it to the Major!" And the song went +on:-- + + "There's Major Blowney leads the van, + As crack a shot as an Irishman,-- + For its the duck is a tin decoy + That his owld shotgun can't destroy!" + +And a half a dozen jubilant palms patted the Major's shoulders, and +his ruddy, good-natured face beamed with delight. "Now give it to the +rest of 'em, Tommy!" chuckled the Major. And the song continued:-- + + "And along wid 'Hank' is Mick Maharr, + And Barney Pince, at 'The Shamrock' bar-- + There's Barney Pinch, wid his heart so true; + And the Andrews Brothers they'll go too." + +"Hold on, Tommy!" chipped in one of the Andrews; "you must give 'the +Andrews Brothers' a better advertisement than that! Turn us on a full +verse, can't you?" + +"Make 'em pay for it if you do!" said the Major, in an undertone. And +Tommy promptly amended:-- + + "O, the Andrews Brothers, they'll be there, + Wid good se-gyars and wine to shpare,-- + They'll treat us here on fine champagne, + And whin we're there they 'll treat us again." + +The applause here was vociferous, and only discontinued when a box of +Havanas stood open on the table. During the momentary lull thus +occasioned, I caught the Major's twinkling eyes glancing evasively +toward me, as he leant whispering some further instructions to Tommy, +who again took up his desultory ballad, while I turned and fled for +the street, catching, however, as I went, and high above the laughter +of the crowd, the satire of this quatrain to its latest line-- + + "But R-R-Riley he 'll not go, I guess, + Lest he'd get lost in the wil-der-ness, + And so in the city he will shtop + For to curl his hair in the barber shop." + +It was after six when I reached the hotel, but I had my hair trimmed +before I went in to supper. The style of trimming adopted then I still +rigidly adhere to, and call it "the Tommy Stafford stubble-crop." + +Ten days passed before I again saw the Major. Immediately upon his +return--it was late afternoon when I heard of it--I determined to take +my evening walk out the long street toward his pleasant home and call +upon him there. This I did, and found him in a wholesome state of +fatigue, slippers and easy chair, enjoying his pipe on the piazza. Of +course, he was overflowing with happy reminiscences of the hunt--the +wood-and-water-craft--boats--ambushes--decoys, and tramp, and camp, +and so on, without end;--but I wanted to hear him talk of "The Wild +Irishman"--Tommy; and I think, too, now, that the sagacious Major +secretly read my desires all the time. To be utterly frank with the +reader I will admit that I not only think the Major divined my +interest in Tommy, but I know he did; for at last, as though reading +my very thoughts, he abruptly said, after a long pause, in which he +knocked the ashes from his pipe and refilled and lighted it:--"Well, +all I know of 'The Wild Irishman' I can tell you in a very few +words--that is, if you care at all to listen?" And the crafty old +Major seemed to hesitate. + +"Go on--go on!" I said, eagerly. + +"About forty years ago," resumed the Major, placidly, "in the little, +old, unheard-of town Karnteel, County Tyrone, Province Ulster, +Ireland, Tommy Stafford--in spite of the contrary opinion of his +wretchedly poor parents--was fortunate enough to be born. And here, +again, as I advised you the other day, you must be prepared for +constant surprises in the study of Tommy's character." + +"Go on," I said; "I'm prepared for anything." + +The Major smiled profoundly and continued:-- + +"Fifteen years ago, when he came to America--and the Lord only knows +how he got the passage-money--he brought his widowed mother with him +here, and has supported, and is still supporting her. Besides," went +on the still secretly smiling Major, "the fellow has actually found +time, through all his adversities, to pick up quite a smattering of +education, here and there--" + +"Poor fellow!" I broke in, sympathizingly, "what a pity it is that he +couldn't have had such advantages earlier in life," and as I recalled +the broad brogue of the fellow, together with his careless dress, +recognizing beneath it all the native talent and brilliancy of a mind +of most uncommon worth, I could not restrain a deep sigh of compassion +and regret. + +The Major was leaning forward in the gathering dusk, and evidently +studying my own face, the expression of which, at that moment, was +very grave and solemn, I am sure. He suddenly threw himself backward +in his chair, in an uncontrollable burst of laughter. "Oh, I just +can't keep it up any longer," he exclaimed. + +"Keep what up?" I queried, in a perfect maze of bewilderment and +surprise. "Keep what up?" I repeated. + +"Why, all this twaddle, farce, travesty and by-play regarding Tommy! +You know I warned you, over and over, and you mustn't blame me for the +deception. I never thought you'd take it so in earnest!" and here the +jovial Major again went into convulsions of laughter. + +"But I don't understand a word of it all," I cried, half frenzied with +the gnarl and tangle of the whole affair. "What 'twaddle, farce and +by-play,' is it anyhow?" And in my vexation, I found myself on my feet +and striding nervously up and down the paved walk that joined the +street with the piazza, pausing at last and confronting the Major +almost petulantly. "Please explain," I said, controlling my vexation +with an effort. + +The Major arose. "Your striding up and down there reminds me that a +little stroll on the street might do us both good," he said. "Will you +wait until I get a coat and hat?" + +He rejoined me a moment later, and we passed through the open gate; +and saying, "Let's go down this way," he took my arm and turned into a +street, where, cooling as the dusk was, the thick maples lining the +walk, seemed to throw a special shade of tranquility upon us. + +"What I meant was"--began the Major, in low, serious voice,--"What I +meant was--simply this: Our friend Tommy, though the truest Irishman +in the world, is a man quite the opposite everyway of the character he +has appeared to you. All that rich brogue of his is assumed. Though +he's poor, as I told you, when he came here, his native quickness, and +his marvelous resources, tact, judgment, business qualities--all have +helped him to the equivalent of a liberal education. His love of the +humorous and the ridiculous is unbounded; but he has serious moments, +as well, and at such times is as dignified and refined in speech and +manner as any man you'd find in a thousand. He is a good speaker, can +stir a political convention to fomentation when he gets fired up; and +can write an article for the press that goes spang to the spot. He +gets into a great many personal encounters of a rather undignified +character; but they are almost invariably bred of his innate interest +in the 'under dog,' and the fire and tow of his impetuous nature." + +My companion had paused here, and was looking through some printed +slips in his pocket-book. "I wanted you to see some of the fellow's +articles in print, but I have nothing of importance here--only some of +his 'doggerel,' as he calls it, and you've had a sample of that. But +here's a bit of the upper spirit of the man--and still another that +you should hear him recite. You can keep them both if you care to. The +boys all fell in love with that last one, particularly, hearing his +rendition of it. So we had a lot printed, and I have two or three +left. Put these two in your pocket and read at your leisure." + +But I read them there and then, as eagerly, too, as I append them here +and now. The first is called-- + + + +SAYS HE. + + + + "Whatever the weather may be," says he-- + "Whatever the weather may be, + It's plaze, if ye will, an' I'll say me say,-- + Supposin' to-day was the winterest day, + Wud the weather be changing because ye cried, + Or the snow be grass were ye crucified? + The best is to make your own summer," says he, + "Whatever the weather may be," says he-- + "Whatever the weather may be! + + "Whatever the weather may be," says he-- + "Whatever the weather may be, + It's the songs ye sing, an' the smiles ye wear, + That's a-makin' the sunshine everywhere, + An' the world of gloom is a world of glee, + Wid the bird in the bush, an' the bud in the tree, + An' the fruit on the stim of the bough," says he, + "Whatever the weather may be," says he-- + "Whatever the weather may be! + + "Whatever the weather may be," says he-- + "Whatever the weather may be, + Ye can bring the Spring, wid its green an' gold, + An' the grass in the grove where the snow lies cold, + An' ye'll warm yer back, wid a smiling face, + As ye sit at yer heart like an owld fire-place, + An' toast the toes o' yer soul," says he, + "Whatever the weather may be," says he-- + "Whatever the weather may be!" + +"Now" said the Major, peering eagerly +above my shoulder, "go on with the next. +To my liking, it is even better than the first. +A type of character you'll recognize.--The +same 'broth of a boy,' only _Americanized_, +don't you know." + +And I read the scrap entitled-- + + + +CHAIRLEY BURKE. + + + + It's Chairley Burke's in town, b'ys! He's down til "Jamesy's Place," + Wid a bran' new shave upon 'um, an' the fhwhuskers aff his face; + He's quit the Section Gang last night, and yez can chalk it down, + There's goin' to be the divil's toime, sence Chairley Burke's in + town. + + It's treatin' iv'ry b'y he is, an' poundin' on the bar + Till iv'ry man he 's drinkin' wid must shmoke a foine cigar; + An' Missus Murphy's little Kate, that's comin' there for beer, + Can't pay wan cint the bucketful, the whilst that Chairley's here! + + He's joompin' oor the tops o' sthools, the both forninst an' back! + He'll lave yez pick the blessed flure, an' walk the straightest + crack! + He's liftin' barrels wid his teeth, and singin' "Garry Owen," + Till all the house be strikin' hands, sence Chairley Burke's in + town. + + The Road-Yaird hands comes dhroppin' in, an' niver goin' back; + An' there 's two freights upon the switch--the wan on aither track-- + An' Mr. Gearry, from The Shops, he's mad enough to swear, + An' durst n't spake a word but grin, the whilst that Chairley's + there! + + Oh! Chairley! Chairley! Chairley Burke! ye divil, wid yer ways + O' dhrivin' all the throubles aff, these dark an' gloomy days! + Ohone! that it's meself, wid all the griefs I have to drown, + Must lave me pick to resht a bit, sence Chairley Burke's in town! + +"Before we turn back, now," said the smiling Major, as I stood +lingering over the indefinable humor of the last refrain, "before we +turn back I want to show you something eminently characteristic. Come +this way a half dozen steps." + +As he spoke I looked up, to first observe that we had paused before a +handsome square brick residence, centering a beautiful smooth lawn, +its emerald only littered with the light gold of the earliest autumn +leaves. On either side of the trim walk that led up from the gate to +the carved stone ballusters of the broad piazza, with its empty easy +chairs, were graceful vases, frothing over with late blossoms, and +wreathed with laurel-looking vines; and, luxuriantly lacing the border +of the pave that turned the further corner of the house, blue, white +and crimson, pink and violet, went fading in perspective as my gaze +followed the gesture of the Major's. + +"Here, come a little further. Now do you see that man there?" + +Yes, I could make out a figure in the deepening dusk--the figure of a +man on the back stoop--a tired looking man, in his shirt-sleeves, who +sat upon a low chair--no, not a chair--an empty box. He was leaning +forward with his elbows on his knees, and the hands dropped limp. He +was smoking, too, I could barely see his pipe, and but for the odor of +very strong tobacco, would not have known he had a pipe. Why does the +master of the house permit his servants to so desecrate this beautiful +home? I thought. + +"Well, shall we go now?" said the Major. + +I turned silently and we retraced our steps. I think neither of us +spoke for the distance of a square. + +"Guess you didn't know the man there on the back porch?" said the +Major. + +"No; why?" I asked dubiously. + +"I hardly thought you would, and besides the poor fellow's tired, and +it was best not to disturb him," said the Major. + +"Why; who was it--some one I know?" + +"It was Tommy." + +"Oh," said I, inquiringly, "he's employed there in some capacity?" + +"Yes, as master of the house." + +"You don't mean it?" + +"I certainly do. He owns it, and made every cent of the money that +paid for it!" said the Major proudly. "That's why I wanted you +particularly to note that 'eminent characteristic' I spoke of. Tommy +could just as well be sitting, with a fine cigar, on the front piazza +in an easy chair, as, with his dhudeen, on the back porch, on an empty +box, where every night you'll find him. Its the unconscious dropping +back into the old ways of his father, and his father's father, and his +father's father's father. In brief, he sits there the poor lorn symbol +of the long oppression of his race." + + + + +RAGWEED AND FENNEL + + + + +WHEN MY DREAMS COME TRUE. + + + +I. + + When my dreams come true--when my dreams come true-- + Shall I lean from out my casement, in the starlight and the dew, + To listen--smile and listen to the tinkle of the strings + Of the sweet guitar my lover's fingers fondle, as he sings? + And as the nude moon slowly, slowly shoulders into view, + Shall I vanish from his vision--when my dreams come true? + + When my dreams come true--shall the simple gown I wear + Be changed to softest satin, and my maiden-braided hair + Be raveled into flossy mists of rarest, fairest gold, + To be minted into kisses, more than any heart can hold?-- + Or "the summer of my tresses" shall my lover liken to + "The fervor of his passion"--when my dreams come true? + + + +II. + + When my dreams come true--I shall bide among the sheaves + Of happy harvest meadows; and the grasses and the leaves + Shall lift and lean between me and the splendor of the sun, + Till the noon swoons into twilight, and the gleaners' work is done-- + Save that yet an arm shall bind me, even as the reapers do + The meanest sheaf of harvest--when my dreams come true. + + When my dreams come true! when my dreams come true! + True love in all simplicity is fresh and pure as dew;-- + The blossom in the blackest mold is kindlier to the eye + Than any lily born of pride that looms against the sky: + And so it is I know my heart will gladly welcome you, + My lowliest of lovers, when my dreams come true. + + + + +A DOS'T O' BLUES. + + + + I' got no patience with blues at all! + And I ust to kindo talk + Aginst 'em, and claim, 'tel along last Fall, + They was none in the fambly stock; + But a nephew of mine, from Eelinoy, + That visited us last year, + He kindo convinct me differunt + While he was a-stayin' here. + + Frum ever'-which way that blues is from, + They'd tackle him ever' ways; + They'd come to him in the night, and come + On Sundays, and rainy days; + They'd tackle him in corn-plantin' time, + And in harvest, and airly Fall, + But a dose 't of blues in the wintertime, + He 'lowed, was the worst of all! + + Said all diseases that ever he had-- + The mumps, er the rheumatiz-- + Er ever'-other-day-aigger's bad + Purt' nigh as anything is!-- + Er a cyarbuncle, say, on the back of his neck, + Er a felon on his thumb,-- + But you keep the blues away from him, + And all o' the rest could come! + + And he'd moan, "They's nary a leaf below! + Ner a spear o' grass in sight! + And the whole wood-pile's clean under snow! + And the days is dark as night! + You can't go out--ner you can't stay in-- + Lay down--stand up--ner set!" + And a tetch o' regular tyfoid-blues + Would double him jest clean shet! + + I writ his parents a postal-kyard, + He could stay 'tel Spring-time come; + And Aprile first, as I rickollect, + Was the day we shipped him home! + Most o' his relatives, sence then, + Has either give up, er quit, + Er jest died off; but I understand + He's the same old color yit! + + + + +THE BAT. + + + +I. + + Thou dread, uncanny thing, + With fuzzy breast and leathern wing, + In mad, zigzagging flight, + Notching the dusk, and buffeting + The black cheeks of the night, + With grim delight! + + + +II. + + What witch's hand unhasps + Thy keen claw-cornered wings + From under the barn roof, and flings + Thee forth, with chattering gasps, + To scud the air, + And nip the lady-bug, and tear + Her children's hearts out unaware? + + + +III. + + The glow-worm's glimmer, and the bright, + Sad pulsings of the fire-fly's light, + Are banquet lights to thee. + O less than bird, and worse than beast, + Thou Devil's self, or brat, at least, + Grate not thy teeth at me! + + + + +THE WAY IT WUZ. + + + + Las' July--an', I persume + 'Bout as hot + As the ole Gran'-Jury room + Where they sot!-- + Fight 'twixt Mike an' Dock McGriff-- + 'Pears to me jes' like as if + I'd a dremp' the whole blame thing-- + Allus ha'nts me roun' the gizzard + When they're nightmares on the wing, + An' a feller's blood's jes' friz! + Seed the row from a to izzard-- + 'Cause I wuz a-standin' as clost to 'em + As me an' you is! + + Tell you the way it wuz-- + An' I do n't want to see, + Like _some_ fellers does, + When they 're goern to be + Any kind o' fuss-- + On'y makes a rumpus wuss + Far to interfere + When their dander's riz-- + But I wuz a-standin' as clost to 'em + As me an' you is! + + I wuz kind o' strayin' + Past the blame saloon-- + Heerd some fiddler playin' + That "ole hee-cup tune!" + Sort o' stopped, you know, + Far a minit er so, + And wuz jes' about + + Settin' down, when--_Jeemses-whizz!_ + Whole durn winder-sash fell out! + An' there laid Doc McGriff, and Mike + A-straddlin' him, all bloody-like, + An' both a-gittin' down to biz!-- + An' I wuz a-standin' as clost to 'em + As me an' you is! + + I wuz the on'y man aroun'-- + (Durn old-fogy town! + 'Peared more like, to me, + _Sund'y_ 'an _Saturd'y!)_ + Dog come 'crost the road + An' tuck a smell + An' put right back; + Mishler driv by 'ith a load + O' cantalo'pes he couldn't sell-- + Too mad, 'y jack! + To even ast + What wuz up, as he went past! + Weather most outrageous hot!-- + Fairly hear it sizz + Roun' Dock an' Mike--till Dock he shot, + An' Mike he slacked that grip o' his + An' fell, all spraddled out. Dock riz + 'Bout half up, a-spittin' red, + An' shuck his head-- + An' I wuz a-standin' as clost to 'em + As me an' you is! + + An' Dock he says, + A-whisperin'-like,-- + "It hain't no use + A-tryin'!--Mike + He's jes' ripped my daylights loose!-- + Git that blame-don fiddler to + Let up, an' come out here--You + Got some burryin' to do,-- + Mike makes _one_, an' I expects + In ten seconds I'll make _two_!" + And he drapped back, where he riz, + 'Crost Mike's body, black and blue, + Like a great big letter X!-- + An' I wuz a-standin' as clost to 'em + As me an' you is! + + + + +THE DRUM. + + + + O the drum! + There is some + Intonation in thy grum + Monotony of utterance that strikes the spirit dumb, + As we hear + Through the clear + And unclouded atmosphere, + Thy palpitating syllables roll in upon the car! + + There's a part + Of the art + Of thy music-throbbing heart + That thrills a something in us that awakens with a start, + And in rhyme + With the chime + And exactitude of time, + Goes marching on to glory to thy melody sublime. + + And the guest + Of the breast + That thy rolling robs of rest + Is a patriotic spirit as a Continental dressed; + And he looms + From the glooms + Of a century of tombs, + And the blood he spilled at Lexington in living beauty blooms. + + And his eyes + Wear the guise + Of a purpose pure and wise, + As the love of them is lifted to a something in the skies + That is bright + Red and white, + With a blur of starry light, + As it laughs in silken ripples to the breezes day and night. + + There are deep + Hushes creep + O'er the pulses as they leap, + As thy tumult, fainter growing, on the silence falls asleep, + While the prayer + Rising there + Wills the sea and earth and air + As a heritage to Freedom's sons and daughters everywhere. + + Then, with sound + As profound + As the thunderings resound, + Come thy wild reverberations in a throe that shakes the ground, + And a cry + Flung on high, + Like the flag it flutters by, + Wings rapturously upward till it nestles in the sky. + + O the drum! + There is some + Intonation in thy grum + Monotony of utterance that strikes the spirit dumb, + As we hear + Through the clear + And unclouded atmosphere, + Thy palpitating syllables roll in upon the ear! + + + + +TOM JOHNSON'S QUIT. + + + + A passel o' the boys last night-- + An' me amongst 'em--kindo got + To talkin' Temper'nce left an' right, + An' workin' up "blue-ribbon," _hot_; + An' while we was a-countin' jes' + How many bed gone into hit + An' signed the pledge, some feller says,-- + "Tom Johnson's quit!" + + We laughed, of course--'cause Tom, you know, + _He's_ spiled more whisky, boy an' man, + And seed more trouble, high an' low, + Than any chap but Tom could stand: + And so, says I "_He's_ too nigh dead. + Far Temper'nce to benefit!" + The feller sighed agin, and said-- + "Tom Johnson's quit!" + + We all _liked_ Tom, an' that was why + We sorto simmered down agin, + And ast the feller ser'ously + Ef he wa'n't tryin' to draw us in: + He shuck his head--tuck off his hat-- + Helt up his hand an' opened hit, + An' says, says he, "I'll _swear_ to that-- + Tom Johnson's quit!" + + Well, we was stumpt, an' tickled too,-- + Because we knowed ef Tom _had_ signed + Ther wa'n't no man 'at wore the "blue" + 'At was more honester inclined: + An' then and there we kindo riz,-- + The hull dern gang of us 'at bit-- + An' th'owed our hats and let 'er whizz,-- + "_Tom Johnson's quit!_" + + I've heerd 'em holler when the balls + Was buzzin' 'round us wus 'n bees, + An' when the ole flag on the walls + Was flappin' o'er the enemy's, + I've heerd a-many a wild "hooray" + 'At made my heart git up an' git-- + But Lord!--to hear 'em shout that way!-- + "_Tom Johnson's quit!_" + + But when we saw the chap 'at fetched + The news wa'n't jinin' in the cheer, + But stood there solemn-like, an' reched + An' kindo wiped away a tear, + We someway sorto' stilled agin, + And listened--I kin hear him yit, + His voice a-wobblin' with his chin,-- + "Tom Johnson's quit-- + + "I hain't a-givin' you no game-- + I wisht I was!... An hour ago, + This operator--what's his name-- + The one 'at works at night, you know?-- + Went out to flag that Ten Express, + And sees a man in front of hit + Th'ow up his hands an' stagger--yes,-- + _Tom Johnson's quit_." + + + + +LULLABY. + + + + The maple strews the embers of its leaves + O'er the laggard swallows nestled 'neath the eaves; + And the moody cricket falters in his cry--Baby-bye!-- + And the lid of night is falling o'er the sky--Baby-bye!-- + The lid of night is falling o'er the sky! + + The rose is lying pallid, and the cup + Of the frosted calla-lily folded up; + And the breezes through the garden sob and sigh--Baby-bye!-- + O'er the sleeping blooms of summer where they lie--Baby-bye!-- + O'er the sleeping blooms of summer where they lie! + + Yet, Baby--O my Baby, for your sake + This heart of mine is ever wide awake, + And my love may never droop a drowsy eye--Baby-bye!-- + Till your own are wet above me when I die--Baby-bye!-- + Till your own are wet above me when I die. + + + + +IN THE SOUTH. + + + + There is a princess in the South + About whose beauty rumors hum + Like honey-bees about the mouth + Of roses dewdrops falter from; + And O her hair is like the fine + Clear amber of a jostled wine + In tropic revels; and her eyes + Are blue as rifts of Paradise. + + Such beauty as may none before + Kneel daringly, to kiss the tips + Of fingers such as knights of yore + Had died to lift against their lips: + Such eyes as might the eyes of gold + Of all the stars of night behold + With glittering envy, and so glare + In dazzling splendor of despair. + + So, were I but a minstrel, deft + At weaving, with the trembling strings + Of my glad harp, the warp and weft + Of rondels such as rapture sings,-- + I'd loop my lyre across my breast, + Nor stay me till my knee found rest + In midnight banks of bud and flower + Beneath my lady's lattice-bower. + + And there, drenched with the teary dews, + I'd woo her with such wondrous art + As well might stanch the songs that ooze + Out of the mockbird's breaking heart; + So light, so tender, and so sweet + Should be the words I would repeat, + Her casement, on my gradual sight, + Would blossom as a lily might. + + + + +THE OLD HOME BY THE MILL. + + + + This is "The old Home by the Mill"--far we still call it so, + Although the old mill, roof and sill, is all gone long ago. + The old home, though, and old folks, and the old spring, and a few + Old cat-tails, weeds and hartychokes, is left to welcome you! + + Here, Marg'et, fetch the man a tin to drink out of' Our spring + Keeps kindo-sorto cavin' in, but don't "taste" anything! + She's kindo agein', Marg'et is--"the old process," like me, + All ham-stringed up with rheumatiz, and on in seventy-three. + + Jes' me and Marg'et lives alone here--like in long ago; + The childern all put off and gone, and married, don't you know? + One's millin' way out West somewhere; two other miller-boys + In Minnyopolis they air; and one's in Illinoise. + + The oldest gyrl--the first that went--married and died right here; + The next lives in Winn's Settlement--for purt' nigh thirty year! + And youngest one--was allus far the old home here--but no!-- + Her man turns in and he packs her 'way off to Idyho! + + I don't miss them like _Marg'et_ does--'cause I got _her_, you see; + And when she pines for them--that's 'cause _she's_ only jes' got + _me_! + I laugh, and joke her 'bout it all.--But talkin' sense, I'll say, + When she was tuk so bad last Fall, I laughed the t'other way! + + I haint so favorble impressed 'bout dyin'; but ef I + Found I was only second-best when _us two_ come to die, + I'd 'dopt the "new process" in full, ef _Marg'et_ died, you see,-- + I'd jes' crawl in my grave and pull the green grass over me! + + + + +A LEAVE-TAKING. + + + + She will not smile; + She will not stir; + I marvel while + I look on her. + The lips are chilly + And will not speak; + The ghost of a lily + In either cheek. + + Her hair--ah me! + Her hair--her hair! + How helplessly + My hands go there! + But my caresses + Meet not hers, + O golden tresses + That thread my tears! + + I kiss the eyes + On either lid, + Where her love lies + Forever hid. + I cease my weeping + And smile and say: + I will be sleeping + Thus, some day! + + + + +WAIT FOR THE MORNING. + + + + Wait for the morning:--It will come, indeed, + As surely as the night hath given need. + The yearning eyes, at last, will strain their sight + No more unanswered by the morning light; + No longer will they vainly strive, through tears, + To pierce the darkness of thy doubts and fears, + But, bathed in balmy dews and rays of dawn, + Will smile with rapture o'er the darkness drawn. + + Wait for the morning, O thou smitten child, + Scorned, scourged and persecuted and reviled-- + Athirst and famishing, none pitying thee, + Crowned with the twisted thorns of agony-- + No faintest gleam of sunlight through the dense + Infinity of gloom to lead thee thence-- + Wait for the morning:--It will come, indeed, + As surely as the night hath given need. + + + + +WHEN JUNE IS HERE. + + + + When June is here--what art have we to sing + The whiteness of the lilies midst the green + Of noon-tranced lawns? Or flash of roses seen + Like redbirds' wings? Or earliest ripening + Prince-Harvest apples, where the cloyed bees cling + Round winey juices oozing down between + The peckings of the robin, while we lean + In under-grasses, lost in marveling. + Or the cool term of morning, and the stir + Of odorous breaths from wood and meadow walks, + The bobwhite's liquid yodel, and the whir + Of sudden flight; and, where the milkmaid talks + Across the bars, on tilted barley-stalks + The dewdrops' glint in webs of gossamer. + + + + +THE GILDED ROLL. + + + +Nosing around in an old box--packed away, and lost to memory for +years--an hour ago I found a musty package of gilt paper, or rather, a +roll it was, with the green-tarnished gold of the old sheet for the +outer wrapper. I picked it up mechanically to toss it into some +obscure corner, when, carelessly lifting it by one end, a child's tin +whistle dropped therefrom and fell tinkling on the attic floor. It +lies before me on my writing table now--and so, too, does the roll +entire, though now a roll no longer,--for my eager fingers have +unrolled the gilded covering, and all its precious contents are spread +out beneath my hungry eyes. + +Here is a scroll of ink-written music. I don't read music, but I know +the dash and swing of the pen that rained it on the page. Here is a +letter, with the self-same impulse and abandon in every syllable; and +its melody--however sweet the other--is far more sweet to me. And here +are other letters like it--three--five--and seven, at least. Bob wrote +them from the front, and Billy kept them for me when I went to join +him. Dear boy! Dear boy! + +Here are some cards of bristol-board. Ah! when Bob came to these there +were no blotches then. What faces--what expressions! The droll, +ridiculous, good-for-nothing genius, with his "sad mouth," as he +called it, "upside down," laughing always--at everything, at big +rallies, and mass-meetings and conventions, county fairs, and floral +halls, booths, watermelon-wagons, dancing-tents, the swing, +Daguerrean-car, the "lung-barometer," and the air-gun man. Oh! what a +gifted, good-for-nothing boy Bob was in those old days! And here 's a +picture of a girlish face--a very faded photograph--even fresh from +"the gallery," five and twenty years ago it was a faded thing. But the +living face--how bright and clear that was!--for "Doc," Bob's awful +name for her, was a pretty girl, and brilliant, clever, lovable every +way. No wonder Bob fancied her! And you could see some hint of her +jaunty loveliness in every fairy face he drew, and you could find her +happy ways and dainty tastes unconsciously assumed in all he did--the +books he read--the poems he admired, and those he wrote; and, ringing +clear and pure and jubilant, the vibrant beauty of her voice could +clearly be defined and traced through all his music. Now, there's the +happy pair of them--Bob and Doc. Make of them just whatever your good +fancy may dictate, but keep in mind the stern, relentless ways of +destiny. + +You are not at the beginning of a novel, only at the threshold of one +of a hundred experiences that lie buried in the past, and this +particular one most happily resurrected by these odds and ends found +in the gilded roll. + +You see, dating away back, the contents of this package, mainly, were +hastily gathered together after a week's visit out at the old Mills +farm; the gilt paper, and the whistle, and the pictures, they were +Billy's; the music pages, Bob's, or Doc's; the letters and some other +manuscripts were mine. + +The Mills girls were great friends of Doc's, and often came to visit +her in town; and so Doc often visited the Mills's. This is the way +that Bob first got out there, and won them all, and "shaped the thing" +for me, as he would put it; and lastly, we had lugged in Billy,--such +a handy boy, you know, to hold the horses on picnic excursions, and to +watch the carriage and the luncheon, and all that.--"Yes, and," Bob +would say, "such a serviceable boy in getting all the fishing tackle +in proper order, and digging bait, and promenading in our wake up and +down the creek all day, with the minnow-bucket hanging on his arm, +don't you know!" + +But jolly as the days were, I think jollier were the long evenings at +the farm. After the supper in the grove, where, when the weather +permitted, always stood the table, ankle-deep in the cool green plush +of the sward; and after the lounge upon the grass, and the cigars, and +the new fish stories, and the general invoice of the old ones, it was +delectable to get back to the girls again, and in the old "best room" +hear once more the lilt of the old songs and the stacattoed laughter +of the piano mingling with the alto and falsetto voices of the Mills +girls, and the gallant soprano of the dear girl Doc. + +This is the scene I want you to look in upon, as, in fancy, I do +now--and here are the materials for it all, husked from the gilded +roll: + +Bob, the master, leans at the piano now, and Doc is at the keys, her +glad face often thrown up sidewise toward his own. His face is +boyish--for there is yet but the ghost of a mustache upon his lip. His +eyes are dark and clear, of over-size when looking at you, but now +their lids are drooped above his violin, whose melody has, for the +time, almost smoothed away the upward kinkings of the corners of his +mouth. And wonderfully quiet now is every one, and the chords of the +piano, too, are low and faltering; and so, at last, the tune itself +swoons into the universal hush, and--Bob is rasping, in its stead, the +ridiculous, but marvelously perfect imitation of the "priming" of a +pump, while Billy's hands forget the "chiggers" on the bare backs of +his feet, as, with clapping palms, he dances round the room in +ungovernable spasms of delight. And then we all laugh; and Billy, +taking advantage of the general tumult, pulls Bob's head down and +whispers, "Git 'em to stay up 'way late to-night!" And Bob, perhaps +remembering that we go back home to-morrow, winks at the little fellow +and whispers, "You let me manage 'em! Stay up till broad daylight if +we take a notion--eh?" And Billy dances off again in newer glee, while +the inspired musician is plunking a banjo imitation on his enchanted +instrument, which is unceremoniously drowned out by a circus-tune from +Doc that is absolutely inspiring to everyone but the barefooted +brother, who drops back listlessly to his old position on the floor +and sullenly renews operations on his "chigger" claims. + +"Thought you was goin' to have pop-corn to-night all so fast!" he +says, doggedly, in the midst of a momentary lull that has fallen on a +game of whist. And then the oldest Mills girl, who thinks cards stupid +anyhow, says: "That's so, Billy; and we're going to have it, too; and +right away, for this game's just ending, and I shan't submit to being +bored with another. I say 'pop-corn' with Billy! And after that," she +continues, rising and addressing the party in general, "we must have +another literary and artistic tournament, and that's been in +contemplation and preparation long enough; so you gentlemen can be +pulling your wits together for the exercises, while us girls see to +the refreshments." + +"Have you done anything toward it!" queries Bob, when the girls are +gone, with the alert Billy in their wake. + +"Just an outline," I reply. "How with you?" + +"Clean forgot it--that is, the preparation; but I've got a little old +second-hand idea, if you'll all help me out with it, that'll amuse us +some, and tickle Billy I'm certain." + +So that's agreed upon; and while Bob produces his portfolio, drawing +paper, pencils and so on, I turn to my note-book in a dazed way and +begin counting my fingers in a depth of profound abstraction, from +which I am barely aroused by the reappearance of the girls and Billy. + +"Goody, goody, goody! Bob's goin' to make pictures!" cries Billy, in +additional transport to that the cake pop-corn has produced. + +"Now, you girls," says Bob, gently detaching the affectionate Billy +from one leg and moving a chair to the table, with a backward glance +of intelligence toward the boy,--"you girls are to help us all you +can, and we can all work; but, as I'll have all the illustrations to +do, I want you to do as many of the verses as you can--that'll be +easy, you know,--because the work entire is just to consist of a +series of fool-epigrams, such as, for instance.--Listen, Billy: + + Here lies a young man + Who in childhood began + To swear, and to smoke, and to drink,-- + In his twentieth year + He quit swearing and beer, + And yet is still smoking, I think." + +And the rest of his instructions are delivered in lower tones, that +the boy may not hear; and then, all matters seemingly arranged, he +turns to the boy with--"And now, Billy, no lookin' over shoulders, you +know, or swinging on my chair-back while I'm at work. When the +pictures are all finished, then you can take a squint at 'em, and not +before. Is that all hunky, now?" + +"Oh! who's a-goin' to look over your shoulder--only _Doc_." And as the +radiant Doc hastily quits that very post, and dives for the offending +brother, he scrambles under the piano and laughs derisively. + +And then a silence falls upon the group--a gracious quiet, only +intruded upon by the very juicy and exuberant munching of an apple +from a remote fastness of the room, and the occasional thumping of a +bare heel against the floor. + +At last I close my note-book with a half slam. + +"That means," says Bob, laying down his pencil, and addressing the +girls,--"That means he's concluded his poem, and that he's not pleased +with it in any manner, and that he intends declining to read it, for +that self-acknowledged reason, and that he expects us to believe every +affected word of his entire speech--" + +"Oh, don't!" I exclaim. + +"Then give us the wretched production, in all its hideous deformity!" + +And the girls all laugh so sympathetically, and Bob joins them so +gently, and yet with a tone, I know, that can be changed so quickly to +my further discomfiture, that I arise at once and read, without +apology or excuse, this primitive and very callow poem recovered here +to-day from the gilded roll: + + + + +A BACKWARD LOOK. + + + + As I sat smoking, alone, yesterday, + And lazily leaning back in my chair, + Enjoying myself in a general way-- + Allowing my thoughts a holiday + From weariness, toil and care,-- + My fancies--doubtless, for ventilation-- + Left ajar the gates of my mind,-- + And Memory, seeing the situation, + Slipped out in street of "Auld Lang Syne." + + Wandering ever with tireless feet + Through scenes of silence, and jubilee + Of long-hushed voices; and faces sweet + Were thronging the shadowy side of the street + As far as the eye could see; + Dreaming again, in anticipation, + The same old dreams of our boyhood's days + That never come true, from the vague sensation + Of walking asleep in the world's strange ways. + + Away to the house where I was born! + And there was the selfsame clock that ticked + From the close of dusk to the burst of morn, + When life-warm hands plucked the golden corn + And helped when the apples were picked. + And the "chany-dog" on the mantel-shelf, + With the gilded collar and yellow eyes, + Looked just as at first, when I hugged myself + Sound asleep with the dear surprise. + + And down to the swing in the locust tree, + Where the grass was worn from the trampled ground, + And where "Eck" Skinner, "Old" Carr, and three + Or four such other boys used to be + Doin' "sky-scrapers," or "whirlin' round:" + And again Bob climbed for the bluebird's nest, + And again "had shows" in the buggy-shed + Of Guymon's barn, where still, unguessed, + The old ghosts romp through the best days dead! + + And again I gazed from the old school-room + With a wistful look of a long June day, + When on my cheek was the hectic bloom + Caught of Mischief, as I presume-- + He had such a "partial" way, + It seemed, toward me.--And again I thought + Of a probable likelihood to be + Kept in after school--for a girl was caught + Catching a note from me. + + And down through the woods to the swimming-hole-- + Where the big, white, hollow, old sycamore grows,-- + And we never cared when the water was cold, + And always "ducked" the boy that told + On the fellow that tied the clothes.-- + When life went so like a dreamy rhyme, + That it seems to me now that then + The world was having a jollier time + Than it ever will have again. + +The crude production is received, I am glad to note, with some +expressions of favor from the company, though Bob, of course, must +heartlessly dissipate my weak delight by saying, "Well, it's certainly +bad enough; though," he goes on with an air of deepest critical +sagacity and fairness, "considered, as it should be, justly, as the +production of a jour-poet, why, it might be worse--that is, a little +worse." + +"Probably," I remember saying,--"Probably I might redeem myself by +reading you this little amateurish bit of verse, enclosed to me in a +letter by mistake, not very long ago." I here fish an envelope from my +pocket the address of which all recognize as in Bob's almost printed +writing. He smiles vacantly at it--then vividly colors. + +"What date?" he stoically asks. + +"The date," I suggestively answer, "of your last letter to our dear +Doc, at Boarding-School, two days exactly in advance of her coming +home--this veritable visit now." + +Both Bob and Doc rush at me--but too late. The letter and contents +have wholly vanished. The youngest Miss Mills quiets us--urgently +distracting us, in fact, by calling our attention to the immediate +completion of our joint production; "For now," she says, "with our new +reinforcement, we can, with becoming diligence, soon have it ready for +both printer and engraver, and then we'll wake up the boy (who has +been fortunately slumbering for the last quarter of an hour), and +present to him, as designed and intended, this matchless creation of +our united intellects." At the conclusion of this speech we all go +good-humoredly to work, and at the close of half an hour the tedious, +but most ridiculous, task is announced completed. + +As I arrange and place in proper form here on the table the separate +cards--twenty-seven in number--I sigh to think that I am unable to +transcribe for you the best part of the nonsensical work--the +illustrations. All I can give is the written copy of-- + + + +BILLY'S ALPHABETICAL ANIMAL SHOW. + + + + A was an elegant Ape + Who tied up his ears with red tape, + And wore a long veil + Half revealing his tail + Which was trimmed with jet bugles and crape. + + B was a boastful old Bear + Who used to say,--"Hoomh! I declare + I can eat--if you'll get me + The children, and let me-- + Ten babies, teeth, toenails and hair!" + + C was a Codfish who sighed + When snatched from the home of his pride, + But could he, embrined, + Guess this fragrance behind, + How glad he would be that he died! + + D was a dandified Dog + Who said,--"Though it's raining like fog + I wear no umbrellah, + Me boy, for a fellah + Might just as well travel incog!" + + E was an elderly Eel + Who would say,--"Well, I really feel-- + As my grandchildren wriggle + And shout 'I should giggle'-- + A trifle run down at the heel!" + + F was a Fowl who conceded + _Some_ hens might hatch more eggs than _she_ did,-- + But she'd children as plenty + As eighteen or twenty, + And that was quite all that she needed. + + G was a gluttonous Goat + Who, dining one day, _table-d'hote,_ + Ordered soup-bone, _au fait_, + And fish, _papier-mache_, + And a _filet_ of Spring overcoat. + + H was a high-cultured Hound + Who could clear forty feet at a bound, + And a coon once averred + That his howl could be heard + For five miles and three-quarters around. + + I was an Ibex ambitious + To dive over chasms auspicious; + He would leap down a peak + And not light for a week, + And swear that the jump was delicious. + + J was a Jackass who said + He had such a bad cold in his head, + If it wasn't for leaving + The rest of us grieving, + He'd really rather be dead. + + K was a profligate Kite + Who would haunt the saloons every night; + And often he ust + To reel back to his roost + Too full to set up on it right. + + L was a wary old Lynx + Who would say,--"Do you know wot I thinks?-- + I thinks ef you happen + To ketch me a-nappin' + I'm ready to set up the drinks!" + + M was a merry old Mole, + Who would snooze all the day in his hole, + Then--all night, a-rootin' + Around and galootin'-- + He'd sing "Johnny, Fill up the Bowl!" + + N was a caustical Nautilus + Who sneered, "I suppose, when they've _caught_ all us, + Like oysters they'll serve us, + And can us, preserve us, + And barrel, and pickle, and bottle us!" + + O was an autocrat Owl-- + Such a wise--such a wonderful fowl! + Why, for all the night through + He would hoot and hoo-hoo, + And hoot and hoo-hooter and howl! + + P was a Pelican pet, + Who gobbled up all he could get; + He could eat on until + He was full to the bill, + And there he had lodgings to let! + + Q was a querulous Quail, + Who said: "It will little avail + The efforts of those + Of my foes who propose + To attempt to put salt on my tail!" + + R was a ring-tailed Raccoon, + With eyes of the tinge of the moon, + And his nose a blue-black, + And the fur on his back + A sad sort of sallow maroon. + + S is a Sculpin--you'll wish + Very much to have one on your dish, + Since all his bones grow + On the outside, and so + He's a very desirable fish. + + T was a Turtle, of wealth, + Who went round with particular stealth,-- + "Why," said he, "I'm afraid + Of being waylaid + When I even walk out for my health!" + + U was a Unicorn curious, + With one horn, of a growth so _luxurious_, + He could level and stab it-- + If you didn't grab it-- + Clean through you, he was so blamed furious! + + V was a vagabond Vulture + Who said: "I don't want to insult yer, + But when you intrude + Where in lone solitude + I'm a-preyin', you're no man o' culture!" + + W was a wild _Wood_chuck, + And you can just bet that he _could_ "chuck" + He'd eat raw potatoes, + Green corn, and tomatoes, + And tree roots, and call it all "_good_ chuck!" + + X was a kind of X-cuse + Of a some-sort-o'-thing that got loose + Before we could name it, + And cage it, and tame it, + And bring it in general use. + + Y is the Yellowbird,--bright + As a petrified lump of star-light, + Or a handful of lightning- + Bugs, squeezed in the tight'ning + Pink fist of a boy, at night. + + Z is the Zebra, of course!-- + A kind of a clown-of-a-horse,-- + Each other despising, + Yet neither devising + A way to obtain a divorce! + + & here is the famous--what-is-it? + Walk up, Master Billy, and quiz it: + You've seen the _rest_ of 'em-- + Ain't this the _best_ of 'em, + Right at the end of your visit? + +At last Billy is sent off to bed. It is the prudent mandate of the old +folks: But so lothfully the poor child goes, Bob's heart goes, +too.--Yes, Bob himself, to keep the little fellow company awhile, and, +up there under the old rafters, in the pleasant gloom, lull him to +famous dreams with fairy tales. And it is during this brief absence +that the youngest Mills girl gives us a surprise. She will read a +poem, she says, written by a very dear friend of hers who, fortunately +for us, is not present to prevent her. We guard door and window as she +reads. Doc says she will not listen; but she does listen, and cries, +too--out of pure vexation, she asserts. The rest of us, however, cry +just because of the apparent honesty of the poem of-- + + + +BEAUTIFUL HANDS. + + + O your hands--they are strangely fair! + Fair--for the jewels that sparkle there,-- + Fair--for the witchery of the spell + That ivory keys alone can tell; + But when their delicate touches rest + Here in my own do I love them best, + As I clasp with eager acquisitive spans + My glorious treasure of beautiful hands! + + Marvelous--wonderful--beautiful hands! + They can coax roses to bloom in the strands + Of your brown tresses; and ribbons will twine, + Under mysterious touches of thine, + Into such knots as entangle the soul, + And fetter the heart under such a control + As only the strength of my love understands-- + My passionate love for your beautiful hands. + + As I remember the first fair touch + Of those beautiful hands that I love so much, + I seem to thrill as I then was thrilled, + Kissing the glove that I found unfilled-- + When I met your gaze, and the queenly bow, + As you said to me, laughingly, "Keep it now!" + And dazed and alone in a dream I stand + Kissing this ghost of your beautiful hand. + + When first I loved, in the long ago, + And held your hand as I told you so-- + Pressed and caressed it and gave it a kiss, + And said "I could die fora hand like this!" + Little I dreamed love's fulness yet + Had to ripen when eyes were wet, + And prayers were vain in their wild demands + For one warm touch of your beautiful hands. + + Beautiful Hands! O Beautiful Hands! + Could you reach out of the alien lands + Where you are lingering, and give me, to-night, + Only a touch--were it ever so light-- + My heart were soothed, and my weary brain + Would lull itself into rest again; + For there is no solace the world commands + Like the caress of your beautiful hands. + + * * * * * + +Violently winking at the mist that blurs my sight, I regretfully +awaken to the here and now. And is it possible, I sorrowfully muse, +that all this glory can have fled away?--that more than twenty long, +long years are spread between me and that happy night? And is it +possible that all the dear old faces--O, quit it! quit it! Gather the +old scraps up and wad 'em back into oblivion, where they belong! + +Yes, but be calm--be calm! Think of cheerful things. You are not all +alone. _Billy_'s living yet. + +I know--and six feet high--and sag-shouldered--and owns a tin and +stove-store, and can't hear thunder! _Billy!_ + +And the youngest Mills girl--she's alive, too. + +S'pose I don't know that? I married her! + +And Doc.-- + +_Bob_ married her. Been in California for more than fifteen years--on +some blasted cattle-ranch, or something,--and he's worth a half a +million! And am I less prosperous with this gilded roll? + + + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Pipes O'Pan at Zekesbury, by James Whitcomb Riley + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PIPES O'PAN AT ZEKESBURY *** + +***** This file should be named 13908.txt or 13908.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/3/9/0/13908/ + +Produced by Curtis A. Weyant, Project Manager, Keith M. Eckrich, +Post-Processor, and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed +Proofreading Team + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at +https://gutenberg.org/license). + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" +or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation web page at https://www.pglaf.org. + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at +https://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at +809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email +business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact +information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official +page at https://pglaf.org + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit https://pglaf.org + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including including checks, online payments and credit card +donations. To donate, please visit: https://pglaf.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + https://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + +*** END: FULL LICENSE *** + diff --git a/old/13908.zip b/old/13908.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..018c7c7 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/13908.zip |