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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/37074-8.txt b/37074-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..8aa8625 --- /dev/null +++ b/37074-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,4957 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Neghborly Poems and Dialect Sketches, 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: Neghborly Poems and Dialect Sketches + +Author: James Whitcomb Riley + +Release Date: August 14, 2011 [EBook #37074] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NEGHBORLY POEMS, DIALECT SKETCHES *** + + + + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Diane Monico, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + + + +NEGHBORLY POEMS + +AND + +DIALECT SKETCHES + +JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY + +INDIANAPOLIS +THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY +PUBLISHERS + + +Copyright 1883, 1891 and 1897 + +By JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY + +PRESS OF +BRAUNWORTH & CO. +BOOKBINDERS AND PRINTERS +BROOKLYN, N. Y. + + +TO MY BROTHER +HUMBOLDT RILEY + + + + +PREFACE + + +As far back into boyhood as the writer's memory may intelligently go, +the "country poet" is most pleasantly recalled. He was, and is, as +common as the "country fiddler," and as full of good old-fashioned +music. Not a master of melody, indeed, but a poet, certainly-- + + "Who, through long days of labor, + And nights devoid of ease, + Still heard in his soul the music + Of wonderful melodies." + +And it is simply the purpose of this series of dialectic studies to +reflect the real worth of this homely child of nature, and to echo +faithfully, if possible, the faltering music of his song. + +In adding to this series, as the writer has, for many years, been urged +to do, and answering as steadfast a demand of Benj. F. Johnson's first +and oldest friends, it has been decided that this further work of his +be introduced to the reader of the volume as was the old man's first +work to the reader of the newspaper of nearly ten years ago. + +Directly, then, referring to the Indianapolis "Daily Journal,"--under +whose management the writer had for some time been employed,--from +issue of date June 17, 1882, under editorial caption of "A Boone County +Pastoral," this article is herewith quoted: + + Benj. F. Johnson, of Boone county, who considers the Journal + a "very valubul" newspaper, writes to enclose us an original + poem, desiring that we kindly accept it for publication, as + "many neghbors and friends is astin' him to have the same + struck off." + + Mr. Johnson thoughtfully informs us that he is "no edjucated + man," but that he has, "from childhood up tel old enough to + vote, allus wrote more er less poetry, as many of an albun + in the neghborhood can testify." Again, he says that he + writes "from the hart out"; and there is a touch of genuine + pathos in the frank avowal, "Thare is times when I write the + tears rolls down my cheeks." + + In all sincerity, Mr. Johnson, we are glad to publish the + poem you send, and just as you have written it. That is its + greatest charm. Its very defects compose its excellence. You + need no better education than the one from which emanates + "The Old Swimmin'-Hole." It is real poetry, and all the more + tender and lovable for the unquestionable evidence it bears + of having been written "from the hart out." The only thing + we find to--but hold! Let us first lay the poem before the + reader: + +Here followed the poem, "The Old Swimmin'-Hole," entire--the editorial +comment ending as follows: + + The only thing now, Mr. Johnson--as we were about to + observe--the only thing we find to criticise, at all + relative to the poem, is your closing statement to the + effect that "It was wrote to go to the tune of 'The Captin + with his Whiskers!'" You should not have told us that, O + Rare Ben. Johnson! + +A week later, in the "Journal" of date June 24th, followed this +additional mention of "Benj. F. Johnson, of Boone": + + It is a pleasure for us to note that the publication of the + poem of "The Old Swimmin'-Hole," to which the Journal, with + just pride, referred last week, has proved almost as great a + pleasure to its author as to the hosts of delighted readers + who have written in its praise, or called to personally + indorse our high opinion of its poetic value. We have just + received a letter from Mr. Johnson, the author, inclosing us + another lyrical performance, which in many features even + surpasses the originality and spirit of the former effort. + Certainly the least that can be said of it is that it + stands a thorough proof of our first assertion, that the + author, though by no means a man of learning and profound + literary attainments, is none the less a true poet and an + artist. The letter, accompanying this later amaranth of + blooming wildwood verse, we publish in its entirety, assured + that Mr. Johnson's many admirers will be charmed, as we have + been, at the delicious glimpse he gives us of his + inspiration, modes of study, home-life, and surroundings: + + "To the Editer of the Indanoplus Jurnal: + + "Respected Sir--The paper is here, markin' the old + swimmin'-hole, my poetry which you seem to like so well. I + joy to see it in print, and I thank you, hart and voice, fer + speakin' of its merrits in the way in which you do. I am + glad you thought it was real poetry, as you said in your + artikle. But I make bold to ast you what was your idy in + sayin' I had ortent of told you it went to the tune I spoke + of in my last. I felt highly flatered tel I got that fur. + Was it because you don't know the tune refered to in the + letter? Er wasent some words spelt right er not? Still ef + you hadent of said somepin' aginst it Ide of thought you was + makin' fun. As I said before I well know my own + unedjucation, but I don't think that is any reason the + feelin's of the soul is stunted in theyr growth however. + 'Juge not less ye be juged,' says The Good Book, and so say + I, ef I thought you was makin' fun of the lines that I wrote + and which you done me the onner to have printed off in sich + fine style that I have read it over and over again in the + paper you sent, and I would like to have about three more ef + you can spare the same and state by mail what they will come + at. All nature was in tune day before yisterday when your + paper come to hand. It had ben a-raining hard fer some days, + but that morning opened up as clear as a whissel. No clouds + was in the sky, and the air was bammy with the warm sunshine + and the wet smell of the earth and the locus blossoms and + the flowrs and pennyroil and boneset. I got up, the first + one about the place, and went forth to the plesant fields. I + fed the stock with lavish hand and wortered them in merry + glee, they was no bird in all the land no happier than me. I + have jest wrote a verse of poetry in this letter; see ef you + can find it. I also send you a whole poem which was wrote + off the very day your paper come. I started it in the + morning I have so feebly tride to pictur' to you and wound + her up by suppertime, besides doin' a fare day's work around + the place. + + "Ef you print this one I think you will like it better than + the other. This ain't a sad poem like the other was, but you + will find it full of careful thought. I pride myself on + that. I also send you 30 cents in stamps fer you to take + your pay out of fer the other papers I said, and also fer + three more with this in it ef you have it printed and + oblige. Ef you don't print this poem, keep the stamps and + send me three more papers with _the other one_ in--makin' + the sum totul of six (6) papers altogether in full. Ever + your true friend, + + BENJ. F. JOHNSON. + + "N. B.--The tune of this one is 'The Bold Privateer.'" + +Here followed the poem, "Thoughts Fer The Discuraged Farmer";--and +here, too, fittingly ends any comment but that which would appear +trivial and gratuitous. + +Simply, in briefest conclusion, the hale, sound, artless, lovable +character of Benj. F. Johnson remains, in the writer's mind, as from +the first, far less a fiction than a living, breathing, vigorous +reality.--So strong, indeed, has his personality been made manifest, +that many times, in visionary argument with the sturdy old myth over +certain changes from the original forms of his productions, he has so +incontinently beaten down all suggestions as to a less incongruous +association of thoughts and words, together with protests against his +many violations of poetic method, harmony, and grace, that nothing was +left the writer but to submit to what has always seemed--and in truth +still seems--a superior wisdom of dictation. + + J. W. R. + +_Indianapolis, July, 1891._ + + + + +SALUTATION + +TO BENJ. F. JOHNSON + + +_THE OLD MAN_ + + + _Lo! steadfast and serene, + In patient pause between + The seen and the unseen, + What gentle zephyrs fan + Your silken silver hair,-- + And what diviner air + Breathes round you like a prayer, + Old Man?_ + + _Can you, in nearer view + Of Glory, pierce the blue + Of happy Heaven through; + And, listening mutely, can + Your senses, dull to us, + Hear Angel-voices thus, + In chorus glorious-- + Old Man?_ + + _In your reposeful gaze + The dusk of Autumn days + Is blent with April haze, + As when of old began + The bursting of the bud + Of rosy babyhood-- + When all the world was good, + Old Man._ + + _And yet I find a sly + Little twinkle in your eye; + And your whisperingly shy + Little laugh is simply an + Internal shout of glee + That betrays the fallacy + You'd perpetrate on me, + Old Man!_ + + _So just put up the frown + That your brows are pulling down! + Why, the fleetest boy in town, + As he bared his feet and ran, + Could read with half a glance-- + And of keen rebuke, perchance-- + Your secret countenance, + Old Man!_ + + _Now, honestly, confess: + Is an old man any less + Than the little child we bless + And caress when we can? + Isn't age but just a place + Where you mask the childish face + To preserve its inner grace, + Old Man?_ + + _Hasn't age a truant day, + Just as that you went astray + In the wayward, restless way, + When, brown with dust and tan, + Your roguish face essayed, + In solemn masquerade, + To hide the smile it made + Old Man?_ + + _Now, fair, and square, and true, + Don't your old soul tremble through, + As in youth it used to do + When it brimmed and overran + With the strange, enchanted sights, + And the splendors and delights + Of the old "Arabian Nights," + Old Man?_ + + _When, haply, you have fared + Where glad Aladdin shared + His lamp with you, and dared + The Afrite and his clan; + And, with him, clambered through + The trees where jewels grew-- + And filled your pockets, too, + Old Man?_ + + _Or, with Sinbad, at sea-- + And in veracity + Who has sinned as bad as he, + Or would, or will, or can?-- + Have you listened to his lies, + With open mouth and eyes, + And learned his art likewise, + Old Man?_ + + _And you need not deny + That your eyes were wet as dry, + Reading novels on the sly! + And review them, if you can, + And the same warm tears will fall-- + Only faster, that is all-- + Over Little Nell and Paul, + Old Man!_ + + _O, you were a lucky lad-- + Just as good as you were bad! + And the host of friends you had-- + Charley, Tom, and Dick, and Dan; + And the old School-Teacher, too, + Though he often censured you; + And the girls in pink and blue, + Old Man._ + + _And--as often you have leant, + In boyish sentiment, + To kiss the letter sent + By Nelly, Belle, or Nan-- + Wherein the rose's hue + Was red, the violet blue-- + And sugar sweet--and you, + Old Man,--_ + + _So, to-day, as lives the bloom, + And the sweetness, and perfume + Of the blossoms, I assume, + On the same mysterious plan + The master's love assures, + That the self-same boy endures + In that hale old heart of yours, + Old Man._ + + + + +CONTENTS + + +THE OLD SWIMMIN'-HOLE, AND 'LEVEN MORE POEMS + +_The Delights of our Childhood is soon Passed Away_ 2 + +THE OLD SWIMMIN'-HOLE 3 + +THOUGHTS FER THE DISCURAGED FARMER 6 + +A SUMMER'S DAY 9 + +A HYMB OF FAITH 13 + +WORTERMELON TIME 16 + +MY PHILOSOFY 20 + +WHEN THE FROST IS ON THE PUNKIN 23 + +ON THE DEATH OF LITTLE MAHALA ASHCRAFT 26 + +THE MULBERRY TREE 29 + +TO MY OLD FRIEND, WILLIAM LEACHMAN 31 + +MY FIDDLE 36 + +THE CLOVER 39 + + +NEGHBORLY POEMS + +ON FRIENDSHIP, GRIEF AND FARM-LIFE + +_Us Farmers in the Country, as the Seasons go and Come_ 42 + +ERASMUS WILSON 43 + +MY RUTHERS 48 + +ON A DEAD BABE 51 + +A OLD PLAYED-OUT SONG 52 + +"COON-DOG WESS" 55 + +PERFESSER JOHN CLARK RIDPATH 62 + +A TALE OF THE AIRLY DAYS 66 + +"MYLO JONES'S WIFE" 68 + +ON A SPLENDUD MATCH 71 + +OLD JOHN CLEVENGER ON BUCKEYES 72 + +THE HOSS 78 + +EZRA HOUSE 82 + +A PEN-PICTUR' 86 + +WET-WEATHER TALK 90 + +THOUGHTS ON A PORE JOKE 93 + +A MORTUL PRAYER 94 + +THE FIRST BLUEBIRD 96 + +EVAGENE BAKER 97 + +ON ANY ORDENARY MAN 100 + +TOWN AND COUNTRY 101 + +LINES WRIT FER ISAAC BRADWELL 103 + +DECORATION DAY ON THE PLACE 104 + +THE TREE-TOAD 107 + +THE ROSSVILLE LECTUR' COURSE 109 + +WHEN THE GREEN GITS BACK IN THE TREES 112 + +HOW IT HAPPENED 114 + +A DOS'T O' BLUES 117 + +THE OLD HOME BY THE MILL 119 + +THE WAY IT WUZ 121 + +PAP'S OLD SAYIN' 125 + +ROMANCIN' 128 + +AN OLD SETTLER'S STORY 133 + +DIALECT IN LITERATURE 195 + + Originally contributed to THE FORUM--reprinted here + by permission. + + + + +"THE OLD SWIMMIN'-HOLE" + +AND + +'LEVEN MORE POEMS + +BY + +BENJ. F. JOHNSON, OF BOONE + + + _The delights of our childhood is soon passed away, + And our gloryus youth it departs,-- + And yit, dead and burried, they's blossoms of May + Ore theyr medderland graves in our harts. + So, friends of my bare-footed days on the farm, + Whether truant in city er not, + God prosper you same as He's prosperin' me, + Whilse your past haint despised er fergot._ + + _Oh! they's nothin', at morn, that's as grand unto me + As the glorys of Nachur so fare,-- + With the Spring in the breeze, and the bloom in the trees, + And the hum of the bees ev'rywhare! + The green in the woods, and the birds in the boughs, + And the dew spangled over the fields; + And the bah of the sheep and the bawl of the cows + And the call from the house to your meals!_ + + _Then ho! fer your brekfast! and ho! fer the toil + That waiteth alike man and beast! + Oh! its soon with my team I'll be turnin' up soil, + Whilse the sun shoulders up in the East + Ore the tops of the ellums and beeches and oaks, + To smile his godspeed on the plow, + And the furry and seed, and the Man in his need, + And the joy of the swet of his brow!_ + + + + +THE OLD SWIMMIN'-HOLE + + + Oh! the old swimmin'-hole! whare the crick so still and deep + Looked like a baby-river that was laying half asleep, + And the gurgle of the worter round the drift jest below + Sounded like the laugh of something we onc't ust to know + Before we could remember anything but the eyes + Of the angels lookin' out as we left Paradise; + But the merry days of youth is beyond our controle, + And it's hard to part ferever with the old swimmin'-hole. + + Oh! the old swimmin'-hole! In the happy days of yore, + When I ust to lean above it on the old sickamore, + Oh! it showed me a face in its warm sunny tide + That gazed back at me so gay and glorified, + It made me love myself, as I leaped to caress + My shadder smilin' up at me with sich tenderness. + But them days is past and gone, and old Time's tuck his toll + From the old man come back to the old swimmin'-hole. + + Oh! the old swimmin'-hole! In the long, lazy days + When the hum-drum of school made so many run-a-ways, + How plesant was the jurney down the old dusty lane, + Whare the tracks of our bare feet was all printed so plane + You could tell by the dent of the heel and the sole + They was lots o' fun on hands at the old swimmin'-hole. + But the lost joys is past! Let your tears in sorrow roll + Like the rain that ust to dapple up the old swimmin'-hole. + + Thare the bullrushes growed, and the cattails so tall, + And the sunshine and shadder fell over it all; + And it mottled the worter with amber and gold + Tel the glad lillies rocked in the ripples that rolled; + And the snake-feeder's four gauzy wings fluttered by + Like the ghost of a daisy dropped out of the sky, + Or a wownded apple-blossom in the breeze's controle + As it cut acrost some orchurd to'rds the old swimmin'-hole. + + Oh! the old swimmin'-hole! When I last saw the place, + The scenes was all changed, like the change in my face; + The bridge of the railroad now crosses the spot + Whare the old divin'-log lays sunk and fergot. + And I stray down the banks whare the trees ust to be-- + But never again will theyr shade shelter me! + And I wish in my sorrow I could strip to the soul, + And dive off in my grave like the old swimmin'-hole. + + + + +THOUGHTS FER THE DISCURAGED FARMER + + + The summer winds is sniffin' round the bloomin' locus' trees; + And the clover in the pastur is a big day fer the bees, + And they been a-swiggin' honey, above board and on the sly, + Tel they stutter in theyr buzzin' and stagger as they fly. + The flicker on the fence-rail 'pears to jest spit on his wings + And roll up his feathers, by the sassy way he sings; + And the hoss-fly is a-whettin'-up his forelegs fer biz, + And the off-mare is a-switchin' all of her tale they is. + + You can hear the blackbirds jawin' as they foller up the plow-- + Oh, theyr bound to git theyr brekfast, and theyr not a-carin' how; + So they quarrel in the furries, and they quarrel on the wing-- + But theyr peaceabler in pot-pies than any other thing: + And it's when I git my shotgun drawed up in stiddy rest, + She's as full of tribbelation as a yeller-jacket's nest; + And a few shots before dinner, when the sun's a-shinin' right, + Seems to kindo'-sorto' sharpen up a feller's appetite! + + They's been a heap o' rain, but the sun's out to-day, + And the clouds of the wet spell is all cleared away, + And the woods is all the greener, and the grass is greener still; + It may rain again to-morry, but I don't think it will. + Some says the crops is ruined, and the corn's drownded out, + And propha-sy the wheat will be a failure, without doubt; + But the kind Providence that has never failed us yet, + Will be on hands onc't more at the 'leventh hour, I bet! + + Does the medder-lark complane, as he swims high and dry + Through the waves of the wind and the blue of the sky? + Does the quail set up and whissel in a disappinted way, + Er hang his head in silunce, and sorrow all the day? + Is the chipmuck's health a-failin'?--Does he walk, er does he run? + Don't the buzzards ooze around up thare jest like they've allus done? + Is they anything the matter with the rooster's lungs er voice? + Ort a mortul be complanin' when dumb animals rejoice? + + Then let us, one and all, be contentud with our lot; + The June is here this mornin', and the sun is shining hot. + Oh! let us fill our harts up with the glory of the day, + Any banish ev'ry doubt and care and sorrow fur away! + Whatever be our station, with Providence fer guide, + Sich fine circumstances ort to make us satisfied; + Fer the world is full of roses, and the roses full of dew, + And the dew is full of heavenly love that drips fer me and you. + + + + +A SUMMER'S DAY + + + The Summer's put the idy in + My head that I'm a boy again; + And all around's so bright and gay + I want to put my team away, + And jest git out whare I can lay + And soak my hide full of the day! + But work is work, and must be done-- + Yit, as I work, I have my fun, + Jest fancyin' these furries here + Is childhood's paths onc't more so dear:-- + And as I walk through medder-lands, + And country lanes, and swampy trails + Whare long bullrushes bresh my hands; + And, tilted on the ridered rails + Of deadnin' fences, "Old Bob White" + Whissels his name in high delight, + And whirrs away. I wunder still, + Whichever way a boy's feet will-- + Whare trees has fell, with tangled tops + Whare dead leaves shakes, I stop fer breth, + Heerin' the acorn as it drops-- + H'istin' my chin up still as deth, + And watchin' clos't, with upturned eyes, + The tree where Mr. Squirrel tries + To hide hisse'f above the limb, + But lets his own tale tell on him. + I wunder on in deeper glooms-- + Git hungry, hearin' female cries + From old farm-houses, whare perfumes + Of harvest dinners seems to rise + And ta'nt a feller, hart and brane, + With memories he can't explane. + + I wunder through the underbresh, + Whare pig-tracks, pintin' to'rds the crick, + Is picked and printed in the fresh + Black bottom-lands, like wimmern pick + Theyr pie-crusts with a fork, some way, + When bakin' fer camp-meetin' day. + I wunder on and on and on, + Tel my gray hair and beard is gone, + And ev'ry wrinkle on my brow + Is rubbed clean out and shaddered now + With curls as brown and fare and fine + As tenderls of the wild grape-vine + That ust to climb the highest tree + To keep the ripest ones fer me. + I wunder still, and here I am + Wadin' the ford below the dam-- + The worter chucklin' round my knee + At hornet-welt and bramble-scratch, + And me a-slippin' 'crost to see + Ef Tyner's plums is ripe, and size + The old man's wortermelon-patch, + With juicy mouth and drouthy eyes. + Then, after sich a day of mirth + And happiness as worlds is wurth-- + So tired that heaven seems nigh about,-- + The sweetest tiredness on earth + Is to git home and flatten out-- + So tired you can't lay flat enugh, + And sorto' wish that you could spred + Out like molasses on the bed, + And jest drip off the aidges in + The dreams that never comes again. + + + + +A HYMB OF FAITH + + + O, Thou that doth all things devise + And fashon fer the best, + He'p us who sees with mortul eyes + To overlook the rest. + + They's times, of course, we grope in doubt, + And in afflictions sore; + So knock the louder, Lord, without, + And we'll unlock the door. + + Make us to feel, when times looks bad + And tears in pitty melts, + Thou wast the only he'p we had + When they was nothin' else. + + Death comes alike to ev'ry man + That ever was borned on earth; + Then let us do the best we can + To live fer all life's wurth. + + Ef storms and tempusts dred to see + Makes black the heavens ore, + They done the same in Galilee + Two thousand years before. + + But after all, the golden sun + Poured out its floods on them + That watched and waited fer the One + Then borned in Bethlyham. + + Also, the star of holy writ + Made noonday of the night, + Whilse other stars that looked at it + Was envious with delight. + + The sages then in wurship bowed, + From ev'ry clime so fare; + O, sinner, think of that glad crowd + That congergated thare! + + They was content to fall in ranks + With One that knowed the way + From good old Jurden's stormy banks + Clean up to Jedgmunt Day. + + No matter, then, how all is mixed + In our near-sighted eyes, + All things is fer the best, and fixed + Out straight in Paradise. + + Then take things as God sends 'em here, + And, ef we live er die, + Be more and more contenteder, + Without a-astin' why. + + O, Thou that doth all things devise + And fashon fer the best, + He'p us who sees with mortul eyes + To overlook the rest. + + + + +WORTERMELON TIME + + + Old wortermelon time is a-comin' round again, + And they ain't no man a-livin' any tickleder'n me, + Fer the way I hanker after wortermelons is a sin-- + Which is the why and wharefore, as you can plainly see. + + Oh! it's in the sandy soil wortermelons does the best, + And it's thare they'll lay and waller in the sunshine and the dew + Tel they wear all the green streaks clean off of theyr breast; + And you bet I ain't a-findin' any fault with them; air you? + + They ain't no better thing in the vegetable line; + And they don't need much 'tendin', as ev'ry farmer knows; + And when theyr ripe and ready fer to pluck from the vine, + I want to say to you theyr the best fruit that grows. + + It's some likes the yeller-core, and some likes the red. + And it's some says "The Little Californy" is the best; + But the sweetest slice of all I ever wedged in my head, + Is the old "Edingburg Mounting-sprout," of the west. + + You don't want no punkins nigh your wortermelon vines-- + 'Cause, some-way-another, they'll spile your melons, shore;-- + I've seed 'em taste like punkins, from the core to the rines, + Which may be a fact you have heerd of before. + + But your melons that's raised right and 'tended to with care, + You can walk around amongst 'em with a parent's pride and joy, + And thump 'em on the heads with as fatherly a air + As ef each one of them was your little girl er boy. + + I joy in my hart jest to hear that rippin' sound + When you split one down the back and jolt the halves in two, + And the friends you love the best is gethered all around-- + And you says unto your sweethart, "Oh, here's the core fer you!" + + And I like to slice 'em up in big pieces fer 'em all, + Espeshally the childern, and watch theyr high delight + As one by one the rines with theyr pink notches falls, + And they holler fer some more, with unquenched appetite. + + Boys takes to it natchurl, and I like to see 'em eat-- + A slice of wortermelon's like a frenchharp in theyr hands, + And when they "saw" it through theyr mouth sich music can't be beat-- + 'Cause it's music both the sperit and the stummick understands. + + Oh, they's more in wortermelons than the purty-colored meat, + And the overflowin' sweetness of the worter squshed betwixt + The up'ard and the down'ard motions of a feller's teeth, + And it's the taste of ripe old age and juicy childhood mixed. + + Fer I never taste a melon but my thoughts flies away + To the summertime of youth; and again I see the dawn, + And the fadin' afternoon of the long summer day, + And the dusk and dew a-fallin', and the night a'comin' on. + + And thare's the corn around us, and the lispin' leaves and trees, + And the stars a-peekin' down on us as still as silver mice, + And us boys in the wortermelons on our hands and knees, + And the new-moon hangin' ore us like a yeller-cored slice. + + Oh! it's wortermelon time is a-comin' round again, + And they ain't no man a-livin' any tickleder'n me, + Fer the way I hanker after wortermelons is a sin-- + Which is the why and wharefore, as you can plainly see. + + + + +MY PHILOSOFY + + + I ain't, ner don't p'tend to be, + Much posted on philosofy; + But thare is times, when all alone, + I work out idees of my own. + And of these same thare is a few + I'd like to jest refer to you-- + Pervidin' that you don't object + To listen clos't and rickollect. + + I allus argy that a man + Who does about the best he can + Is plenty good enugh to suit + This lower mundane institute-- + No matter ef his daily walk + Is subject fer his neghbor's talk, + And critic-minds of ev'ry whim + Jest all git up and go fer him! + + I knowed a feller onc't that had + The yeller-janders mighty bad,-- + And each and ev'ry friend he'd meet + Would stop and give him some receet + Fer cuorin' of 'em. But he'd say + He kindo' thought they'd go away + Without no medicin', and boast + That he'd git well without one doste. + + He kep' a-yellerin' on--and they + Perdictin' that he'd die some day + Before he knowed it! Tuck his bed, + The feller did, and lost his head, + And wundered in his mind a spell-- + Then rallied, and, at last, got well; + But ev'ry friend that said he'd die + Went back on him eternally! + + Its natchurl enugh, I guess, + When some gits more and some gits less, + Fer them-uns on the slimmest side + To claim it ain't a fare divide; + And I've knowed some to lay and wait, + And git up soon, and set up late, + To ketch some feller they could hate + Fer goin' at a faster gait. + + The signs is bad when folks commence + A-findin' fault with Providence, + And balkin' 'cause the earth don't shake + At ev'ry prancin' step they take. + No man is grate tel he can see + How less than little he would be + Ef stripped to self, and stark and bare + He hung his sign out anywhare. + + My doctern is to lay aside + Contensions, and be satisfied: + Jest do your best, and praise er blame + That follers that, counts jest the same. + I've allus noticed grate success + Is mixed with troubles, more or less, + And it's the man who does the best + That gits more kicks than all the rest. + + + + +WHEN THE FROST IS ON THE PUNKIN + + + When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock, + And you hear the kyouck and gobble of the struttin' turkey-cock, + And the clackin' of the guineys, and the cluckin' of the hens, + And the rooster's hallylooyer as he tiptoes on the fence; + O, its then's the times a feller is a-feelin' at his best, + With the risin' sun to greet him from a night of peaceful rest, + As he leaves the house, bare-headed, and goes out to feed the stock, + When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock. + + They's something kindo' harty-like about the atmusfere + When the heat of summer's over and the coolin' fall is here-- + Of course we miss the flowers, and the blossums on the trees, + And the mumble of the hummin'-birds and buzzin' of the bees; + But the air's so appetizin'; and the landscape through the haze + Of a crisp and sunny morning of the airly autumn days + Is a pictur' that no painter has the colorin' to mock-- + When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock. + + The husky, rusty russel of the tossels of the corn, + And the raspin' of the tangled leaves, as golden as the morn; + The stubble in the furries--kindo' lonesome-like, but still + A-preachin' sermuns to us of the barns they growed to fill; + The strawstack in the medder, and the reaper in the shed; + The hosses in theyr stalls below--the clover overhead!-- + O, it sets my hart a-clickin' like the tickin' of a clock, + When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock! + + Then your apples all is getherd, and the ones a feller keeps + Is poured around the celler-floor in red and yeller heaps; + And your cider-makin' 's over, and your wimmern-folks is through + With their mince and apple-butter, and theyr souse and saussage, too!... + I don't know how to tell it--but ef sich a thing could be + As the Angels wantin' boardin', and they'd call around on _me_-- + I'd want to 'commodate 'em--all the whole-indurin' flock-- + When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock! + + + + +ON THE DEATH OF LITTLE MAHALA ASHCRAFT + + + "Little Haly! Little Haly!" cheeps the robin in the tree; + "Little Haly!" sighs the clover, "Little Haly!" moans the bee; + "Little Haly! Little Haly!" calls the kill-deer at twilight; + And the katydids and crickets hollers "Haly!" all the night. + + The sunflowers and the hollyhawks droops over the garden fence; + The old path down the gardenwalks still holds her footprints' dents; + And the well-sweep's swingin' bucket seems to wait fer her to come + And start it on its wortery errant down the old bee-gum. + + The bee-hives all is quiet; and the little Jersey steer, + When any one comes nigh it, acts so lonesome-like and queer; + And the little Banty chickens kindo' cutters faint and low, + Like the hand that now was feedin' 'em was one they didn't know. + + They's sorrow in the wavin' leaves of all the apple-trees; + And sorrow in the harvest-sheaves, and sorrow in the breeze; + And sorrow in the twitter of the swallers 'round the shed; + And all the song her red-bird sings is "Little Haly's dead!" + + The medder 'pears to miss her, and the pathway through the grass, + Whare the dewdrops ust to kiss her little bare feet as she passed; + And the old pin in the gate-post seems to kindo'-sorto' doubt + That Haly's little sunburnt hands'll ever pull it out. + + Did her father er her mother ever love her more'n me, + Er her sisters er her brother prize her love more tendurly? + I question--and what answer?--only tears, and tears alone, + And ev'ry neghbor's eyes is full o' tear-drops as my own. + + "Little Haly! Little Haly!" cheeps the robin in the tree; + "Little Haly!" sighs the clover, "Little Haly!" moans the bee; + "Little Haly! Little Haly!" calls the kill-deer at twilight, + And the katydids and crickets hollers "Haly!" all the night. + + + + +THE MULBERRY TREE + + + O, it's many's the scenes which is dear to my mind + As I think of my childhood so long left behind; + The home of my birth, with its old puncheon-floor, + And the bright morning-glorys that growed round the door; + The warped clab-board roof whare the rain it run off + Into streams of sweet dreams as I laid in the loft, + Countin' all of the joys that was dearest to me, + And a-thinkin' the most of the mulberry tree. + + And to-day as I dream, with both eyes wide-awake, + I can see the old tree, and its limbs as they shake, + And the long purple berries that rained on the ground + Whare the pastur' was bald whare we trommpt it around. + And again, peekin' up through the thick leafy shade, + I can see the glad smiles of the friends when I strayed + With my little bare feet from my own mother's knee + To foller them off to the mulberry tree. + + Leanin' up in the forks, I can see the old rail, + And the boy climbin' up it, claw, tooth, and toe-nail, + And in fancy can hear, as he spits on his hands, + The ring of his laugh and the rip of his pants. + But that rail led to glory, as certin and shore + As I'll never climb thare by that rout' any more-- + What was all the green lauruls of Fame unto me, + With my brows in the boughs of the mulberry tree! + + Then its who can fergit the old mulberry tree + That he knowed in the days when his thoughts was as free + As the flutterin' wings of the birds that flew out + Of the tall wavin' tops as the boys come about? + O, a crowd of my memories, laughin' and gay, + Is a-climbin' the fence of that pastur' to-day, + And a-pantin' with joy, as us boys ust to be, + They go racin' acrost fer the mulberry tree. + + + + +TO MY OLD FRIEND, WILLIAM LEACHMAN + + + Fer forty year and better you have been a friend to me, + Through days of sore afflictions and dire adversity, + You allus had a kind word of counsul to impart, + Which was like a healin' 'intment to the sorrow of my hart. + + When I burried my first womern, William Leachman, it was you + Had the only consolation that I could listen to-- + Fer I knowed you had gone through it and had rallied from the blow, + And when you said I'd do the same, I knowed you'd ort to know. + + But that time I'll long remember; how I wundered here and thare-- + Through the settin'-room and kitchen, and out in the open air-- + And the snowflakes whirlin', whirlin', and the fields a frozen glare, + And the neghbors' sleds and wagons congergatin' ev'rywhare. + + I turned my eyes to'rds heaven, but the sun was hid away; + I turned my eyes to'rds earth again, but all was cold and gray; + And the clock, like ice a-crackin', clickt the icy hours in two-- + And my eyes'd never thawed out ef it hadn't been fer you! + + We set thare by the smoke-house--me and you out thare alone-- + Me a-thinkin'--you a-talkin' in a soothin' undertone-- + You a-talkin'--me a-thinkin' of the summers long ago, + And a-writin' "Marthy--Marthy" with my finger in the snow! + + William Leachman, I can see you jest as plane as I could then; + And your hand is on my shoulder, and you rouse me up again; + And I see the tears a-drippin' from your own eyes, as you say: + "Be rickonciled and bear it--we but linger fer a day!" + + At the last Old Settlers' Meetin' we went j'intly, you and me-- + Your hosses and my wagon, as you wanted it to be; + And sence I can remember, from the time we've neghbored here, + In all sich friendly actions you have double-done your sheer. + + It was better than the meetin', too, that 9-mile talk we had + Of the times when we first settled here and travel was so bad; + When we had to go on hoss-back, and sometimes on "Shanks's mare," + And "blaze" a road fer them behind that had to travel thare. + + And now we was a-trottin' 'long a level gravel pike, + In a big two-hoss road-wagon, jest as easy as you like-- + Two of us on the front seat, and our wimmern-folks behind, + A-settin' in theyr Winsor-cheers in perfect peace of mind! + + And we pinted out old landmarks, nearly faded out of sight:-- + Thare they ust to rob the stage-coach; thare Gash Morgan had the fight + With the old stag-deer that pronged him--how he battled fer his life, + And lived to prove the story by the handle of his knife. + + Thare the first griss-mill was put up in the Settlement, and we + Had tuck our grindin' to it in the Fall of Forty-three-- + When we tuck our rifles with us, techin' elbows all the way, + And a-stickin' right together ev'ry minute, night and day. + + Thare ust to stand the tavern that they called the "Travelers' Rest," + And thare, beyent the covered bridge, "The Counterfitters' Nest"-- + Whare they claimed the house was ha'nted--that a man was murdered thare, + And burried underneath the floor, er 'round the place somewhare. + + And the old Plank-road they laid along in Fifty-one er two-- + You know we talked about the times when the old road was new: + How "Uncle Sam" put down that road and never taxed the State + Was a problem, don't you rickollect, we couldn't _dim_onstrate? + + Ways was devius, William Leachman, that me and you has past; + But as I found you true at first, I find you true at last; + And, now the time's a-comin' mighty nigh our jurney's end, + I want to throw wide open all my soul to you, my friend. + + With the stren'th of all my bein', and the heat of hart and brane, + And ev'ry livin' drop of blood in artery and vane, + I love you and respect you, and I venerate your name, + Fer the name of William Leachman and True Manhood's jest the same! + + + + +MY FIDDLE + + + My fiddle?--Well, I kindo' keep her handy, don't you know! + Though I ain't so much inclined to tromp the strings and switch the bow + As I was before the timber of my elbows got so dry, + And my fingers was more limber-like and caperish and spry; + Yit I can plonk and plunk and plink, + And tune her up and play, + And jest lean back and laugh and wink + At ev'ry rainy day! + + My playin' 's only middlin'--tunes I picked up when a boy-- + The kindo'-sorto' fiddlin' that the folks calls "cordaroy"; + "The Old Fat Gal," and "Rye-straw," and "My Sailyor's on the Sea," + Is the old cowtillions _I_ "saw" when the ch'ice is left to me; + And so I plunk and plonk and plink, + And rosum-up my bow + And play the tunes that makes you think + The devil's in your toe! + + I was allus a romancin', do-less boy, to tell the truth, + A-fiddlin' and a-dancin', and a-wastin' of my youth, + And a-actin' and a-cuttin'-up all sorts o' silly pranks + That wasn't worth a botton of anybody's thanks! + But they tell me, when I ust to plink + And plonk and plunk and play, + My music seemed to have the kink + O' drivin' cares away! + + That's how this here old fiddle's won my hart's indurin' love! + From the strings acrost her middle, to the schreechin' keys above-- + From her "apern," over "bridge," and to the ribbon round her throat, + She's a wooin', cooin' pigeon, singin' "Love me" ev'ry note! + And so I pat her neck, and plink + Her strings with lovin' hands,-- + And, list'nin' clos't, I sometimes think + She kindo' understands! + + + + +THE CLOVER + + + Some sings of the lilly, and daisy, and rose, + And the pansies and pinks that the Summertime throws + In the green grassy lap of the medder that lays + Blinkin' up at the skyes through the sunshiney days; + But what is the lilly and all of the rest + Of the flowers, to a man with a hart in his brest + That was dipped brimmin' full of the honey and dew + Of the sweet clover-blossoms his babyhood knew? + + I never set eyes on a clover-field now, + Er fool round a stable, er climb in the mow, + But my childhood comes back jest as clear and as plane + As the smell of the clover I'm sniffin' again; + And I wunder away in a bare-footed dream, + Whare I tangle my toes in the blossoms that gleam + With the dew of the dawn of the morning of love + Ere it wept ore the graves that I'm weepin' above. + + And so I love clover--it seems like a part + Of the sacerdest sorrows and joys of my hart; + And wharever it blossoms, oh, thare let me bow + And thank the good God as I'm thankin' Him now; + And I pray to Him still fer the stren'th when I die, + To go out in the clover and tell it good-bye, + And lovin'ly nestle my face in its bloom + While my soul slips away on a breth of purfume. + + + + +NEGHBORLY POEMS + +ON FRIENDSHIP, GRIEF AND FARM-LIFE + +BY + +BENJ. F. JOHNSON, OF BOONE + + + _Us farmers in the country, as the seasons go and come, + Is purty much like other folks,--we're apt to grumble some! + The Spring's too back'ard fer us, er too for'ard--ary one-- + We'll jaw about it anyhow, and have our way er none! + The thaw's set in too suddent; er the frost's stayed in the soil + Too long to give the wheat a chance, and crops is bound to spoil! + The weather's eether most too mild, er too outrageous rough, + And altogether too much rain, er not half rain enugh!_ + + _Now what I'd like and what you'd like is plane enugh to see: + It's jest to have old Providence drop round on you and me + And ast us what our views is first, regardin' shine er rain, + And post 'em when to shet her off, er let her on again! + And yit I'd ruther, after all--considern other chores + I' got on hands, a-tendin' both to my affares and yours-- + I'd ruther miss the blame I'd git, a-rulin' things up thare, + And spend my extry time in praise and gratitude and prayer._ + + + + +ERASMUS WILSON + + + 'Ras Wilson, I respect you, 'cause + You're common, like you allus was + Afore you went to town and s'prised + The world by gittin' "reckonized," + And yit perservin', as I say, + Your common hoss-sense ev'ryway! + And when that name o' yourn occurs + On hand-bills, er in newspapers, + Er letters writ by friends 'at ast + About you, same as in the past, + And neghbors and relations 'low + You're out o' the tall timber now, + And "gittin' thare" about as spry's + The next!--as _I say_, when my eyes, + Er ears, lights on your name, I mind + The first time 'at I come to find + You--and my Rickollection yells, + Jest jubilunt as old sleigh-bells-- + "'Ras Wilson! Say! Hold up! and shake + A paw, fer old acquaintance sake!" + My _Rickollection_, more'n like, + Hain't overly too apt to strike + The what's-called "cultchurd public eye" + As wisdom of the deepest dye,-- + And yit my _Rickollection_ makes + So blame lots fewer bad mistakes, + Regardin' human-natchur' and + The fellers 'at I've shook theyr hand, + Than my _best jedgemunt's_ done, the day + I've met 'em--'fore I got away,-- + 'At--Well, 'Ras Wilson, let me grip + _Your_ hand in warmest pardnership! + + Dad-burn ye!--Like to jest haul back + A' old flat-hander, jest che-whack! + And take you 'twixt the shoulders, say, + Sometime you're lookin' t'other way!-- + Er, maybe whilse you're speakin' to + A whole blame Courthouse-full o' 'thu- + Syastic friends, I'd like to jest + Come in-like and break up the nest + Afore you hatched anuther cheer, + And say: "'Ras, _I_ can't stand hitched here + All night--ner wouldn't ef I could!-- + But Little Bethel Neghborhood, + You ust to live at, 's sent some word + Fer you, ef ary chance occurred + To git it to ye,--so ef you + _Kin_ stop, I'm waitin' fer ye to!" + + You're common, as I said afore-- + You're common, yit oncommon _more_.-- + You allus kindo' 'pear, to me, + What all mankind had ort to be-- + Jest _natchurl_, and the more hurraws + You git, the less you know the cause-- + Like as ef God Hisse'f stood by + Where best on earth hain't half knee-high, + And _seein'_ like, and knowin' _He_ + 'S the Only Grate Man really, + You're jest content to size your hight + With any feller-man's in sight.-- + And even then they's scrubs, like me, + Feels stuck-up, in your company! + Like now:--I want to go with you + Plum out o' town a mile er two + Clean past the Fair-ground whare's some hint + O' pennyrile er peppermint, + And bottom-lands, and timber thick + Enugh to sorto' shade the crick! + I want to _see_ you--want to set + Down somers, whare the grass hain't wet, + And kindo' _breathe_ you, like puore air-- + And taste o' your tobacker thare, + And talk and chaw! Talk o' the birds + We've knocked with cross-bows.--Afterwards + Drop, mayby, into some dispute + 'Bout "pomgrannies," er cal'mus-root-- + And how _they_ growed, and _whare_?--on tree + Er vine?--Who's best boy-memory!-- + And wasn't it _gingsang_, insted + O' cal'mus-root, growed like you said?-- + Er how to tell a coon-track from + A mussrat's;--er how milksick come-- + Er ef _cows_ brung it?--Er why now + We never see no "muley"-cow-- + Ner "frizzly"-chicken--ner no "clay- + Bank" mare--ner nothin' thataway!-- + And what's come o' the _yellow_-core + Old wortermelons?--hain't no more.-- + Tomattusus, the same--all _red_- + Uns nowadays--All past joys fled-- + Each and all jest gone k-whizz! + Like our days o' childhood is! + + Dag-gone it, 'Ras! they hain't no friend, + It 'pears-like, left to comperhend + Sich things as these but you, and see + How dratted sweet they air to me! + But you, 'at's loved 'em allus, and + Kin sort 'em out and understand + 'Em, same as the fine books you've read, + And all fine thoughts you've writ, er said, + Er worked out, through long nights o' rain, + And doubts and fears, and hopes, again, + As bright as morning when she broke,-- + You know a teardrop from a joke! + And so, 'Ras Wilson, stop and shake + A paw, fer old acquaintance sake! + + + + +MY RUTHERS + +[Writ durin' State Fair at Indanoplis, whilse visitin' a Sonin-law then +residin' thare, who has sence got back to the country whare he says a +man that's raised thare ort to a-stayed in the first place.] + + + I tell you what I'd ruther do-- + Ef I only had my ruthers,-- + I'd ruther work when I wanted to + Than be bossed round by others;-- + I'd ruther kindo' git the swing + O' what was _needed_, first, I jing! + Afore I _swet_ at anything!-- + Ef I only had my ruthers;-- + In fact I'd aim to be the same + With all men as my brothers; + And they'd all be the same with _me_-- + Ef I only had my ruthers. + + I wouldn't likely know it all-- + Ef I only had my ruthers;-- + I'd know _some_ sense, and some base-ball-- + Some _old_ jokes, and--some others: + I'd know _some politics_, and 'low + Some tarif-speeches same as now, + Then go hear Nye on "Branes and How + To Detect Theyr Presence." _T'others_, + That stayed away, I'd _let_ 'em stay-- + All my dissentin' brothers + Could chuse as shore a kill er cuore, + Ef I only had my ruthers. + + The pore 'ud git theyr dues _some_times-- + Ef I only had my ruthers,-- + And be paid _dollars_ 'stid o' _dimes_, + Fer childern, wives and mothers: + Theyr boy that slaves; theyr girl that sews-- + Fer _others_--not herself, God knows!-- + The grave's _her_ only change of clothes! + ... Ef I only had my ruthers, + They'd all have "stuff" and time enugh + To answer one-another's + Appealin' prayer fer "lovin' care"-- + Ef I only had my ruthers. + + They'd be few folks 'ud ast fer trust, + Ef I only had my ruthers, + And blame few business-men to bu'st + Theyrselves, er harts of others: + Big Guns that come here durin' Fair- + Week could put up jest anywhare, + And find a full-and-plenty thare, + Ef I only had my ruthers: + The rich and great 'ud 'sociate + With all theyr lowly brothers, + Feelin' _we_ done the honorun-- + Ef I only had my ruthers. + + + + +ON A DEAD BABE + + + Fly away! thou heavenly one!-- + I do hail thee on thy flight! + Sorrow? thou hath tasted none-- + Perfect joy is yourn by right. + Fly away! and bear our love + To thy kith and kin above! + + I can tetch thy finger-tips + Ca'mly, and bresh back the hair + From thy forr'ed with my lips, + And not leave a teardrop thare.-- + Weep fer _Tomps and Ruth_--and _me_-- + But I can not weep fer _thee_. + + + + +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!-- + Fer ev'rything '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 thare in the furries + A-wishin' fer 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 sweethart, + It reminds me 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 lillies + 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 whipperwills 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?" + + + + +"COON-DOG WESS" + + + "Coon-dog Wess"--he allus went + 'Mongst us here by that-air name. + Moved in this-here Settlement + From next county--he laid claim,-- + Lived down in the bottoms--whare + _Ust_ to be some coons in thare!-- + + In nigh Clayton's, next the crick,-- + Mind old Billy ust to say + Coons in thare was jest that thick, + He'p him corn-plant any day!-- + And, in rostneer-time, be then + Aggin' him to plant again! + + Well,--In Spring o' '67, + This-here "Coon-dog Wess" he come-- + Fetchin' 'long 'bout forty-'leven + Ornriest-lookin' hounds, I gum! + Ever mortul-man laid eyes + On sence dawn o' Christian skies! + + Wife come traipsin' at the rag- + Tag-and-bobtail of the crowd, + Dogs and childern, with a bag + Corn-meal and some side-meat,--_Proud_ + And as _independunt_--_My!_-- + Yit a mild look in her eye. + + Well--this "Coon-dog Wess" he jest + Moved in that-air little pen + Of a pole-shed, aidgin' west + On "The Slues o' Death," called then.-- + Otter- and mink-hunters ust + To camp thare 'fore game vam-moosd. + + Abul-bodied man,--and lots + Call fer _choppers_--and fer hands + To git _cross-ties_ out.--But what's + _Work_ to sich as understands + Ways appinted and is hence + Under special providence?-- + + "Coon-dog Wess's" holts was _hounds_ + And _coon-huntin'_; and he knowed + _His_ own range, and stayed in bounds + And left work for them 'at showed + _Talents_ fer it--same as his + Gifts regardin' coon-dogs is. + + Hounds of ev'ry mungerl breed + Ever whelped on earth!--Had these + _Yeller_ kind, with punkin-seed + Marks above theyr eyes--and fleas + Both to sell and keep!--Also + These-here _lop-yeerd_ hounds, you know.-- + + Yes-and _brindle_ hounds--and long, + Ga'nt hounds, with them eyes they' got + So blame _sorry_, it seems wrong, + 'Most, to kick 'em as to not! + Man, though, wouldn't dast, I guess, + Kick a hound fer "Coon-dog Wess"! + + 'Tended to his own affairs + Stric'ly;--made no brags,--and yit + You could see 'at them hounds' cares + 'Peared like _his_,--and he'd a-fit + Fer 'em, same as wife er child!-- + Them facts made folks rickonciled, + + Sorto', fer to let him be + And not pester him. And then + Word begin to spread 'at he + Had brung in as high as ten + Coon-pelts in one night--and yit + Didn't 'pear to boast of it! + + Neghborhood made some complaints + 'Bout them plague-gone hounds at night + Howlin' fit to wake the saints, + Clean from dusk tel plum day-light! + But to "Coon-dog Wess" them-thare + Howls was "music in the air"! + + Fetched his pelts to Gilson's Store-- + Newt he shipped fer him, and said, + Sence _he'd_ cooned thare, he'd shipped more + Than three hunderd pelts!--"By Ned! + Git shet of my _store_," Newt says, + "I'd go in with 'Coon-dog Wess'!" + + And the feller 'peared to be + Makin' best and most he could + Of his rale prospairity:-- + Bought some household things--and _good_,-- + Likewise, wagon-load onc't come + From wharever he'd moved from. + + But pore feller's huntin'-days, + 'Bout them times, was glidin' past!-- + Goes out onc't one night and _stays!_ + ... Neghbors they turned out, at last, + Headed by his wife and one + Half-starved hound--and search begun. + + Boys said, that blame hound, he led + Searchin' party, 'bout a half + Mile ahead, and bellerin', said, + Worse'n ary yearlin' calf!-- + Tel, at last, come fur-off sounds + Like the howl of other hounds. + + And-sir, shore enugh, them signs + Fetched 'em--in a' hour er two-- + Whare the _pack_ was;--and they finds + "Coon-dog Wess" _right thare_;--And you + Would admitted he was right + _Stayin'_, as he had, _all night!_ + + Facts is, cuttin' down a tree, + The blame thing had sorto' fell + In a twist-like--_mercy me!_ + And had ketched him.--Couldn't tell, + Wess said, _how_ he'd managed--yit + He'd got both legs under it! + + Fainted and come to, I s'pose, + 'Bout a dozen times whilse they + Chopped him out!--And wife she froze + To him!--bresh his hair away + And smile cheerful'--only when + He'd faint.--Cry and kiss him _then_. + + Had _his_ nerve!--And nussed him through,-- + Neghbors he'pped her--all she'd stand.-- + Had a loom, and she could do + Carpet-weavin' railly grand!-- + "'Sides," she ust to laugh and say, + "She'd have Wess, now, _night_ and day!" + + As fer _him_, he'd say, says-ee, + "I'm resigned to bein' lame:-- + They was four coons up that tree, + And hounds got 'em, jest the same!" + 'Peared like, one er two legs less + Never worried "Coon-dog Wess"! + + + + +LINES TO +PERFESSER JOHN CLARK RIDPATH +A. M., LL. D. T-Y-TY! + +[Cumposed by A Old Friend of the Fambily sence 'way back in the +Forties, when they Settled nigh Fillmore, Putnam County, this State, +whare John was borned and growed up, you might say, like the wayside +flower.] + + + Your neghbors in the country, whare you come from, hain't fergot!-- + We knowed you even better than your own-self, like as not. + We profissied your runnin'-geers 'ud stand a soggy load + And pull her, purty stiddy, up a mighty rocky road: + We been a-watchin' your career sence you could write your name-- + But way you writ it _first_, I'll say, was jest a burnin' shame!-- + Your "J. C." in the copybook, and "Ridpath"--mercy-sakes!-- + Quiled up and tide in dubble bows, lookt like a nest o' snakes!-- + But _you_ could read it, I _suppose_, and kindo' gloted on + A-bein' "_J. C. Ridpath_" when _we_ only called you "_John_." + + But you'd work 's well as fool, and what you had to do was _done_: + We've watched you at the woodpile--not the _woodshed_--wasent none,-- + And snow and sleet, and haulin', too, and lookin' after stock, + And milkin', nights, and feedin' pigs,--then turnin' back the clock, + So's you could set up studyin' your 'Rethmatic, and fool + Your Parents, whilse a-piratin' your way through winter school! + And I've heerd tell--from your own folks--you've set and baked your face + A-readin' Plutark Slives all night by that old fi-er-place.-- + Yit, 'bout them times, the blackboard, onc't, had on it, I _de_-clare, + "Yours truly, _J. Clark_ Ridpath."--And the teacher--left it thare! + + And they was other symptums, too, that pinted, plane as day, + To nothin' short of _College_!--and _one_ was the lovin' way + Your mother had of cheerin' you to efforts brave and strong, + And puttin' more faith in you, as you needed it along: + She'd pat you on the shoulder, er she'd grab you by the hands, + And _laugh_ sometimes, er _cry_ sometimes.--They's few that understands + Jest _what_ theyr mother's drivin' at when they act thataway;-- + But I'll say this fer _you_, John-Clark,--you answered, night and day, + To ev'ry trust and hope of hers--and half your College fame + Was battled fer and won fer her and glory of her name. + + The likes of _you_ at _College_! But you went thare. How you paid + Your way nobody's astin'--but you _worked_,--you hain't afraid,-- + Your _clothes_ was, more'n likely, kindo' out o' style, perhaps, + And not as snug and warm as some 'at hid the other chaps;-- + But when it come to _Intullect_--they tell me yourn was dressed + A _leetle_ mite _superber_-like than any of the rest! + And there you _stayed_--and thare you've made your rickord, fare and square-- + Tel _now_ its _Fame_ 'at writes your name, approvin', _ev'rywhare_-- + Not _jibblets_ of it, nuther,--but all John Clark Ridpath, set + Plum at the dashboard of the whole-endurin' Alfabet! + + + + +A TALE OF THE AIRLY DAYS + + + Oh! tell me a tale of the airly days-- + Of the times as they ust to be; + "Piller of Fi-er" and "Shakspeare's Plays" + Is a' most too deep fer me! + I want plane facts, and I want plane words, + Of the good old-fashiond ways, + When speech run free as the songs of birds + 'Way back in the airly days. + + Tell me a tale of the timber-lands-- + Of the old-time pioneers; + Somepin' a pore man understands + With his feelin's well as ears. + Tell of the old log house,--about + The loft, and the puncheon flore-- + The old fi-er-place, with the crane swung out, + And the latch-string thrugh the door. + + Tell of the things jest as they was-- + They don't need no excuse!-- + Don't tetch 'em up like the poets does, + Tel theyr all too fine fer use!-- + Say they was 'leven in the fambily-- + Two beds, and the chist, below, + And the trundle-beds that each helt three, + And the clock and the old bureau. + + Then blow the horn at the old back-door + Tel the echoes all halloo, + And the childern gethers home onc't more, + Jest as they ust to do: + Blow fer Pap tel he hears and comes, + With Tomps and Elias, too, + A-marchin' home, with the fife and drums + And the old Red White and Blue! + + Blow and blow tel the sound draps low + As the moan of the whipperwill, + And wake up Mother, and Ruth and Jo, + All sleepin' at Bethel Hill: + Blow and call tel the faces all + Shine out in the back-log's blaze, + And the shadders dance on the old hewed wall + As they did in the airly days. + + + + +"MYLO JONES'S WIFE" + + + "Mylo Jones's wife" was all + I heerd, mighty near, last Fall-- + Visitun relations down + T'other side of Morgantown! + Mylo Jones's wife she does + This and that, and "those" and "thus"!-- + Can't 'bide babies in her sight-- + Ner no childern, day and night, + Whoopin' round the premises-- + _Ner no nothin' else_, I guess! + + Mylo Jones's wife she 'lows + She's the boss of her own house!-- + Mylo--consequences is-- + Stays whare things seem _some_ like _his_,-- + Uses, mostly, with the stock-- + Coaxin' "Old Kate" not to balk, + Ner kick hoss-flies' branes out, ner + Act, I s'pose, so much like _her_! + Yit the wimmern-folks tells you + She's _perfection_.--Yes they do! + + Mylo's wife she says she's found + Home hain't home with _men-folks_ round + When they's work like _hern_ to do-- + Picklin' pears and _butchern_, too, + And a-rendern lard, and then + Cookin' fer a pack of men + To come trackin' up the flore + _She's_ scrubbed _tel_ she'll scrub no _more_!-- + Yit she'd keep things clean ef they + Made her scrub tel Jedgmunt Day! + + Mylo Jones's wife she sews + Carpet-rags and patches clothes + Jest year _in_ and _out_!--and yit + Whare's the livin' use of it? + She asts Mylo that.--And he + Gits back whare he'd ruther be, + With his team;--jest _plows_--and don't + Never sware--like some folks won't! + Think ef _he'd cut loose_, I gum! + 'D he'p his heavenly chances some! + + Mylo's wife don't see no use, + Ner no reason ner excuse + Fer his pore relations to + Hang round like they allus do! + Thare 'bout onc't a year--and _she_-- + She jest _ga'nts_ 'em, folks tells me, + On spiced pears!--Pass Mylo one, + He says "No, he don't chuse none!" + Workin' men like Mylo they + 'D ort to have _meat_ ev'ry day! + + Dad-burn Mylo Jones's wife! + Ruther rake a blame caseknife + 'Crost my wizzen than to see + Sich a womern rulin' _me_!-- + Ruther take and turn in and + Raise a fool mule-colt by hand! + _Mylo_, though--od-rot the man!-- + Jest keeps ca'm--like some folks _can_-- + And 'lows sich as her, I s'pose, + Is _Man's he'pmeet_!--Mercy knows! + + + + +ON A SPLENDUD MATCH + +[On the night of the marraige of the foregoin' couple, which shall be +nameless here, these lines was ca'mly dashed off in the albun of the +happy bride whilse the shivver-ree was goin' on outside the residence.] + + + He was warned against the _womern_-- + She was warned aginst the _man_.-- + And ef _that_ won't make a weddin', + W'y, they's nothin' else that can! + + + + +OLD JOHN CLEVENGER ON BUCKEYES + + + Old John Clevenger lets on, + Allus, like he's purty rough + Timber.--He's a grate old John!-- + "Rough?"--don't swaller no sich stuff! + Moved here, sence the war was through, + From Ohio--somers near + Old Bucyrus,--loyal, too, + As us "Hoosiers" is to _here_! + Git old John stirred up a bit + On his old home stompin'-ground-- + Talks same as he lived thare yit, + When some subject brings it round-- + Like, fer instunce, Sund'y last, + Fetched his wife, and et and stayed + All night with us.--Set and gassed + Tel plum midnight--'cause I made + Some remark 'bout "buckeyes" and + "What was buckeyes good fer?"--So, + Like I 'lowed, he waved his hand + And lit in and let me know:-- + "'What is Buckeyes good fer?'--What's + _Pineys_ and _fergitmenots_?-- + Honeysuckles, and sweet peas, + And sweet-williamsuz, and these + Johnny-jump-ups ev'rywhare, + Growin' round the roots o' trees + In Spring-weather?--what air _they_ + Good fer?--kin you tell me--_Hey?_ + 'Good to look at?' Well they air! + 'Specially when _Winter's_ gone, + Clean _dead-certin!_ and the wood's + Green again, and sun feels good's + June!--and shed your blame boots on + The back porch, and lit out to + Roam round like you ust to do, + Bare-foot, up and down the crick, + Whare the buckeyes growed so thick, + And witch-hazel and pop-paws, + And hackberries and black-haws-- + With wild pizen-vines jis knit + _Over_ and _en-nunder_ it, + And wove round it all, I jing! + Tel you couldn't hardly stick + A durn _caseknife_ through the thing! + Wriggle round through _that_; and then-- + All het-up, and scratched and tanned, + And muskeeter-bit and mean- + Feelin'--all at onc't again, + Come out suddent on a clean + Slopin' little hump o' green + Dry soft grass, as fine and grand + As a pollor-sofy!--And + Jis pile down thare!--and tell _me_ + _Anywhares_ you'd ruther be-- + 'Ceptin' _right thare_, with the wild- + Flowrs all round ye, and your eyes + Smilin' with 'em at the skies, + Happy as a little child! + Well!--right here, _I_ want to say, + Poets kin talk all they please + 'Bout 'wild-flowrs, in colors gay,' + And 'sweet blossoms flauntin' theyr + Beauteous fragrunce on the breeze'-- + But the sight o' _buckeyes_ jis + Sweet to me as _blossoms_ is! + + "I'm _Ohio-born_--right whare + People's _all_ called 'Buckeyes' _thare_-- + 'Cause, I s'pose, our buckeye crap's + Biggest in the world, perhaps!-- + Ner my head don't stretch my hat + Too much on account o' _that_!-- + 'Cause it's Natchur's ginerus hand + Sows 'em broadcast ore the land, + With eye-single fer man's good + And the gineral neghborhood! + So _buckeyes_ jis natchurly + 'Pears like _kith-and-kin_ to _me_! + 'Slike the good old sayin' wuz, + 'Purty _is_ as purty _does_!'-- + We can't eat 'em, cookd er raw-- + Yit, I mind, _tomattusuz_ + Wuz considerd pizenus + _Onc't_--and dasent eat 'em!--_Pshaw_-- + 'Twouldn't take _me_ by supprise, + Someday, ef we et _buckeyes_! + That, though, 's nuther here ner thare!-- + _Jis the Buckeye_ whare we air, + In the present times, is what + Ockuppies my lovin' care + And my most perfoundest thought! + ... Guess, this minute, what I got + In my pocket, 'at I've packed + Purt'-nigh forty year.--A dry, + Slick and shiny, warped and cracked, + Wilted, weazened old _buckeye_! + What's it _thare_ fer? What's my hart + In my _brest_ fer?--'Cause it's part + Of my _life_--and 'tends to biz-- + Like this _buckeye's_ bound to act-- + 'Cause _it_ 'tends to _Rhumatiz_! + + "... Ketched more _rhumatiz_ than _fish_, + Seinen', onc't--and pants froze on + My blame legs!--And ust to wish + I wuz well er _dead and gone_! + Doc give up the case, and shod + His old boss again and stayed + On good roads!--_And thare I laid!_ + Pap he tuck some bluegrass sod + Steeped in whisky, bilin'-hot, + And socked _that_ on! Then I got + Sorto' holt o' him, _somehow_-- + Kindo' crazy-like, they say-- + And I'd _killed_ him, like as not, + Ef I hadn't swooned away! + _Smell my scortcht pelt purt'-nigh now!_ + Well--to make a long tale short-- + I hung on the blame disease + Like a shavin'-hoss! and sort + O' wore it out by slow degrees-- + Tel my legs wuz straight enugh + To poke through my pants again + And kick all the doctor-stuff + In the fi-er-place! Then turned in + And tuck Daddy Craig's old cuore-- + _Jis a buckeye_--and that's _shore_.-- + Hain't no case o' rhumatiz + Kin subsist whare buckeyes is!" + + + + +THE HOSS + + + The hoss he is a splendud beast; + He is man's friend, as heaven desined, + And, search the world from west to east, + No honester you'll ever find! + + Some calls the hoss "a pore dumb brute," + And yit, like Him who died fer you, + I say, as I theyr charge refute, + "'Fergive; they know not what they do!'" + + No wiser animal makes tracks + Upon these earthly shores, and hence + Arose the axium, true as facts, + Extoled by all, as "Good hoss-sense!" + + The hoss is strong, and knows his stren'th,-- + You hitch him up a time er two + And lash him, and he'll go his len'th + And kick the dashboard out fer you! + + But, treat him allus good and kind, + And never strike him with a stick, + Ner aggervate him, and you'll find + He'll never do a hostile trick. + + A hoss whose master tends him right + And worters him with daily care, + Will do your biddin' with delight, + And act as docile as _you_ air. + + He'll paw and prance to hear your praise, + Because he's learn't to love you well; + And, though you can't tell what he says, + He'll nicker all he wants to tell. + + He knows you when you slam the gate + At early dawn, upon your way + Unto the barn, and snorts elate, + To git his corn, er oats, er hay. + + He knows you, as the orphant knows + The folks that loves her like theyr own, + And raises her and "finds" her clothes, + And "schools" her tel a womern-grown! + + I claim no hoss will harm a man, + Ner kick, ner run away, cavort, + Stump-suck, er balk, er "catamaran," + Ef you'll jest treat him as you ort. + + But when I see the beast abused, + And clubbed around as I've saw some, + I want to see his owner noosed, + And jest yanked up like Absolum! + + Of course they's differunce in stock,-- + A hoss that has a little yeer, + And slender build, and shaller hock, + Can beat his shadder, mighty near! + + Whilse one that's thick in neck and chist + And big in leg and full in flank, + That tries to race, I still insist + He'll have to take the second rank. + + And I have jest laid back and laughed, + And rolled and wallered in the grass + At fairs, to see some heavy-draft + Lead out at _first_, yit come in _last_! + + Each hoss has his appinted place,-- + The heavy hoss should plow the soil;-- + The blooded racer, he must race, + And win big wages fer his toil. + + I never bet--ner never wrought + Upon my feller-man to bet-- + And yit, at times, I've often thought + Of my convictions with regret. + + I bless the hoss from hoof to head-- + From head to hoof, and tale to mane!-- + I bless the hoss, as I have said, + From head to hoof, and back again! + + I love my God the first of all, + Then Him that perished on the cross, + And next, my wife,--and then I fall + Down on my knees and love the hoss. + + + + +EZRA HOUSE + +[These lines was writ, in ruther high sperits, jest at the close of +what's called the Anti Bellum Days, and more to be a-foolin' than +anything else,--though they is more er less facts in it. But some of +the boys, at the time we was all a-singin' it, fer Ezry's benefit, to +the old tune of "The Oak and the Ash and the Bonny Willer Tree," got it +struck off in the weekly, without leave er lisence of mine; and so +sence they's allus some of 'em left to rigg me about it yit, I might as +well claim the thing right here and now, so here goes. I give it jest +as it appeared, fixed up and grammatisized consider'ble, as the editer +told me he took the liburty of doin', in that sturling old home paper +THE ADVANCE--as sound a paper yit to-day and as stanch and abul as +you'll find in a hunderd.] + + + Come listen, good people, while a story I do tell, + Of the sad fate of one which I knew so passing well; + He enlisted at McCordsville, to battle in the South, + And protect his country's union; his name was Ezra House. + + He was a young school-teacher, and educated high + In regards to Ray's arithmetic, and also Algebra: + He give good satisfaction, but at his country's call + He dropped his position, his Algebra and all. + + "It's oh, I'm going to leave you, kind scholars," he said-- + For he wrote a composition the last day and read; + And it brought many tears in the eyes of the school, + To say nothing of his sweetheart he was going to leave so soon. + + "I have many recollections to take with me away, + Of the merry transpirations in the school-room so gay; + And of all that's past and gone I will never regret + I went to serve my country at the first of the outset!" + + He was a good penman, and the lines that he wrote + On that sad occasion was too fine for me to quote,-- + For I was there and heard it, and I ever will recall + It brought the happy tears to the eyes of us all. + + And when he left, his sweetheart she fainted away, + And said she could never forget the sad day + When her lover so noble, and gallant and gay, + Said "Fare you well, my true love!" and went marching away. + + But he hadn't been gone for more than two months, + When the sad news come--"he was in a skirmish once, + And a cruel Rebel ball had wounded him full sore + In the region of the chin, through the canteen he wore." + + But his health recruited up, and his wounds they got well, + But whilst he was in battle at Bull Run or Malvern Hill, + The news come again, so sorrowful to hear-- + "A sliver from a bombshell cut off his right ear." + + But he stuck to the boys, and it's often he would write, + That "he wasn't afraid for his country to fight." + But oh, had he returned on a furlough, I believe + He would not, to-day, have such cause to grieve. + + For in another battle--the name I never heard-- + He was guarding the wagons when an accident occurred,-- + A comrade who was under the influence of drink, + Shot him with a musket through the right cheek, I think. + + But his dear life was spared; but it hadn't been for long, + Till a cruel Rebel colonel come riding along, + And struck him with his sword, as many do suppose, + For his cap-rim was cut off, and also his nose. + + But Providence, who watches o'er the noble and the brave, + Snatched him once more from the jaws of the grave; + And just a little while before the close of the war, + He sent his picture home to his girl away so far. + + And she fell into decline, and she wrote in reply, + "She had seen his face again and was ready to die"; + And she wanted him to promise, when she was in her tomb, + He would only visit that by the light of the moon. + + But he never returned at the close of the war, + And the boys that got back said he hadn't the heart; + But he got a position in a powder-mill, and said + He hoped to meet the doom that his country denied. + + + + +A PEN-PICTUR' +OF A CERTIN FRIVVOLUS OLD MAN + + + Most ontimely old man yit! + 'Pear-like sometimes he jest _tries_ + His fool-self, and takes the bitt + In his teeth and jest de-fies + All perpryties!--Lay and swet + Doin' _nothin'_--only jest + Sorto' speckillatun on + Whare old summertimes is gone, + And 'bout things that he loved best + When a youngster! Heerd him say + _Springtimes_ made him thataway-- + Speshully on _Sund'ys_--when + Sun shines out and in again, + And the lonesome old hens they + Git off under the old kern- + Bushes, and in deep concern + _Talk-like to theyrselvs_, and scratch + Kindo' absunt-minded, jest + Like theyr thoughts was fur away + In some neghbor's gyarden-patch + Folks has tended keerfullest! + Heerd the old man dwell on these + Idys time and time again!-- + Heerd him claim that orchurd-trees + Bloomin', put the mischief in + His old hart sometimes that bad + And owdacious that he "_had_ + To break loose _some_way," says he, + "Ornry as I ust to be!" + + Heerd him say one time--when I + Was a sorto' standin' by, + And the air so still and clear, + Heerd the bell fer church clean here!-- + Said: "Ef I could climb and set + On the old three-cornerd rail + Old home-place, nigh Maryette', + Swop my soul off, hide and tale!" + And-sir! blame ef tear and laugh + Didn't ketch him half and half! + "Oh!" he says, "to wake and be + Bare-foot, in the airly dawn + In the pastur'!--thare," says he, + "Standin' whare the cow's slep' on + The cold, dewy grass that's got + _Print_ of her jest steamy hot + Fer to warm a feller's heels + In a while!--How good it feels! + Sund'y!--Country!--Morning!--Hear + Nothin' but the _silunce_--see + Nothin' but green woods and clear + Skies and unwrit poetry + By the acre!... Oh!" says he, + "What's this voice of mine?--to seek + To speak out, and yit _can't_ speak! + + "_Think!_--the lazyest of days"-- + Takin' his contrairyest leap, + He went on,--"git up, er sleep-- + Er whilse feedin', watch the haze + Dancin' 'crost the wheat,--and keep + My pipe goin' laisurely-- + Puff and whiff as pleases me,-- + Er I'll leave a trail of smoke + Through _the house_!--no one'll say + '_Throw that nasty thing away!_' + 'Pear-like nothin' sacerd's broke, + Goin' bare-foot ef I chuse!-- + I _have fiddled_;--and dug bait + And _went fishin'_;--pitched hoss-shoes-- + Whare they couldn't see us from + The main road.--And I've _beat_ some. + I've set round and had my joke + With the thrashers at the barn-- + And I've swopped 'em yarn fer yarn!-- + Er I've he'pped the childern poke + Fer hens'-nests--agged on a match + 'Twixt the boys, to watch 'em scratch + And paw round and rip and tare, + And bust buttons and pull hair + To theyr rompin' harts' content-- + And me jest a-settin' thare + Hatchin' out more devilment! + + "What you s'pose now ort to be + Done with sich a man?" says he-- + "Sich a fool-old-man as me!" + + + + +WET-WEATHER TALK + + + It hain't no use to grumble and complane; + 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 ginerly, to all intents-- + Although they're apt to grumble some-- + Puts most theyr 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 enugh to learn + They're not the boss of this concern. + + With _some_, of course, it's different-- + I've saw _young_ men that knowed it all, + And didn't like the way things went + On this terrestchul ball;-- + + But all the same, the rain, some way, + Rained jest as hard on picnic day; + Er, when they railly _wanted_ it, + It mayby wouldn't rain a bit! + + In this existunce, dry and wet + Will overtake the best of men-- + Some little skift o' clouds'll shet + The sun off now and then.-- + And mayby, whilse you're wundern who + You've fool-like lent your umbrell' to, + And _want_ it--out'll pop the sun, + And you'll be glad you hain't got none! + + It aggervates the farmers, too-- + They's too much wet, er too much sun, + Er work, er waitin' round to do + Before the plowin' 's done: + And mayby, 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 wallerd down + May elbow up again!-- + They hain't no sense, as I can see, + Fer mortuls, sich as us, to be + A-faultin' Natchur's wise intents, + And lockin' horns with Providence! + + It hain't no use to grumble and complane; + It's jest as cheap and easy to rejoice.-- + When God sorts out the weather and sends rain, + W'y, rain's my choice. + + + + +THOUGHTS ON A PORE JOKE + + + I like fun--and I like jokes + 'Bout as well as most o' folks!-- + Like my joke, and like my fun;-- + But a joke, I'll state right here, + 'S got some p'int--er I don't keer + Fer no joke that hain't got none.-- + I hain't got no use, I'll say, + Fer a _pore_ joke, anyway! + + F'rinstunce, now, when _some_ folks gits + To relyin' on theyr 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. + 'F I can't think up somepin' good, + I set still and chaw my cood! + 'F you _think_ nothin'--jest keep on, + But don't _say_ it--er you're gone! + + + + +A MORTUL PRAYER + + + Oh! Thou that vaileth from all eyes + The glory of Thy face, + And setteth throned behind the skies + In Thy abiding-place: + Though I but dimly recko'nize + Thy purposes of grace; + And though with weak and wavering + Deserts, and vexd with fears, + I lift the hands I can not wring + All dry of sorrow's tears, + Make puore my prayers that daily wing + Theyr way unto Thy ears! + + Oh! with the hand that tames the flood + And smooths the storm to rest, + Make ba'mmy dews of all the blood + That stormeth in my brest, + And so refresh my hart to bud + And bloom the loveliest. + Lull all the clammer of my soul + To silunce; bring release + Unto the brane still in controle + Of doubts; bid sin to cease, + And let the waves of pashun roll + And kiss the shores of peace. + + Make me to love my feller-man-- + Yea, though his bitterness + Doth bite as only adders can-- + Let _me_ the fault confess, + And go to him and clasp his hand + And love him none the less. + So keep me, Lord, ferever free + From vane concete er whim; + And he whose pius eyes can see + My faults, however dim,-- + Oh! let him pray the least fer me, + And me the most fer him. + + + + +THE FIRST BLUEBIRD + + + Jest rain and snow! and rain again! + And dribble! drip! and blow! + Then snow! and thaw! and slush! and then-- + Some more rain and snow! + + This morning I was 'most afeard + To _wake_ up--when, I jing! + I seen the sun shine out and heerd + The first bluebird of Spring!-- + Mother she'd raised the winder some;-- + And in acrost the orchurd come, + Soft as a angel's wing, + A breezy, treesy, beesy hum, + Too sweet fer anything! + + The winter's shroud was rent a-part-- + The sun bust forth in glee,-- + And when that _that bluebird_ sung, my hart + Hopped out o' bed with me! + + + + +EVAGENE BAKER--WHO WAS DYIN' OF DRED CONSUMTION +AS THESE LINES WAS PENNED BY A TRUE FRIEND + + + Pore afflicted Evagene! + Whilse the woods is fresh and green, + And the birds on ev'ry hand + Sings in rapture sweet and grand,-- + Thou, of all the joyus train, + Art bedridden, and in pain + Sich as only them can cherish + Who, like flowrs, is first to perish! + + When the neghbors brought the word + She was down, the folks inferred + It was jest a cold she'd caught, + Dressin' thinner than she'd ort + Fer the frolicks and the fun + Of the dancin' that she'd done + 'Fore the Spring was flush er ary + Blossom on the peach er cherry. + + But, last Sund'y, her request + Fer the Church's prayers was jest + Rail hart-renderin' to hear!-- + Many was the silunt tear + And the tremblin' sigh, to show + She was dear to us below + On this earth--and _dearer_, even, + When we thought of her a-leavin'! + + Sisters prayed, and coted from + Genesis to Kingdom-come + Provin' of her title clear + To the mansions.--"Even _her_," + _They_ claimed, "might be saved, _someway_, + Though she'd danced, and played crowkay, + And wrought on her folks to git her + Fancy shoes that never fit her!" + + _Us_ to pray fer _Evagene_!-- + With her hart as puore and clean + As a rose is after rain + When the sun comes out again!-- + What's the use to pray for _her_? + _She_ don't need no prayin' fer!-- + Needed, all her life, more _playin'_ + Than she ever needed prayin'! + + I jest thought of all she'd been + Sence her _mother_ died, and when + She turned in and done _her_ part-- + All _her_ cares on that child-hart!-- + Thought of years she'd slaved--and had + Saved the farm--danced and was glad.... + Mayby Him who marks the sporry + Will smooth down her wings tomorry! + + + + +ON ANY ORDENARY MAN IN A HIGH STATE +OF LAUGHTURE AND DELIGHT + + + As it's give' me to percieve, + I most certin'y believe + When a man's jest glad plum through, + God's pleased with him, same as you. + + + + +TOWN AND COUNTRY + + + They's a predjudice allus 'twixt country and town + Which I wisht in my hart wasent so. + You take _city_ people, jest square up and down, + And they're mighty good people to know: + And whare's better people a-livin', to-day, + Than us in the _country_?--Yit good + As both of us is, we're divorsed, you might say, + And won't compermise when we could! + + Now as nigh into town fer yer Pap, ef you please, + Is the what's called the sooburbs.--Fer thare + You'll at least ketch a whiff of the breeze and a sniff + Of the breth of wild-flowrs ev'rywhare. + They's room fer the childern to play, and grow, too-- + And to roll in the grass, er to climb + Up a tree and rob nests, like they _ortent_ to do, + But they'll do _any_how ev'ry time! + + My Son-in-law said, when he lived in the town, + He jest natchurly pined, night and day, + Fer a sight of the woods, er a acre of ground + Whare the trees wasent all cleared away! + + And he says to me onc't, whilse a-visitin' us + On the farm, "It's not strange, I declare, + That we can't coax you folks, without raisin' a fuss, + To come to town, visitin' thare!" + + And says I, "Then git back whare you sorto' _belong_-- + And _Madaline_, too,--and yer three + Little childern," says I, "that don't know a birdsong, + Ner a hawk from a chicky-dee-dee! + Git back," I-says-I, "to the blue of the sky + And the green of the fields, and the shine + Of the sun, with a laugh in yer voice and yer eye + As harty as Mother's and mine!" + + Well--long-and-short of it,--he's compermised _some_-- + He's moved in the sooburbs.--And now + They don't haf to coax, when they want us to come, + 'Cause we turn in and go _anyhow_! + Fer thare--well, they's room fer the songs and purfume + Of the grove and the old orchurd-ground, + And they's room fer the childern out thare, and they's room + Fer theyr Gran'pap to waller 'em round! + + + + +LINES FER ISAAC BRADWELL, OF INDANOPLIS, IND., +COUNTY-SEAT OF MARION + +[Writ on the flyleaf of a volume of the author's poems that come in one +of gittin' burnt up in the great Bowen-Merrill's fire of March 17, +1890.] + + + Through fire and flood this book has passed.-- + Fer what?--I hardly dare to ast-- + Less'n it's still to pamper me + With extry food fer vanity;-- + Fer, sence it's fell in hands as true + As _yourn_ is--and a _Hoosier_ too,-- + I'm prouder of the book, I jing! + Than 'fore they tried to burn the thing! + + + + +DECORATION DAY ON THE PLACE + + + It's lonesome--sorto' lonesome,--it's a _Sund'y-day_, to me, + It 'pears-like--more'n any day I nearly ever see!-- + Yit, with the Stars and Stripes above, a-flutterin' in the air, + On ev'ry Soldier's grave I'd love to lay a lilly thare. + + They say, though, Decoration Days is giner'ly observed + 'Most _ev'rywhares_--espeshally by soldier-boys that's served.-- + But me and Mother's never went--we seldom git away,-- + In p'int o' fact, we're _allus_ home on _Decoration Day_. + + They say the old boys marches through the streets in colum's grand, + A-follerin' the old war-tunes they're playin' on the band-- + And citizuns all jinin' in--and little childern, too-- + All marchin', under shelter of the old Red White and Blue.-- + + With roses! roses! roses!--everybody in the town!-- + And crowds o' little girls in white, jest fairly loaded down!-- + Oh! don't THE BOYS know it, from theyr camp acrost the hill?-- + Don't they see theyr com'ards comin' and the old flag wavin' still? + + Oh! can't they hear the bugul and the rattle of the drum?-- + Ain't they no way under heavens they can rickollect us some? + Ain't they no way we can coax 'em, through the roses, jest to say + They know that ev'ry day on earth's theyr Decoration Day? + + We've tried that--me and Mother,--whare Elias takes his rest, + In the orchurd--in his uniform, and hands acrost his brest, + And the flag he died fer, smilin' and a-ripplin' in the breeze + Above his grave--and over that,--_the robin in the trees_! + + And _yit_ it's lonesome--lonesome!--It's a _Sund'y-day_, to _me_, + It 'pears-like--more'n any day I nearly ever see!-- + Still, with the Stars and Stripes above, a-flutterin' in the air, + On ev'ry Soldier's grave I'd love to lay a lilly thare. + + + + +THE TREE-TOAD + + + "'S cur'ous-like," said the tree-toad, + "I've twittered fer rain all day; + And I got up soon, + And hollered tel noon-- + But the sun, hit blazed away, + Tell I jest clumb down in a crawfish-hole, + Weary at hart, and sick at soul! + + "Dozed away fer an hour, + And I tackled the thing agin: + And I sung, and sung, + Tel I knowed my lung + Was jest about give in; + And _then_, thinks I, ef hit don't rain _now_, + They's nothin' in singin', anyhow! + + "Onc't in a while some farmer + Would come a-drivin' past; + And he'd hear my cry, + And stop and sigh-- + Tel I jest laid back, at last, + And I hollered rain tel I thought my th'oat + Would bust wide 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, + A-sayin',--'_Ef you'll jest hush I'll rain!_'" + + + + +THE ROSSVILLE LECTUR' COURSE + +[Set down from the real facts of the case that come under notice of the +author whilse visitun far distunt relatives who wuz then residin' at +Rossville, Mich.] + + + Folks up here at Rossville got up a Lectur' Course:-- + All the leadin' citizens they wuz out in force; + Met and talked at Williamses', and 'greed to meet ag'in; + And helt another corkus when the next reports wuz in: + Met ag'in at Samuelses'; and met ag'in at Moore's, + And Johnts putt the shutters up and jest barr'd the door!-- + And yit, I'll jest be dagg-don'd! ef't didn't take a week + 'Fore we'd settled whare to write to git a man to speak! + + Found out whare the "_Bureau_" wuz; and then and thare agreed + To strike whilse the iron's hot and foller up the lead.-- + Simp wuz Secatary; so he tuk his pen in hand, + And ast 'em what they'd tax us fer the one on "Holy Land"-- + + "One of Colonel J. De-Koombs's Abelust and Best + Lectur's," the circ'lar stated, "Give East er West!" + Wanted fifty dollars and his kyar-fare to and from, + And Simp wuz hence instructed fer to write him not to come. + + Then we talked and jawed around another week er so, + And writ the "_Bureau_" 'bout the town a-bein' sorto' slow-- + Old-fogey-like, and pore as dirt, and lackin' interprise, + And ignornter'n any other, 'cordin' to its size: + Tel finully the "_Bureau_" said they'd send a cheaper man + Fer forty dollars, who would give "A Talk About Japan"-- + "A reg'lar Japanee hise'f," the pamphlet claimed; and so, + Nobody knowed his languige, and of course we let him go! + + Kindo' then let up a spell--but rallied onc't ag'in, + And writ to price a feller on what's called the "violin"-- + A Swede, er Pole, er somepin'--but no matter what he wuz, + Doc Cooper said he'd heerd him, and he wuzn't wuth a kuss! + And then we ast fer _Swingse's_ terms; and _Cook_, and _Ingersoll_-- + And blame! ef forty dollars looked like anything at all! + And then _Burdette_, we tried fer _him_; and Bob he writ to say + He wuz busy writin' ortographts and couldn't git away. + + At last--along in Aprile--we signed to take this-here + Bill Nye of Californy, 'at wuz posted to appear + "The Comicalest Funny Man 'at Ever Jammed a Hall!" + So we made big preperations, and swep' out the church and all! + And night he wuz to lectur', and the neghbors all wuz thare, + And strangers packed along the aisles 'at come from ev'rywhare, + Committee got a telegrapht the preacher read, 'at run-- + "Got off at Rossville, _Indiany_, 'stid of Michigun." + + + + +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 bare-foot 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' ag'in + In that kind of a lazy go-as-you-please + Old gait they bum roun' in; + When the groun's all bald whare 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-fethers o' Wintertime + Is all pulled out and gone! + And the sap it thaws and begins to climb, + And the swet it starts out on + A feller's forred, a-gittin' down + At the old spring on his knees-- + I kindo' like jest a-loaferin' roun' + When the green gits back in the trees-- + Jest a-potterin' roun' as I--durn--please-- + When the green, you know, gits back in the trees! + + + + +HOW IT HAPPENED + + + I got to _thinkin'_ of her--both her parunts dead and gone-- + And all her sisters married off, and none but her and John + A-livin' all alone thare in that lonesome sorto' way, + And him a blame old bachelor, confirmder ev'ry day! + I'd knowed 'em all, from childern, and theyr daddy from the time + He settled in the neghborhood, and hadn't ary a dime + Er dollar, when he married, fer to start housekeepin' on!-- + So I got to _thinkin'_ of her--both her parunts 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-- + A' old maid, with her hands, you might say, tied behind her back! + And _Mother_, too, afore she died,--_she_ ust to jest take on, + When none of 'em wuz left, you know, but Evaline and John, + And jest declare to goodness 'at the young men must be bline + To not see what a wife they'd git ef they got Evaline! + + I got to _thinkin'_ of her: In my great affliction she + Wuz sich a comfert to us, and so kind and neghborly,-- + She'd come, and leave her housework, fer to he'p out little Jane, + And talk of _her own_ mother 'at she'd never see again-- + They'd sometimes _cry_ together--though, fer the most part, she + Would have the child so rickonciled and happy-like 'at we + Felt lonesomer'n ever when she'd putt 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 parunts both a-bein' dead, and all her sisters gone + And married off, and her a-livin' thare alone with John-- + You might say jest a-toilin' and a-slavin' out her life + Fer a man 'at hadn't pride enugh 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_. + + + + +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 wuz none in the fambly stock; + But a nephew of mine, from Eelinoy, + That visitud us last year, + He kindo' convinct me differunt + Whilse he wuz a-stayin' here. + + From ev'ry-which-way that blues is from, + They'd pester him _ev'ry_-ways; + They'd come to him in the night, and come + On Sundys, and rainy days; + They'd tackle him in corn-plantin' time, + And in harvest, and airly Fall,-- + But a dos't o' blues in the _Winter_time, + He 'lowed, wuz the worst of all! + + Said "All diseases that ever _he_ had-- + The mumps, er the rhumatiz-- + Er ev'ry-other-day-aigger--bad + As ever the blame thing 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 woodpile'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 parunts a postal-kyard + He could stay tel Springtime come; + And Aprile--_first_, as I rickollect-- + Wuz the day we shipped him home! + Most o' his _relatives_, sence then, + Has eether give up, er quit, + Er jest died off; but I understand + _He's_ the same old color yit! + + + + +THE OLD HOME BY THE MILL + + + This is "The old Home by the Mill"--fer we still call it so, + Although the _old mill_, roof and sill, is all gone long ago. + The old home, though, and the old folks--the old spring, and a few + Old cattails, 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' _age_in', Marg'et is--"the _old_ process"--like me, + All ham-stringed up with rhumatiz, and on in seventy-three. + + Jest me and Marg'et lives alone here--like in long ago; + The childern all putt off and gone, and married, don't you know? + One's millin' 'way out West somewhare; 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--fer purt'-nigh thirty year! + And youngest one--was allus fer 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 jest 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 then t'other way! + I hain't so favor'ble 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 jest crawl in my grave and pull the green grass over me! + + + + +THE WAY IT WUZ + + + Las' July--and, I persume, + 'Bout as hot + As the old Gran'-Jury room + Whare they sot!-- + Fight 'twixt Mike and Dock McGreff.... + 'Pears to me jest like as ef + I'd a-dremp' the whole blame thing-- + Allus ha'nts me roun' the gizzard + When they's nightmares on the wing + And a feller's blood's jes' friz! + Seed the row from A to Izzard-- + 'Cause I wuz a-standin' as clos't to 'em + As me and you is! + + Tell you the way it wuz-- + And I don't _want_ to see, + Like _some_ fellers does, + When they's goern to be + Any kind o' fuss-- + On'y makes a rumpus wuss + Fer to _interfere_ + When theyr dander's riz-- + Might as lif to _cheer_! + But I wuz a-standin' as clos't to 'em + As me and you is! + + I wuz kindo' strayin' + Past the blame saloon-- + Heerd some fiddler playin' + That old "Hee-cup tune!" + I'd _stopped_-like, you know, + Fer a minit er so, + And wuz jest about + Settin' down, when--_Jeemses-whizz!_-- + Whole durn winder-sash fell out! + And thare laid Dock McGreff, and Mike + A-straddlin' him, all bloody-like, + And both a-gittin' down to biz!-- + And I wuz a-standin' as clos't to 'em + As me and you is! + + I wuz the on'y man aroun'-- + (Durn old-fogey town! + 'Peared more like, to me, + _Sund'y_ than _Saturd'y_!) + Dog come 'crost the road + And tuk a smell + And putt right back: + Mishler driv by 'ith a load + O' cantalo'pes he couldn't sell-- + Too mad, 'i jack! + To even ast + What wuz up, as he went past! + Weather most outrageous hot!-- + Fairly hear it sizz + Roun' Dock and Mike--tel Dock he shot,-- + And Mike he slacked that grip o' his + And fell, all spraddled out. Dock riz + 'Bout half up, a spittin' red, + And shuck his head.... + And I wuz a-standin' as clos't to 'em + As me and you is! + + And Dock he says, + A-whisperin'-like,-- + "It hain't no use + A-tryin'!--Mike + He's jest ripped my daylights loose!-- + Git that blame-don fiddler to + Let up, and come out here--You + Got some burryin' to do,-- + Mike makes _one_, and, I expects, + 'Bout ten seconds, I'll make _two_!" + And he drapped back, whare he'd riz, + 'Crost Mike's body, black and blue, + Like a great big letter X!-- + And I wuz a-standin' as clos't to 'em + As me and you is! + + + + +PAP'S OLD SAYIN' + + + Pap had one old-fashioned sayin' + That I'll never quite fergit-- + And they's seven growed-up childern + Of us rickollects it yit!-- + Settin' round the dinner-table, + Talkin' 'bout our friends, perhaps, + Er abusin' of our neghbors, + I kin hear them words o' Pap's-- + "Shet up, and eat yer vittels!" + + Pap he'd never argy with us, + Ner cut any subject short + Whilse we all kep' clear o' gossip, + And wuz actin' as we ort: + But ef we'd git out o' order-- + Like sometimes a fambly is,-- + Faultin' folks, er one another, + Then we'd hear that voice o' his-- + "Shet up, and eat yer vittels!" + + Wuz no hand hisse'f at talkin'-- + _Never_ hadn't _much_ to say,-- + Only, as I said, pervidin' + When we'd rile him thataway: + Then he'd allus lose his temper + Spite o' fate, and jerk his head + And slam down his caseknife vicious' + Whilse he glared around and said-- + "Shet up, and eat yer vittels!" + + Mind last time 'at Pap was ailin' + With a misery in his side, + And had hobbled in the kitchen-- + Jest the day before he died,-- + Laury Jane she ups and tells him, + "Pap, you're pale as pale kin be-- + Hain't ye 'feard them-air cowcumbers + Hain't good fer ye?" And says he, + "Shet up, and eat yer vittels!" + + Well! I've saw a-many a sorrow,-- + Forty year', through thick and thin; + I've got best,--and I've got _wors'ted_, + Time and time and time ag'in!-- + But I've met a-many a trouble + That I hain't run onto twice, + Haltin'-like and thinkin' over + Them-air words o' Pap's advice: + "Shet up, and eat yer vittels!" + + + + +ROMANCIN' + + + I' b'en a-kindo' "_musin'_," as the feller says, and I'm + About o' the conclusion that they hain't no better time, + When you come to cipher on it, than the times we ust to know + When we swore our first "_dog-gone-it_" sorto' solum-like and low! + + You git my idy, do you?--_Little_ tads, you understand-- + Jest a-wishin' thue and thue you that you on'y wuz a _man_.-- + Yit here I am, this minit, even sixty, to a day, + And fergettin' all that's in it, wishin' jest the other way! + + I hain't no hand to lectur' on the times, er _dim_onstrate + Whare 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 jest gee-haw the hosses, and onhook the swingle-tree, + Whare the hazel-bushes tosses down theyr shadders over me; + And I draw my plug o' navy, and I climb the fence, and set + Jest a-thinkin' here, i gravy! tel my eyes is wringin'-wet! + + Tho' I still kin see the trouble o' the _presunt_, I kin see-- + Kindo' like my sight wuz double--all the things that _ust_ 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 jest 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 sapsuck on the snag, + Seems ef they can't--od-rot 'em!--jest do nothin' else but brag! + + They's music in the twitter of the bluebird and the jay, + And that sassy little critter jest 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 ust to split the medder whare 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 theyr hick'ry-poles a-swishin' out behind 'em; and a few + Little "shiners" on our stringers, with theyr tails tip-toein' bloom, + As we dance 'em in our fingers all the happy jurney 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 o' 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 jest git in and row it like the miller ust to do. + + W'y, I git my fancy focussed on the past so mortul plane + I kin even smell the locus'-blossoms bloomin' in the lane; + And I hear the cow-bells clinkin' sweeter tunes 'n "Money-musk" + Fer the lightnin' bugs a-blinkin' and a-dancin' in the dusk. + + And when I've kep' on "musin'," as the feller says, tel 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,--I de-clare + I kin wake and say "dog-gone-it!" jest as soft as any prayer! + + + + +AN OLD SETTLER'S STORY + + + + +AN OLD SETTLER'S STORY + + +William Williams his name was--er 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, fer 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 congerssmen, and +I reckon got better wages; fer afore Ezry built, there wasn't a dust o' +meal er flour to be had short o' the White Water, better'n sixty mil'd +from here, the way we had to fetch it. And they used to come to Ezry's +fer their grindin' as fur as that; and one feller I knowed to come from +what used to be the old South Fork, over eighty mil'd from here, and in +the wettest, rainyest weather; and mud! _Law!_ + +Well, this-here Bills was a-workin' fer 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 fur back as Fifty-eight used to make his brags that he could cut and +putt 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 fur down his breast--awful +lookin'; and he never shaved, and there 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-and-out +ornry-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 fer, le' me see,--well, anyways, I rickon, over thirty year.--Steve +was a-drivin' the team at the time--I allus let Steve drive; 'peared +like Steve was made a-purpose fer hosses. The beatin'est hand with +hosses 'at ever you _did_ see and-I-know! W'y, a hoss, after he got +kindo' used to Steve a-handlin' of him, would do anything fer _him_! +And I've knowed that boy to swap fer hosses 'at couldn'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 fer some grindin' that day; and Steve +wanted to price some lumber fer 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 fer a +while. 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 fer each and all. + +We lived _then_ about eight mil'd from Ezry's, and it tuck about a day +to make the trip; so you kin kindo' git an idy 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, "Ben, I want +you to kindo' keep an eye out fer Ezry's new hand"--meanin' Bills. And +then I kindo' suspicioned somepin' o' nother was up betwixt 'em; and +shore enough there 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 neighberhood afore he'd be'n here two weeks. + +In the first place, he come in a suspicious sorto' way: Him and his +wife, and a little baby on'y 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, fer 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 lif settle there as anywheres; he was +huntin' a home, he said, and the outlook kindo' struck him, and his +woman railly needed rest, and wasn't strong enough to go much furder. +And old Ezry kindo' tuk pity on the feller; and havin' house-room 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 wouldn't a-knowed him! + +Well, I'd heerd o' this, and the facts is I'd made up my mind 'at Bills +was a bad stick, and the place wasn't none the better fer 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, fer 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 ornry name 'thout givin' him a _chance_ to take it +up. Steve was allus quiet-like, but ef you raised his dander onc'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 fer 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 or 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' fer dinner. Most of 'em brought ther +dinners--lived so fur away, you know. The two Smith boys lived on what +used to be the old Warrick farm, five er six mild, anyhow, from where +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:--There 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 fer +names.--Now, some folks'll hear a name and never fergit it, but I can't +boast of a good rickollection, 'specially o' names; and fer 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. W'y, my breeches was like stove-pipes when +I pulled 'em off. 'Ll, ef I didn't pay fer _that_ spree! Rheumatiz got +a holt o' me and helt me there flat o' my back fer eight weeks, and +couldn't move hand er foot 'thout a-hollerin' like a' Injun. And I'd +a-be'n there yit, I rickon, ef it hadn't a-be'n fer a' old hoss-doctor, +name o' Jones; and he gits a lot o' sod and steeps it in hot whiskey +and pops it on me,--and I'll be-switched-to-death ef it didn't cuore me +up, fer all I laughed and told him I'd better take the whiskey +in'ardly and let him keep the grass fer his doctor bill. But that's +nuther here ner there!--As I was a-sayin' 'bout the mill: As I went in, +the boys had stopped work and was a-gittin' down their dinners, and +Bills amongst 'em, and old Ezry a-chattin' away--great hand, he was, +fer 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 fer 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 tuk his +dram, you understand. You see, they made their own whiskey in them +days, and it wasn't nothin' like the bilin' stuff you git now. Old Ezry +had a little still, and allus made his own whiskey, enough fer 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 putt 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 didn'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 wouldn'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 rickon 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 couldn't well refuse, of course; so I says "Here's to us," and +drunk her down--mighty nigh a half pint, I rickon. Now, I railly didn'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, fer, to tell the fact about +it, I liked the taste o' liquor; and I do _yit_, on'y 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--fer 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' fer their liquor there--fer I'd +fetched a couple o' gallon home with me 'at I'd paid six bits fer, 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 fer half that price, and was a-goin' on a-braggin' about +his liquor--and it was a good article--fer new whiskey,--and jist then +Steve comes in, jist as Bills was a-sayin' 'at a man 'at wouldn't drink +_that_ whiskey 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 kindo' tuk 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 didn't let on like he noticed Bills +at all, and retch and shuk 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, kindo snarlin'-like, 'at "he'd knowed o' men +in his day 'at had be'n licked fer refusin' to drink when their betters +ast em"; and said furder 'at "a lickin' wasn't none too good fer +anybody 'at would refuse liquor like that o' Ezry's, and in his own +house too"--er _buildin'_, ruther. Ezry shuk his head at him, but I +seed 'at Bills was bound fer 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 fer _you_, and _die_ fer 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; yit Bills didn't seem to take warnin', but went on to +say 'at "he'd knowed boys 'at loved their 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,--for +Steve was a-comin' fer him dangerss. But they'd ketched Steve from +behind jist then; and Bills turned fer 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 +rickollect was a roarin' and a buzzin' in my ears, and when I kindo' +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 toe-nail, 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 th'oat, 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 kindo' give +him a side swipe o' some kind and knocked him--I don't know _how_ fur! +And jist then Carter and Morris come a-scufflin' back'ards right +amongst us, and Carter th'owed 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 tuk advantage of it:--As Wesley and Ben fell it pulled +Bills down in a kindo' twist, don't you understand, so's he couldn't +he'p hisse'f, yit still a-clinchin' Steve by the th'oat, 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 kindo' 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,--fer he had Steve's chunk as +nigh putt 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' a while fer 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 +warshed him, and drenched him with whiskey, 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 mil'd, I reckon, from the mill. Looked kindo' +cur'ous to see Steve a-he'ppin' pack the feller, after his nearly +chokin' him to death. Oh, it was a bloody fight, I tell you! W'y, they +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 fer a while she'd gone plum crazy, fer 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. + +Fer 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 fer Annie, as he called her. Zions said there was a +'brazure of the--some kind o' p'tuber'nce, 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 fer--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 they 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 fer Bills, 'cause he was a good hand, and when he +wasn't drinkin' they wasn't no peaceabler man in the Settlement. I +kindo' 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 kindo' humor him a little. "And you must kindo' be +on you 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 putt out fer +home. + +Mother tuk on awful about it. You see, she thought she'd be'n 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 fer 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 fer 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 fur as you and Steve's +concerned, Bills don't 'pear to bear you no ill feelin's, and says as +fur as he's concerned the thing's settled." "Well," says I, "Ezry, I +hope so; but I can't he'p but think they's somepin' at the bottom of +all this"; and says I, "I don't think it's in Bills to ever amount to +anything good"; and says I, "It's my opinion they'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 sorto' 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 pictur's fer the childern; +and how they all liked her better'n their 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' their 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 fer a while, and kiss all the childern and women-folks +about the place,--the greatest hand fer the childern, she was; tell 'em +all sorts o' little stories, you know, and sing fer 'em; said 'at she +could sing so sweet-like, 'at time and time agin she'd break clean down +in some song o' nother, 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 fer a-makin' some to-do over the +baby, and swore at her and tuk it away from her and whirped it fer +cryin', and _she_ cried and told him to whirp her and not little Annie, +and he said that was jist what he _was_ a-doin'. And the childern was +allus afeard to go there any more after that--'feard he'd come home and +whirp 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 neighbers begin to think he was all right after all, and railly +_some_ got to _likin'_ him. But fer _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 tuk 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' fer him; +and we all had _a glorious time_," says old Ezry; "and his woman was +there and jined, too, and prayed and shouted and tuk 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 fer 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 retch out one hand to Steve and one to me; and Steve shuk with +him kindo' 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 +shuk 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-tuk 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, fer 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, fer 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, fer 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 fer 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 they 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 they ever was one. I mind now when she was +tuk with her last spell and laid bedfast fer 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 fer 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 myster'ous 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 fer her--she used to sing +that'n so much, I rickollect as fur 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 o' evenings, 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 +kindo' tried to turn herse'f in bed, and smiled so weak and faint-like, +and looked at me, with her lips a-kindo' movin'; and I thought maybe +she wanted another dos't of her syrup 'at Ezry's woman had fixed up fer +her, and I kindo' stooped down over her and ast her ef she wanted +anything. "Yes," she says, and nodded, and her voice sounded so low and +solemn and so fur-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' away so +pale-like afore my eyes, and still a-smilin' up so lovin' and forgivin' +and so good 'at it made me think so fur 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 fer me 'at I never even thanked her fer; 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 fer 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 rickollection 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 maybe to kindo' 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 rickollect;--about Bills a-jinin' church. Well, +sir, they wasn't a better-actin' feller and more religious-like in all +the neighberhood. Spoke in meetin's, he did, and tuk 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. +They was a big excitement, and ever'body was a'tendin' from fur 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 +airnest, shore!--"jist flew off the handle," as I heerd a comical +feller git off onc't. And him and Bills was up and at it ever' +night--prayin' and shoutin' at the top o' their voice. Them railly did +seem like good times--when ever'body jined together, and prayed and +shouted hosanner, 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 kindo' +whole-souled-like and good, you understand. But law! I didn't hold +out--on'y fer a little while, and no wunder! + +Well, about them times Bills was tuk 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 onc'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, fer onc't he'd prayed fer a new +outpourin' of the Holy Sperit, and that very night they 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 fer 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 tuk the baby and went along with Ezry and his folks. + +I was at meetin' that night and rickollect 'em comin' in. Annie got a +seat jist behind me--Steve give her his'n and stood up; and I +rickollect 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 rickollect right, was "workin' out your own salvation"; and +when I listen to preachers nowadays in their big churches and their +fine pulpits, I allus think o' Daddy Barker, and kindo' 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 Hisse'f 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' fer the privilege, like it was a theatre. + +Ezry had his two little girls jine that night, and I rickollect the +preacher made sich a purty prayer about the Saviour a-cotin' from the +Bible 'bout "Suffer little childern to come unto Me"--and all; and +talked so purty 'bout the jedgment day, and mothers a-meetin' their +little ones there--and all; and went on tel they 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 south'ards 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 +putt out together fer it. Well, it was two mil'd 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 tuk 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 fer 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 fer--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 fer 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, fer a while anyhow. + +Bills said he seed the fire when it first started, and could a-putt 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 onriest +kind o' shanty, and so Ezry moved in with Bills. And Bills used to say +ef it hadn't a-be'n fer Ezry _he'd_ a-never a-had no house, ner nothin' +to putt 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 +fer 'em all, by a-buildin' a kindo' 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'tickler. + +Ezry was kindo' down fer 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 kindo' 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 they was that +winter; and 'fore _then_, I kin mind the time when they 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 rickollect one night in +p'tickler--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 their hats afore the candles, and +then onc'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--yes-sir! 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 where the stove was. Lots o' folks had their 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 they 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 kindo' jiggin' +along agin. Plenty to do there 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 fer 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' fer the childern; +said her two little girls had learnt to read, and didn't know their 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 putt together, 'bout books and cipherin' +and 'rethmetic, and the like; and John Wesley, the oldest of 'em, he +got to teachin' at last, when he growed up,--but, law! he couldn't +write his own name so's you could read it. I allus thought they was a +good 'eal of old Ezry in John Wesley. Liked to romance 'round with the +youngsters 'most too well.--Spiled him fer teachin', I allus thought; +fer 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 +fer the boys, you know, to go to school to _him_. Allus in fer +spellin'-matches and the like, and learnin' songs and sich. I +rickollect he give a' exhibition onc't, one winter, and I'll never +fergit it, I rickon. + +The school-house would on'y hold 'bout forty, comf'table, and that +night they was up'ards of a hunderd er more--jist crammed and jammed! +And the benches was piled back so's to make room fer the flatform +they'd built to make their speeches and dialogues on; and fellers +a-settin' up on them back seats, their heads was clean aginst the +j'ist. It was a low ceilin', anyhow, and o' course them 'at tuk 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 haf to stop and fool with 'em +awhile 'fore they could git 'em the balance o' the way acrost. Well, +finally, to'rds 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, +and where the string was stretched fer the curtain to slide on it +looked like the p'formers was strung on it. And when Lige Boyer's boy +was a-speakin'--kindo' mumbled it, you know, and you couldn't half +hear--it looked fer 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 fer 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 +they was done that night; but everybody said the teacher wrote it fer +her; and I wouldn't be su'prised much, fer they was married not long +afterwards. I expect he wrote it fer her.--Wouldn't putt 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 whiskey-bar'l tel it was strong enough to bear up a' egg. I kin +rickollect 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 rickon, ef the +fiddler hadn't a-give out. Wash Lowry was a-fiddlin' fer us; and along +to'rds three er four in the morning Wash was purty well fagged out. You +see, Wash could never play fer a dance er nothin' 'thout a-drinkin' +more or 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 their fun was gone ef they couldn'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' the plum facts. And they +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 new-fangled 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 heerd him say, time and time agin, 'at a +five-dollar gold-piece wouldn't buy it, and I knowed him myse'f to +refuse a calf fer it onc't--yes-sir, 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' +'bout 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 a 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 fer 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' fer p'session, you understand. Well, Bob he made out it was a +mighty bad case when _John-Wes_ comes to consult him 'bout it, and +tells _him_ ef a little p'int o' law was left out he thought he could +git the land fer 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 fer him shore; and posts _him_ to sue fer change +of venue or 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 their money besides, and leaves +them to hold the bag! Well-sir, 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 beginnin' o' summer, things had got back to purty much +the old way. The boys round was a-gittin' devilish, and o' nights +'specially theyr 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 fer as to tell Ezry ef they didn't putt a stop +to it he'd quit the neighberhood and go somers 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 fer 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' ornry 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 they was one fight they 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 tuk +'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 +collogued 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, +fer 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 firin' of it. But I'll tell you he sobered up mighty +suddent when he seed what was a-goin' on, and heerd the neighbers +a-hollerin', and a-threatenin' and a-goin' on!--fer 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 haf to say good-bye to you, fer 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 the last anybody ever seed o' Ben +Carter! + +It must a-be'n about three o'clock in the morning by this time, and the +mill then was jist a-smoulderin' to ashes--fer 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 +tell another flood. Old Ezry, it was, as white as a corpse, and with +the blood a-streamin' out of a gash in his forred, 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 +whilse you're a-standin' here! And Bills done it! Bills done it!" he +hollered, as he headed the crowd and started back fer home. "Bills done +it! I caught him at it; and he would a-murdered me in cold blood ef it +hadn't a-be'n fer 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 fer 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! fer 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 kindo' 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_ fer I hain't got time to waste on you furder.' And jist then +his woman kindo' come to her senses ag'in and hollered fer 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 yer mother! ef +it hadn't a-be'n fer _her_ I' a-be'n all right. And dam you, too!' he +says to me.--'This'll pay you fer that lick you struck me; and fer 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 yer +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 off in the dark to'rds the river." + +This was about the tale 'at Ezry told us, as nigh as I can rickollect: +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 haf to cross it, and ef he done _that_ +he'd haf to use the boat 'at was down below the mill, er wade it at the +ford, a mil'd 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 fer 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 they wasn't +no boat there! Steve kindo' tuk the lead, and we all talked in +whispers. And Steve said to kindo' lay low and maybe we could hear +somepin'; and some feller said he thought he heerd somepin' +strange-like, but the wind was kindo' raisin' and kep' up sich a +moanin' through the trees along the bank 'at we couldn't make out +nothin'. "Listen!" says Steve, suddent-like, "_I_ hear somepin'!" We +was all still ag'in--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 knowed was Bills's say, "Dam ye! Keep still, or I'll +drownd ye!" And the wind kindo' moaned ag'in, and we could hear the +trees a-screetchin' together in the dark, and the leaves a-rustlin'; +and when it kindo' lulled ag'in, we heerd Bills make a kindo' splash +with the oars; and jist then Steve whispered fer to lay low and be +ready--he was a-goin' to riconn'itre; and he took his coat and shoes +off, and slid over the bank and down into the worter as slik as a' eel. +Then ever'thing was still ag'in, '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 sorto' miss-lick with the oar, I reckon, and must +a-splashed the baby, fer she set up a loud cryin'; and jist then old +Ezry, who was a-leanin' over the bank, kindo' lost his grip, some way +o' nother, 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 ag'in. And "Cuss you!" he says then, to the +baby--"ef it hadn't be'n fer _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 kindo +gurglin', and then Steve's voice a-hollerin', "Close in on him, boys; +I've got the baby!" And about a dozent 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 fer a minute we kindo' 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 rickon--twenty men +ag'in one!" "You'd better give yourse'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 ag'in, jist yit awhile," he says; "I see you +kindo' 'pear to go in fer baptism; 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 whilse you're +gone!" And jist then the boat give a suddent shove under him--some +feller'd div under and tilted it--and fer 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, tell finally they got to pilin' in a little too fast fer 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 fer 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 they was more su'prise +waitin' fer us yit,--fer lo-and-behold-ye, when we got ashore they +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 kindo' +fergot about her tel the thing was over, and he went to look fer 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 _that_ must a-be'n the way of it. But where +was _Steve_? W'y, we argied, he'd diskivvered she was gone, and had +putt out on track of her 'thout losin' time to stop and explain the +thing. The next question was, what did Bills want with her ag'in?--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 putt out fer the ford, fer that was the nighdest place Bills +could cross 'thout a boat, and ef it _was_ him tuk the child, he was +still on our side o' the river, o' course. So we struck out fer the +ford, a-leavin' a couple o' men to search _up_ the river. A drizzlin' +sorto' 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 ag'in. + +It was jist a-gittin' a little gray-like in the morning by the time we +reached the ford, but you couldn't hardly see two rods afore you fer +the mist and the fog 'at had settled along the river. We looked fer +tracks, but couldn't make out nothin'. 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 they hain't no doubt but it +is--what in the name o' all that's good and bad's the feller a-standin' +there fer!" And a-creepin' 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' fer?" + +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' fer 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 ag'in! 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 ye +air! Move another inch and I'll drownd this dam young-un afore yer +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 retch 'round and +set the baby in it, never a-takin' his eye off o' us, though, fer a +minute. "Now," says he, with a sorto' 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 fer findin' it out so late in the day, you hain't none +the worse fer losin' me so soon--fer 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'tickler friend o' mine, and he forgive me with his dyin' breath, and +told me to run whilse I could, and be a better man. But he'd spotted me +with a' ugly mark 'at made it kindo' 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 young-un here, I'll bid you all good-bye." And with that +he turned and clum in the boat--or ruther _fell_ in,--fer 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 t'other 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 mil'd er more +'thout knowin' of it. Bills had struck and stunt him as he clum in +whilse 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 tuk charge o' little Annie ag'in, 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 ag'in. 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-takin' 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 fer why:--They was own brother and +sister; and that brings me to _her_ part of the story, which you'll haf +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 rickollect--ner _she_ didn't want to tell his right name; +and we forgive her fer that. Her and "Williams" was own brother and +sister, and their parunts lived in Ohio some'ers. Their 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 ag'in, 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 fer him, tel finally, one night, +about three years after she was married, she got word some way that he +was in trouble ag'in, 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 tuk 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 quarrelled with her husband, and the officers was after him, and he +was obleeged to leave the country, and fer 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 ag'in 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 fer 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 fer his ungov'nable temper. But I couldn't he'p but +notice, when she was a-tellin' of her hist'ry, what a quiet sorto' look +o' satisfaction settled on the face o' Steve and the rest of 'em, don't +you understand. + +And now they 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 ag'in, not knowin', of course, +whether _they_ was dead er alive; fer time and time ag'in she said +somepin' told her she'd never see her husband ag'in 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' nother Steve was never +like hisse'f from that time on. + +And so things went fer 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 +inte_rest_ed--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 kindo' 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 her 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-p'intin' 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 their eyes met. "Annie! My wife!" he says; and Annie she +kindo' 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. + + + + +DIALECT IN LITERATURE + + + + +DIALECT IN LITERATURE + +"_And the common people heard him gladly._" + + +Of what shall be said herein of dialect, let it be understood the term +dialect referred to is of that general breadth of meaning given it +to-day, namely, any speech or vernacular outside the prescribed form of +good English in its present state. The present state of the English is, +of course, not any one of its prior states. So first let it be remarked +that it is highly probable that what may have been the best of English +once may now by some be counted as a weak, inconsequent _patois_, or +dialect. + +To be direct, it is the object of this article to show that dialect is +not a thing to be despised in any event--that its origin is oftentimes +of as royal caste as that of any speech. Listening back, from the +standpoint of to-day, even to the divine singing of that old classic +master to whom England's late laureate refers as + + "... the first warbler, whose sweet breath + Preluded those melodious bursts that fill + The spacious times of great Elizabeth + With sounds that echo still"; + +or to whom Longfellow alludes, in his matchless sonnet, as + + "... the poet of the dawn, who wrote + The Canterbury Tales, and his old age + Made beautiful with song";-- + +Chaucer's verse to us is _now_ as veritably dialect as to that old time +it _was_ the chastest English; and even then his materials were +essentially dialect when his song was at best pitch. Again, our present +dialect, of most plebeian ancestry, may none the less prove worthy. +Mark the recognition of its own personal merit in the great new +dictionary, where what was, in our own remembrance, the most outlandish +dialect, is now good, sound, official English. + + * * * * * + +Since Literature must embrace all naturally existing +materials--physical, mental, and spiritual--we have no occasion to urge +its acceptance of so-called dialect, for dialect _is_ in Literature, +and _has_ been there since the beginning of all written thought and +utterance. Strictly speaking, as well as paradoxically, all verbal +expression is more or less dialectic, however grammatical. While usage +establishes grammar, it no less establishes so-called dialect. +Therefore we may as rightfully refer to "so-called grammar." + +It is not really a question of Literature's position toward dialect +that we are called upon to consider, but rather how much of +Literature's valuable time shall be taken up by this dialectic country +cousin. This question Literature her gracious self most amiably answers +by hugging to her breast voluminous tomes, from Chaucer on to Dickens, +from Dickens on to Joel Chandler Harris. And this affectionate spirit +on the part of Literature, in the main, we all most feelingly indorse. + +Briefly summed, it would appear that dialect means something more than +mere rude form of speech and action--that it must, in some righteous +and substantial way, convey to us a positive force of soul, truth, +dignity, beauty, grace, purity and sweetness that may even touch us to +the tenderness of tears. Yes, dialect as certainly does all this as +that speech and act refined may do it, and for the same reason: it is +simply, purely natural and human. + +Yet the Lettered and the Unlettered powers are at swords' points; and +very old and bitter foemen, too, they are. As fairly as we can, then, +let us look over the field of these contending forces and note their +diverse positions: First, _the Lettered_--they who have the full +advantages of refined education, training, and association--are +undoubtedly as wholly out of order among _the Unlettered_ as the +Unlettered are out of order in the exalted presence of the Lettered. +Each faction may in like aversion ignore or snub the other; but a +long-suffering Providence must bear with the society of both. There may +be one vague virtue demonstrated by this feud: each division will be +found unwaveringly loyal to its kind, and mutually they desire no +interchange of sympathy whatever.--Neither element will accept from the +other any _patronizing_ treatment; and, perhaps, the more especially +does the _Unlettered_ faction reject anything in vaguest likeness of +this spirit. Of the two divisions, in graphic summary,--_one_ knows +the very core and centre of refined civilization, and this only; the +_other_ knows the outlying wilds and suburbs of civilization, and this +only. Whose, therefore, is the greater knowledge, and whose the just +right of any whit of self-glorification? + +A curious thing, indeed, is this factional pride, as made equally +manifest in both forces; in one, for instance, of the Unlettered +forces: The average farmer, or countryman, knows, in reality, a far +better and wider range of diction than he permits himself to use. He +restricts and abridges the vocabulary of his speech, fundamentally, for +the reason that he fears offending his rural _neighbors_, to whom a +choicer speech might suggest, on his part, an assumption--a spirit of +conscious superiority, and therewith an implied reflection on _their_ +lack of intelligence and general worthiness. If there is any one text +universally known and nurtured of the Unlettered masses of our common +country, it is that which reads, "All men are created equal." Therefore +it is a becoming thing when true gentility prefers to overlook some +variations of the class who, more from lack of cultivation than out of +rude intent, sometimes almost compel a positive doubt of the nice +veracity of the declaration, or at least a grief at the munificent +liberality of the so-be-quoted statement. The somewhat bewildering +position of these conflicting forces leaves us nothing further to +consider, but how to make the most and best of the situation so far as +Literature may be hurt or helped thereby. + +Equally with the perfect English, then, dialect should have full +justice done it. Then always it is worthy, and in Literature is thus +welcome. The writer of dialect should as reverently venture in its use +as in his chastest English. His effort in the _scholarly_ and _elegant_ +direction suffers no neglect--he is _schooled_ in that, perhaps, he may +explain. Then let him be _schooled_ in _dialect_ before he sets up as +an expounder of it--a teacher, forsooth a master! The real master must +not only know each varying light and shade of dialect expression, but +he must as minutely know the inner character of the people whose native +tongue it is, else his product is simply a pretence--a wilful forgery, +a rank abomination. Dialect has been and is thus insulted, vilified, +and degraded, now and continually; and through this outrage solely, +thousands of generous-minded readers have been turned against dialect +who otherwise would have loved and blessed it in its real form of crude +purity and unstrained sweetness-- + + "Honey dripping from the comb!" + +Let no impious faddist, then, assume its just interpretation. He may +know everything else in the world, but not dialect, nor dialectic +people, for both of which he has supreme contempt, which same, be sure, +is heartily returned. Such a "superior" personage may even go among +these simple country people and abide indefinitely in the midst of +them, yet their more righteous contempt never for one instant permits +them to be their real selves in his presence. In consequence, his most +conscientious report of them, their ways, lives, and interests, is +absolutely of no importance or value in the world. He never knew them, +nor will he ever know them. They are not his kind of people, any more +than he is their kind of man; and _their_ disappointment grieves us +more than his. + +The master in Literature, as in any art, is that "divinely gifted man" +who does just obeisance to all living creatures, "both man and beast +and bird." It is this master only who, as he writes, can sweep himself +aside and leave his humble characters to do the thinking and the +talking. This man it is who celebrates his performance--not himself. +His work he celebrates because it is not his only, but because he feels +it the conscientious reproduction of the life itself--as he has seen +and known and felt it;--a representation it is of God's own script, +translated and transcribed by the worshipful mind and heart and hand of +genius. This virtue in all art is impartially demanded, and genius only +can fully answer the demand in any art for which we claim perfection. +The painter has his expression of it, with no slighting of the +dialectic element; so, too, the sculptor, the musician, and the list +entire. In the line of Literature and literary material, an +illustration of the nice meaning and distinction of dialectic art will +be found in Charles Dudley Warner's comment of George Cable's work, as +far back as 1883, referring to the author's own rendition of it from +the platform. Mr. Warner says: + + While the author was unfolding to his audience a life and + society unfamiliar to them and entrancing them with + pictures, the reality of which none doubted and the spell + of which none cared to escape, it occurred to me that here + was the solution of all the pother we have recently got into + about the realistic and the ideal schools in fiction. In + "Posson Jone," an awkward camp-meeting country preacher is + the victim of a vulgar confidence game; the scenes are the + street, a drinking-place, a gambling-saloon, a bull-ring, + and a calaboose; there is not a "respectable" character in + it. Where shall we look for a more faithful picture of low + life? Where shall we find another so vividly set forth in + all its sordid details? And yet see how art steps in, with + the wand of genius, to make literature! Over the whole the + author has cast an ideal light; over a picture that, in the + hands of a bungling realist, would have been repellant he + has thrown the idealizing grace that makes it one of the + most charming sketches in the world. Here is nature, as + nature only ought to be in literature, elevated but never + departed from. + +So we find dialect, as a branch of Literature, worthy of the high +attention and employment of the greatest master in letters--not the +merest mountebank. Turn to Dickens, in innumerable passages of pathos: +the death of poor Jo, or that of the "Cheap John's" little daughter in +her father's arms, on the foot-board of his peddling cart before the +jeering of the vulgar mob; smile moistly, too, at Mr. Sleary's odd +philosophies; or at the trials of Sissy Jupe; or lift and tower with +indignation, giving ear to Stephen Blackpool and the stainless nobility +of his cloyed utterances. + +The crudeness or the homeliness of the dialectic element does not argue +its unfitness in any way. Some readers seem to think so; but they are +wrong, and very gravely wrong. Our own brief history as a nation, and +our finding and founding and maintaining of it, left our forefathers +little time indeed for the delicate cultivation of the arts and graces +of refined and scholarly attainments. And there is little wonder, and +great blamelessness on their part, if they lapsed in point of high +mental accomplishments, seeing their attention was so absorbed by +propositions looking toward the protection of their rude farm-homes, +their meagre harvests, and their half-stabled cattle from the dread +invasion of the Indian. Then, too, they had their mothers and their +wives and little ones to protect, to clothe, to feed, and to die for in +this awful line of duty, as hundreds upon hundreds did. These sad facts +are here accented and detailed not so much for the sake of being +tedious as to more clearly indicate why it was that many of the truly +heroic ancestry of "our best people" grew unquestionably dialect of +caste--not alone in speech, but in every mental trait and personal +address. It is a grievous fact for us to confront, but many of them +wore apparel of the commonest, talked loudly, and doubtless said +"thisaway" and "thataway," and "Watch y' doin' of?" and "Whur y' goin' +at?"--using dialect even in their prayers to Him who, in His gentle +mercy, listened and was pleased; and who listens verily unto this hour +to all like prayers, and yet pleased; yea, haply listens even to the +refined rhetorical petitions of those who are _not_ pleased. + +There is something more at fault than the language when we turn from or +flinch at it; and, as has been intimated, the wretched fault may be +skulkingly hidden away in the ambush of _ostensible_ dialect--that type +of dialect so copiously produced by its sole manufacturers, who, +utterly stark and bare of the vaguest idea of country life or country +people, at once assume that all their "gifted pens" have to do is to +stupidly misspell every word; vulgarly mistreat and besloven every +theme, however sacred; maim, cripple, and disfigure language never in +the vocabulary of the countryman--then smuggle these monstrosities of +either rhyme or prose somehow into the public print that is to +innocently smear them broadcast all over the face of the country they +insult. + +How different the mind and method of the true interpreter. As this +phrase goes down the man himself arises--the type perfect--Colonel +Richard Malcolm Johnston, who wrote "The Dukesborough Tales"--an +accomplished classic scholar and teacher, yet no less an accomplished +master and lover of his native dialect of middle Georgia. He, like +Dickens, permits his rustic characters to think, talk, act, and live, +just as nature designed them. He does not make the pitiable error of +either patronizing or making fun of them. He knows them and he loves +them; and they know and love him in return. Recalling Colonel +Johnston's dialectic sketches, with his own presentation of them from +the platform, the writer notes a fact that seems singularly to obtain +among all true dialect-writers, namely, that they are also endowed with +native histrionic capabilities: _Hear_, as well as read, Twain, Cable, +Johnston, Page, Smith, and all the list, with barely an exception. + +Did space permit, no better illustration of true dialect sketch and +characterization might here be offered than Colonel Johnston's simple +story of "Mr. Absalom Billingslea," or the short and simple annals of +his like quaint contemporaries, "Mr. Bill Williams" and "Mr. Jonas +Lively." The scene is the country and the very little country town, +with landscape, atmosphere, simplicity, circumstance--all surroundings +and conditions--_veritable_--everything rural and dialectic, no less +than the simple, primitive, common, wholesome-hearted men and women who +so naturally live and have their blessed being in his stories, just as +in the life itself. This is the manifest work of the true dialect +writer and expounder. In every detail, the most minute, such work +reveals the master-hand and heart of the humanitarian as well as +artist--the two are indissolubly fused--and the result of such just +treatment of whatever lowly themes or characters we can but love and +loyally approve with all our human hearts. Such masters necessarily are +rare, and such ripe perfecting as is here attained may be in part the +mellowing result of age and long observation, though it can but be +based upon the wisest, purest spirit of the man as well as artist. + +In no less excellence should the work of Joel Chandler Harris be +regarded: His touch alike is ever reverential. He has gathered up the +bruised and broken voices and the legends of the slave, and from his +child-heart he has affectionately yielded them to us in all their eerie +beauty and wild loveliness. Through them we are made to glorify the +helpless and the weak and to revel in their victories. But, better, we +are taught that even in barbaric breasts there dwells inherently the +sense of right above wrong--equity above law--and the One Unerring +Righteousness Eternal. With equal truth and strength, too, Mr. Harris +has treated the dialectic elements of the interior Georgia country--the +wilds and fastnesses of the "moonshiners." His tale of "Teague Poteet," +of some years ago, was contemporaneous with the list of striking +mountain stories from that strong and highly gifted Tennesseean, Miss +Murfree, or "Charles Egbert Craddock." In the dialectic spirit her +stories charm and hold us. Always there is strangely mingled, but most +naturally, the gentle nature cropping out amid the most desperate and +stoical: the night scene in the isolated mountain cabin, guarded ever +without and within from any chance down-swooping of the minions of the +red-eyed law; the great man-group of gentle giants, with rifles never +out of arm's-reach, in tender rivalry ranged admiringly around the +crowing, wakeful little boy-baby; the return, at last, of the belated +mistress of the house--the sister, to whom all do great, awkward +reverence. Jealously snatching up the babe and kissing it, she +querulously demands why he has not long ago been put to bed. "He 'lowed +he wouldn't go," is the reply. + +Thomas Nelson Page, of Virginia, who wrote "Meh Lady"--a positive +classic in the Negro dialect: his work is veritable--strong and pure +and sweet; and as an oral reader of it the doubly gifted author, in +voice and cadence, natural utterance, every possible effect of speech +and tone, is doubtless without rival anywhere. + +Many more, indeed, than may be mentioned now there are of these real +benefactors and preservers of the wayside characters, times, and +customs of our ever-shifting history. Needless is it to speak here of +the earlier of our workers in the dialectic line--of James Russell +Lowell's New England "Hosea Biglow," Dr. Eggleston's "Hoosier +School-Master," or the very rare and quaint, bright prattle of "Helen's +Babies." In connection with this last let us very seriously inquire +what this _real_ child has done that Literature should so persistently +refuse to give him an abiding welcome? Since for ages this question +seems to have been left unasked, it may be timely now to propound it. +Why not the real child in Literature? The real child is good enough (we +all know he is bad enough) to command our admiring attention and most +lively interest in real life, and just as we find him "in the raw." +Then why do we deny him any righteous place of recognition in our +Literature? From the immemorial advent of our dear old Mother Goose, +Literature has been especially catering to the juvenile needs and +desires, and yet steadfastly overlooking, all the time, the very +principles upon which Nature herself founds and presents this lawless +little brood of hers--the children. It is not the children who are out +of order; it is Literature. And not only is Literature out of order, +but she is presumptuous; she is impudent. She takes Nature's children +and revises and corrects them till "their own mother doesn't know +them." This is literal fact. So, very many of us are coming to inquire, +as we've a right, why is the real child excluded from a just hearing in +the world of letters as he has in the world of fact? For instance, what +has the lovely little ragamuffin ever done of sufficient guilt to +eternally consign him to the monstrous penalty of speaking most +accurate grammar all the literary hours of the days of the years of his +otherwise natural life?-- + + "Oh, mother, may I go to school + With brother Charles to-day? + The air is very fine and cool; + Oh, mother, say I may!" + +--Is this a real boy that would make such a request, and is it the real +language he would use? No, we are glad to say that it is not. Simply it +is a libel, in every particular, on any boy, however fondly and +exactingly trained by parents however zealous for his overdecorous +future. Better, indeed, the dubious sentiment of the most trivial +nursery jingle, since the latter at least maintains the lawless though +wholesome spirit of the child-genuine.-- + + "Hink! Minx! The old witch winks-- + The fat begins to fry; + There's nobody home but Jumping Joan, + Father and mother and I." + +Though even here the impious poet leaves the scar of grammatical +knowledge upon childhood's native diction; and so the helpless little +fellow is again misrepresented, and his character, to all intents and +purposes, is assaulted and maligned outrageously thereby. + +Now, in all seriousness, this situation ought not to be permitted to +exist, though to change it seems an almost insurmountable task. The +general public, very probably, is not aware of the real gravity of the +position of the case as even unto this day it exists. Let the public +try, then, to contribute the real child to the so-called Child +Literature of its country, and have its real child returned as promptly +as it dare show its little tousled head in the presence of that +scholarly and dignified institution. Then ask why your real child has +been spanked back home again, and the wise mentors there will virtually +tell you that Child Literature wants no real children in it, that the +real child's example of defective grammar and lack of elegant +deportment would furnish to its little patrician patrons suggestions +very hurtful indeed to their higher morals, tendencies, and ambitions. +Then, although the general public couldn't for the life of it see why +or how, and might even be reminded that _it_ was just such a rowdying +child itself, and that its _father_--the Father of his Country--was +just such a child; that Abraham Lincoln was just such a lovable, +lawless child, and yet was blessed and chosen in the end for the +highest service man may ever render unto man,--all--all this argument +would avail not in the least, since the elegantly minded purveyors of +Child Literature can not possibly tolerate the presence of any but the +refined children--the very proper children--the studiously thoughtful, +poetic children;--and these must be kept safe from the contaminating +touch of our rough-and-tumble little fellows in "hodden gray," with +frowzly heads, begrimed but laughing faces, and such awful, awful +vulgarities of naturalness, and crimes of simplicity, and brazen faith +and trust, and love of life and everybody in it. All other real people +are getting into Literature; and without some real children along will +they not soon be getting lonesome, too? + + * * * * * + + +Books By +James Whitcomb Riley + + +NEGHBORLY POEMS + +SKETCHES IN PROSE, WITH INTERLUDING VERSES + +AFTERWHILES + +PIPES O' PAN (Prose and Verse) + +RHYMES OF CHILDHOOD + +FLYING ISLANDS OF THE NIGHT + +GREEN FIELDS AND RUNNING BROOKS + +ARMAZINDY + +A CHILD-WORLD + +HOME-FOLKS + +OLD-FASHIONED ROSES +(English Edition) + +THE GOLDEN YEAR +(English Edition) + +POEMS HERE AT HOME + +RUBÁIYÁT OF DOC SIFERS + +CHILD-RHYMES, WITH HOOSIER PICTURES + +RILEY LOVE-LYRICS +(Pictures by Dyer) + + + * * * * * + + +Transcriber's Notes + + +Moved List of Books by James Whitcomb Riley to end of book. + +Page 204: Corrected typo genious to genius + (and genious only can fully answer the demand in any art). + +Made minor punctuation corrections. + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Neghborly Poems and Dialect Sketches, by +James Whitcomb Riley + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NEGHBORLY POEMS, DIALECT SKETCHES *** + +***** This file should be named 37074-8.txt or 37074-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/7/0/7/37074/ + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Diane Monico, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + +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. 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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: Neghborly Poems and Dialect Sketches + +Author: James Whitcomb Riley + +Release Date: August 14, 2011 [EBook #37074] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NEGHBORLY POEMS, DIALECT SKETCHES *** + + + + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Diane Monico, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + + + + + + +<h1>NEGHBORLY POEMS<br /> + +<small>AND</small><br /> + +<small>DIALECT SKETCHES</small><br /><br /></h1> + +<p class="title">JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY<br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p class="title"><small>INDIANAPOLIS</small><br /> +<small>THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY</small><br /> +<small>PUBLISHERS</small> +</p> +<hr style="width: 35%;" /> + +<p class="center"> +<small>Copyright 1883, 1891 and 1897</small><br /> +<br /> +<small>By <span class="smcap">James Whitcomb Riley</span></small><br /> +<br /> +<small>PRESS OF</small><br /> +<small>BRAUNWORTH & CO.</small><br /> +<small>BOOKBINDERS AND PRINTERS</small><br /> +<small>BROOKLYN, N. Y.</small><br /> +</p> +<hr style="width: 35%;" /> + +<p class="title"> +TO MY BROTHER<br /> +HUMBOLDT RILEY<br /> +</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 35%;" /> +<h2><a name="PREFACE" id="PREFACE"></a>PREFACE</h2> + + +<p>As far back into boyhood as the writer's memory may +intelligently go, the "country poet" is most pleasantly +recalled. He was, and is, as common as the "country +fiddler," and as full of good old-fashioned music. Not +a master of melody, indeed, but a poet, certainly—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">"Who, through long days of labor,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And nights devoid of ease,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Still heard in his soul the music<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Of wonderful melodies."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>And it is simply the purpose of this series of dialectic +studies to reflect the real worth of this homely child of +nature, and to echo faithfully, if possible, the faltering +music of his song.</p> + +<p>In adding to this series, as the writer has, for many +years, been urged to do, and answering as steadfast a +demand of Benj. F. Johnson's first and oldest friends, it +has been decided that this further work of his be introduced +to the reader of the volume as was the old man's +first work to the reader of the newspaper of nearly ten +years ago.</p> + +<p>Directly, then, referring to the Indianapolis "Daily +Journal,"—under whose management the writer had for +some time been employed,—from issue of date June 17, +1882, under editorial caption of "A Boone County Pastoral," +this article is herewith quoted:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Benj. F. Johnson, of Boone county, who considers the Journal +a "very valubul" newspaper, writes to enclose us an original +poem, desiring that we kindly accept it for publication, as +"many neghbors and friends is astin' him to have the same +struck off."</p> + +<p>Mr. Johnson thoughtfully informs us that he is "no edjucated +man," but that he has, "from childhood up tel old enough to +vote, allus wrote more er less poetry, as many of an albun in +the neghborhood can testify." Again, he says that he writes +"from the hart out"; and there is a touch of genuine pathos in +the frank avowal, "Thare is times when I write the tears rolls +down my cheeks."</p> + +<p>In all sincerity, Mr. Johnson, we are glad to publish the poem +you send, and just as you have written it. That is its greatest +charm. Its very defects compose its excellence. You need no +better education than the one from which emanates "The Old +Swimmin'-Hole." It is real poetry, and all the more tender and +lovable for the unquestionable evidence it bears of having been +written "from the hart out." The only thing we find to—but +hold! Let us first lay the poem before the reader:</p></div> + +<p>Here followed the poem, "The Old Swimmin'-Hole," +entire—the editorial comment ending as follows:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>The only thing now, Mr. Johnson—as we were about to observe—the +only thing we find to criticise, at all relative to the +poem, is your closing statement to the effect that "It was +wrote to go to the tune of 'The Captin with his Whiskers!'" +You should not have told us that, O Rare Ben. Johnson!</p></div> + +<p>A week later, in the "Journal" of date June 24th, +followed this additional mention of "Benj. F. Johnson, +of Boone":</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>It is a pleasure for us to note that the publication of the +poem of "The Old Swimmin'-Hole," to which the Journal, with +just pride, referred last week, has proved almost as great a pleasure +to its author as to the hosts of delighted readers who have +written in its praise, or called to personally indorse our high +opinion of its poetic value. We have just received a letter from +Mr. Johnson, the author, inclosing us another lyrical performance, +which in many features even surpasses the originality and +spirit of the former effort. Certainly the least that can be said +of it is that it stands a thorough proof of our first assertion, that +the author, though by no means a man of learning and profound +literary attainments, is none the less a true poet and an artist. +The letter, accompanying this later amaranth of blooming wildwood +verse, we publish in its entirety, assured that Mr. Johnson's +many admirers will be charmed, as we have been, at the +delicious glimpse he gives us of his inspiration, modes of study, +home-life, and surroundings:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"To the Editer of the Indanoplus Jurnal:</p> + +<p>"Respected Sir—The paper is here, markin' the old swimmin'-hole, +my poetry which you seem to like so well. I joy to +see it in print, and I thank you, hart and voice, fer speakin' of +its merrits in the way in which you do. I am glad you thought +it was real poetry, as you said in your artikle. But I make +bold to ast you what was your idy in sayin' I had ortent of told +you it went to the tune I spoke of in my last. I felt highly +flatered tel I got that fur. Was it because you don't know the +tune refered to in the letter? Er wasent some words spelt +right er not? Still ef you hadent of said somepin' aginst it Ide +of thought you was makin' fun. As I said before I well know +my own unedjucation, but I don't think that is any reason the +feelin's of the soul is stunted in theyr growth however. 'Juge +not less ye be juged,' says The Good Book, and so say I, ef I +thought you was makin' fun of the lines that I wrote and which +you done me the onner to have printed off in sich fine style that +I have read it over and over again in the paper you sent, and I +would like to have about three more ef you can spare the same +and state by mail what they will come at. All nature was in +tune day before yisterday when your paper come to hand. It +had ben a-raining hard fer some days, but that morning opened +up as clear as a whissel. No clouds was in the sky, and the air +was bammy with the warm sunshine and the wet smell of the +earth and the locus blossoms and the flowrs and pennyroil and +boneset. I got up, the first one about the place, and went forth +to the plesant fields. I fed the stock with lavish hand and +wortered them in merry glee, they was no bird in all the land +no happier than me. I have jest wrote a verse of poetry in this +letter; see ef you can find it. I also send you a whole poem +which was wrote off the very day your paper come. I started it +in the morning I have so feebly tride to pictur' to you and +wound her up by suppertime, besides doin' a fare day's work +around the place.</p> + +<p>"Ef you print this one I think you will like it better than the +other. This ain't a sad poem like the other was, but you will +find it full of careful thought. I pride myself on that. I also +send you 30 cents in stamps fer you to take your pay out of fer +the other papers I said, and also fer three more with this in it ef +you have it printed and oblige. Ef you don't print this poem, +keep the stamps and send me three more papers with <i>the other +one</i> in—makin' the sum totul of six (6) papers altogether in full. +Ever your true friend,</p> + +<p class="author">Benj. F. Johnson.</p> + +<p>"N. B.—The tune of this one is 'The Bold Privateer.'"</p></div></div> + +<p>Here followed the poem, "Thoughts Fer The Discuraged +Farmer";—and here, too, fittingly ends any +comment but that which would appear trivial and +gratuitous.</p> + +<p>Simply, in briefest conclusion, the hale, sound, artless, +lovable character of Benj. F. Johnson remains, in the +writer's mind, as from the first, far less a fiction than a +living, breathing, vigorous reality.—So strong, indeed, +has his personality been made manifest, that many times, +in visionary argument with the sturdy old myth over certain +changes from the original forms of his productions, +he has so incontinently beaten down all suggestions as to +a less incongruous association of thoughts and words, +together with protests against his many violations of +poetic method, harmony, and grace, that nothing was +left the writer but to submit to what has always seemed—and +in truth still seems—a superior wisdom of dictation.</p> + +<p class="author">J. W. R.</p> + +<p class="i4"><i>Indianapolis, July, 1891.</i></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="SALUTATION" id="SALUTATION"></a>SALUTATION<br /> + +TO BENJ. F. JOHNSON<br /><br /> + + +<i>THE OLD MAN</i></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Lo! steadfast and serene</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>In patient pause between</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>The seen and the unseen</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>What gentle zephyrs fan</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Your silken silver hair</i>,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>And what diviner air</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Breathes round you like a prayer</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i4"><i>Old Man</i>?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><i> +<span class="i0">Can you, in nearer view<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Glory, pierce the blue<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of happy Heaven through;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And, listening mutely, can<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your senses, dull to us,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hear Angel-voices thus,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In chorus glorious—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Old Man?<br /></span></i> +</div><div class="stanza"><i> +<span class="i0">In your reposeful gaze<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The dusk of Autumn days<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is blent with April haze,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As when of old began<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The bursting of the bud<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of rosy babyhood—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When all the world was good,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Old Man.<br /></span></i> +</div><div class="stanza"><i> +<span class="i0">And yet I find a sly<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Little twinkle in your eye;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And your whisperingly shy<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Little laugh is simply an<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Internal shout of glee<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That betrays the fallacy<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You'd perpetrate on me,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Old Man!<br /></span></i> +</div><div class="stanza"><i> +<span class="i0">So just put up the frown<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That your brows are pulling down!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Why, the fleetest boy in town,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As he bared his feet and ran,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Could read with half a glance—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And of keen rebuke, perchance—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your secret countenance,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Old Man!<br /></span></i> +</div><div class="stanza"><i> +<span class="i0">Now, honestly, confess:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is an old man any less<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than the little child we bless<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And caress when we can?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Isn't age but just a place<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where you mask the childish face<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To preserve its inner grace,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Old Man?<br /></span></i> +</div><div class="stanza"><i> +<span class="i0">Hasn't age a truant day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Just as that you went astray<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the wayward, restless way,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When, brown with dust and tan,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your roguish face essayed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In solemn masquerade,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To hide the smile it made<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Old Man?<br /></span></i> +</div><div class="stanza"><i> +<span class="i0">Now, fair, and square, and true,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Don't your old soul tremble through,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As in youth it used to do<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When it brimmed and overran<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With the strange, enchanted sights,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the splendors and delights<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the old "Arabian Nights,"<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Old Man?<br /></span></i> +</div><div class="stanza"><i> +<span class="i0">When, haply, you have fared<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where glad Aladdin shared<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His lamp with you, and dared<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The Afrite and his clan;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, with him, clambered through<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The trees where jewels grew—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And filled your pockets, too,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Old Man?<br /></span></i> +</div><div class="stanza"><i> +<span class="i0">Or, with Sinbad, at sea—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And in veracity<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who has sinned as bad as he,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or would, or will, or can?—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Have you listened to his lies,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With open mouth and eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And learned his art likewise,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Old Man?<br /></span></i> +</div><div class="stanza"><i> +<span class="i0">And you need not deny<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That your eyes were wet as dry,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Reading novels on the sly!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And review them, if you can,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the same warm tears will fall—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Only faster, that is all—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Over Little Nell and Paul,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Old Man!<br /></span></i> +</div><div class="stanza"><i> +<span class="i0">O, you were a lucky lad—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Just as good as you were bad!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the host of friends you had—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Charley, Tom, and Dick, and Dan;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the old School-Teacher, too,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though he often censured you;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the girls in pink and blue,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Old Man.<br /></span></i> +</div><div class="stanza"><i> +<span class="i0">And—as often you have leant,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In boyish sentiment,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To kiss the letter sent<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By Nelly, Belle, or Nan—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wherein the rose's hue<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was red, the violet blue—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sugar sweet—and you,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Old Man,—<br /></span></i> +</div><div class="stanza"><i> +<span class="i0">So, to-day, as lives the bloom,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the sweetness, and perfume<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the blossoms, I assume,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">On the same mysterious plan<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The master's love assures,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That the self-same boy endures<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In that hale old heart of yours,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Old Man.<br /></span></i> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CONTENTS" id="CONTENTS"></a>CONTENTS</h2> + + + +<div class="center"> +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="toc"> +<tr><td align="left">THE OLD SWIMMIN'-HOLE, AND 'LEVEN MORE POEMS</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="i4"><i>The Delights of our Childhood is soon Passed Away</i></span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_2">2</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="i4 smcap">The Old Swimmin'-Hole</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_3">3</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="i4 smcap">Thoughts fer The Discuraged Farmer</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_6">6</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="i4 smcap">A Summer's Day</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_9">9</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="i4 smcap">A Hymb of Faith</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_13">13</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="i4 smcap">Wortermelon Time</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_16">16</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="i4 smcap">My Philosofy</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_20">20</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="i4 smcap">When the Frost is on the Punkin</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_23">23</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="i4 smcap">On the Death of Little Mahala Ashcraft</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_26">26</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="i4 smcap">The Mulberry Tree</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_29">29</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="i4 smcap">To my Old Friend, William Leachman</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_31">31</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="i4 smcap">My Fiddle</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_36">36</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="i4 smcap">The Clover</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_39">39</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">NEGHBORLY POEMS<br /><span class="i6 smcap">On Friendship, Grief and Farm-Life</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="i4"><i>Us Farmers in the Country, as the Seasons go and Come</i></span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_42">42</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="i4 smcap">Erasmus Wilson</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_43">43</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="i4 smcap">My Ruthers</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_48">48</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="i4 smcap">On a Dead Babe</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_51">51</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="i4 smcap">A Old Played-out Song</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_52">52</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="i4 smcap">"Coon-dog Wess"</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_55">55</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="i4 smcap">Perfesser John Clark Ridpath</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_62">62</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="i4 smcap">A Tale of the Airly Days</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_66">66</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="i4 smcap">"Mylo Jones's Wife"</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_68">68</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="i4 smcap">On a Splendud Match</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_71">71</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="i4 smcap">Old John Clevenger on Buckeyes</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_72">72</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="i4 smcap">The Hoss</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_78">78</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="i4 smcap">Ezra House</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_82">82</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="i4 smcap">A Pen-Pictur'</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_86">86</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="i4 smcap">Wet-weather Talk</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_90">90</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="i4 smcap">Thoughts on a Pore Joke</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_93">93</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="i4 smcap">A Mortul Prayer</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_94">94</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="i4 smcap">The First Bluebird</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_96">96</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="i4 smcap">Evagene Baker</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_97">97</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="i4 smcap">On any Ordenary Man</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_100">100</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="i4 smcap">Town and Country</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_101">101</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="i4 smcap">Lines Writ fer Isaac Bradwell</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_103">103</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="i4 smcap">Decoration Day on the Place</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_104">104</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="i4 smcap">The Tree-Toad</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_107">107</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="i4 smcap">The Rossville Lectur' Course</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_109">109</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="i4 smcap">When the Green Gits Back in the Trees</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_112">112</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="i4 smcap">How it Happened</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_114">114</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="i4 smcap">A Dos't o' Blues</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_117">117</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="i4 smcap">The Old Home by the Mill</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_119">119</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="i4 smcap">The Way it Wuz</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_121">121</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="i4 smcap">Pap's Old Sayin'</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_125">125</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="i4 smcap">Romancin'</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_128">128</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">AN OLD SETTLER'S STORY</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_133">133</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">DIALECT IN LITERATURE</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_195">195</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="i4">Originally contributed to <span class="smcap">The Forum</span>—reprinted here by permission.</span></td></tr> +</table></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="THE_OLD_SWIMMIN-HOLE_AND" id="THE_OLD_SWIMMIN-HOLE_AND"></a>"THE OLD SWIMMIN'-HOLE"<br /> + +<small>AND</small><br /> + +'LEVEN MORE POEMS<br /><br /> + +<small>BY</small><br /> + +BENJ. F. JOHNSON, OF BOONE</h2> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span></p> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><i> +<span class="i0">The delights of our childhood is soon passed away,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And our gloryus youth it departs,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And yit, dead and burried, they's blossoms of May<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ore theyr medderland graves in our harts.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So, friends of my bare-footed days on the farm,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whether truant in city er not,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">God prosper you same as He's prosperin' me,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whilse your past haint despised er fergot.<br /></span></i> +</div><div class="stanza"><i> +<span class="i0">Oh! they's nothin', at morn, that's as grand unto me<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As the glorys of Nachur so fare,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With the Spring in the breeze, and the bloom in the trees,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the hum of the bees ev'rywhare!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The green in the woods, and the birds in the boughs,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the dew spangled over the fields;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the bah of the sheep and the bawl of the cows<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the call from the house to your meals!<br /></span></i> +</div><div class="stanza"><i> +<span class="i0">Then ho! fer your brekfast! and ho! fer the toil<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That waiteth alike man and beast!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh! its soon with my team I'll be turnin' up soil,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whilse the sun shoulders up in the East<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ore the tops of the ellums and beeches and oaks,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To smile his godspeed on the plow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the furry and seed, and the Man in his need,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the joy of the swet of his brow!<br /></span></i> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="THE_OLD_SWIMMIN-HOLE" id="THE_OLD_SWIMMIN-HOLE"></a>THE OLD SWIMMIN'-HOLE</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh! the old swimmin'-hole! whare the crick so still and deep<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Looked like a baby-river that was laying half asleep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the gurgle of the worter round the drift jest below<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sounded like the laugh of something we onc't ust to know<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Before we could remember anything but the eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the angels lookin' out as we left Paradise;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But the merry days of youth is beyond our controle,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And it's hard to part ferever with the old swimmin'-hole.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh! the old swimmin'-hole! In the happy days of yore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When I ust to lean above it on the old sickamore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh! it showed me a face in its warm sunny tide<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That gazed back at me so gay and glorified,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It made me love myself, as I leaped to caress<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My shadder smilin' up at me with sich tenderness.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span> +<span class="i0">But them days is past and gone, and old Time's tuck his toll<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From the old man come back to the old swimmin'-hole.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh! the old swimmin'-hole! In the long, lazy days<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the hum-drum of school made so many run-a-ways,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How plesant was the jurney down the old dusty lane,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whare the tracks of our bare feet was all printed so plane<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You could tell by the dent of the heel and the sole<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They was lots o' fun on hands at the old swimmin'-hole.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But the lost joys is past! Let your tears in sorrow roll<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like the rain that ust to dapple up the old swimmin'-hole.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Thare the bullrushes growed, and the cattails so tall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the sunshine and shadder fell over it all;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And it mottled the worter with amber and gold<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tel the glad lillies rocked in the ripples that rolled;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the snake-feeder's four gauzy wings fluttered by<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like the ghost of a daisy dropped out of the sky,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or a wownded apple-blossom in the breeze's controle<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As it cut acrost some orchurd to'rds the old swimmin'-hole.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh! the old swimmin'-hole! When I last saw the place,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The scenes was all changed, like the change in my face;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The bridge of the railroad now crosses the spot<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whare the old divin'-log lays sunk and fergot.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I stray down the banks whare the trees ust to be—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But never again will theyr shade shelter me!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I wish in my sorrow I could strip to the soul,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And dive off in my grave like the old swimmin'-hole.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="THOUGHTS_FER_THE_DISCURAGED_FARMER" id="THOUGHTS_FER_THE_DISCURAGED_FARMER"></a>THOUGHTS FER THE DISCURAGED FARMER</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The summer winds is sniffin' round the bloomin' locus' trees;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the clover in the pastur is a big day fer the bees,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And they been a-swiggin' honey, above board and on the sly,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tel they stutter in theyr buzzin' and stagger as they fly.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The flicker on the fence-rail 'pears to jest spit on his wings<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And roll up his feathers, by the sassy way he sings;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the hoss-fly is a-whettin'-up his forelegs fer biz,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the off-mare is a-switchin' all of her tale they is.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">You can hear the blackbirds jawin' as they foller up the plow—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, theyr bound to git theyr brekfast, and theyr not a-carin' how;<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span> +<span class="i0">So they quarrel in the furries, and they quarrel on the wing—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But theyr peaceabler in pot-pies than any other thing:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And it's when I git my shotgun drawed up in stiddy rest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She's as full of tribbelation as a yeller-jacket's nest;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And a few shots before dinner, when the sun's a-shinin' right,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Seems to kindo'-sorto' sharpen up a feller's appetite!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They's been a heap o' rain, but the sun's out to-day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the clouds of the wet spell is all cleared away,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the woods is all the greener, and the grass is greener still;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It may rain again to-morry, but I don't think it will.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some says the crops is ruined, and the corn's drownded out,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And propha-sy the wheat will be a failure, without doubt;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But the kind Providence that has never failed us yet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Will be on hands onc't more at the 'leventh hour, I bet!<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Does the medder-lark complane, as he swims high and dry<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through the waves of the wind and the blue of the sky?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Does the quail set up and whissel in a disappinted way,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Er hang his head in silunce, and sorrow all the day?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is the chipmuck's health a-failin'?—Does he walk, er does he run?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Don't the buzzards ooze around up thare jest like they've allus done?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is they anything the matter with the rooster's lungs er voice?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ort a mortul be complanin' when dumb animals rejoice?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then let us, one and all, be contentud with our lot;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The June is here this mornin', and the sun is shining hot.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh! let us fill our harts up with the glory of the day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Any banish ev'ry doubt and care and sorrow fur away!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whatever be our station, with Providence fer guide,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sich fine circumstances ort to make us satisfied;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fer the world is full of roses, and the roses full of dew,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the dew is full of heavenly love that drips fer me and you.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="A_SUMMERS_DAY" id="A_SUMMERS_DAY"></a>A SUMMER'S DAY</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The Summer's put the idy in<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My head that I'm a boy again;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And all around's so bright and gay<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I want to put my team away,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And jest git out whare I can lay<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And soak my hide full of the day!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But work is work, and must be done—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yit, as I work, I have my fun,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Jest fancyin' these furries here<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is childhood's paths onc't more so dear:—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And as I walk through medder-lands,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And country lanes, and swampy trails<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whare long bullrushes bresh my hands;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And, tilted on the ridered rails<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Of deadnin' fences, "Old Bob White"<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Whissels his name in high delight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And whirrs away. I wunder still,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whichever way a boy's feet will—<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Whare trees has fell, with tangled tops<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whare dead leaves shakes, I stop fer breth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Heerin' the acorn as it drops—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">H'istin' my chin up still as deth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And watchin' clos't, with upturned eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The tree where Mr. Squirrel tries<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To hide hisse'f above the limb,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But lets his own tale tell on him.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I wunder on in deeper glooms—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Git hungry, hearin' female cries<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From old farm-houses, whare perfumes<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of harvest dinners seems to rise<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And ta'nt a feller, hart and brane,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With memories he can't explane.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I wunder through the underbresh,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whare pig-tracks, pintin' to'rds the crick,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is picked and printed in the fresh<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Black bottom-lands, like wimmern pick<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Theyr pie-crusts with a fork, some way,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When bakin' fer camp-meetin' day.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span> +<span class="i0">I wunder on and on and on,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tel my gray hair and beard is gone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And ev'ry wrinkle on my brow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is rubbed clean out and shaddered now<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With curls as brown and fare and fine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As tenderls of the wild grape-vine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That ust to climb the highest tree<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To keep the ripest ones fer me.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I wunder still, and here I am<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wadin' the ford below the dam—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The worter chucklin' round my knee<br /></span> +<span class="i2">At hornet-welt and bramble-scratch,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And me a-slippin' 'crost to see<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ef Tyner's plums is ripe, and size<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The old man's wortermelon-patch,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With juicy mouth and drouthy eyes.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then, after sich a day of mirth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And happiness as worlds is wurth—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So tired that heaven seems nigh about,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sweetest tiredness on earth<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is to git home and flatten out—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So tired you can't lay flat enugh,<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span> +<span class="i0">And sorto' wish that you could spred<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Out like molasses on the bed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And jest drip off the aidges in<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The dreams that never comes again.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="A_HYMB_OF_FAITH" id="A_HYMB_OF_FAITH"></a>A HYMB OF FAITH</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O, Thou that doth all things devise<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And fashon fer the best,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He'p us who sees with mortul eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To overlook the rest.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They's times, of course, we grope in doubt,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And in afflictions sore;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So knock the louder, Lord, without,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And we'll unlock the door.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Make us to feel, when times looks bad<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And tears in pitty melts,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou wast the only he'p we had<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When they was nothin' else.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Death comes alike to ev'ry man<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That ever was borned on earth;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then let us do the best we can<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To live fer all life's wurth.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Ef storms and tempusts dred to see<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Makes black the heavens ore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They done the same in Galilee<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Two thousand years before.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But after all, the golden sun<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Poured out its floods on them<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That watched and waited fer the One<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Then borned in Bethlyham.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Also, the star of holy writ<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Made noonday of the night,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whilse other stars that looked at it<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Was envious with delight.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The sages then in wurship bowed,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From ev'ry clime so fare;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O, sinner, think of that glad crowd<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That congergated thare!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They was content to fall in ranks<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With One that knowed the way<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From good old Jurden's stormy banks<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Clean up to Jedgmunt Day.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">No matter, then, how all is mixed<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In our near-sighted eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All things is fer the best, and fixed<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Out straight in Paradise.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then take things as God sends 'em here,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And, ef we live er die,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Be more and more contenteder,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Without a-astin' why.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O, Thou that doth all things devise<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And fashon fer the best,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He'p us who sees with mortul eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To overlook the rest.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="WORTERMELON_TIME" id="WORTERMELON_TIME"></a>WORTERMELON TIME</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Old wortermelon time is a-comin' round again,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And they ain't no man a-livin' any tickleder'n me,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fer the way I hanker after wortermelons is a sin—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which is the why and wharefore, as you can plainly see.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh! it's in the sandy soil wortermelons does the best,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And it's thare they'll lay and waller in the sunshine and the dew<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tel they wear all the green streaks clean off of theyr breast;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And you bet I ain't a-findin' any fault with them; air you?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They ain't no better thing in the vegetable line;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And they don't need much 'tendin', as ev'ry farmer knows;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And when theyr ripe and ready fer to pluck from the vine,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I want to say to you theyr the best fruit that grows.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">It's some likes the yeller-core, and some likes the red.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And it's some says "The Little Californy" is the best;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But the sweetest slice of all I ever wedged in my head,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is the old "Edingburg Mounting-sprout," of the west.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">You don't want no punkins nigh your wortermelon vines—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Cause, some-way-another, they'll spile your melons, shore;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I've seed 'em taste like punkins, from the core to the rines,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which may be a fact you have heerd of before.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But your melons that's raised right and 'tended to with care,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">You can walk around amongst 'em with a parent's pride and joy,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And thump 'em on the heads with as fatherly a air<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As ef each one of them was your little girl er boy.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I joy in my hart jest to hear that rippin' sound<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When you split one down the back and jolt the halves in two,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the friends you love the best is gethered all around—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And you says unto your sweethart, "Oh, here's the core fer you!"<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And I like to slice 'em up in big pieces fer 'em all,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Espeshally the childern, and watch theyr high delight<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As one by one the rines with theyr pink notches falls,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And they holler fer some more, with unquenched appetite.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Boys takes to it natchurl, and I like to see 'em eat—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A slice of wortermelon's like a frenchharp in theyr hands,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And when they "saw" it through theyr mouth sich music can't be beat—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Cause it's music both the sperit and the stummick understands.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh, they's more in wortermelons than the purty-colored meat,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the overflowin' sweetness of the worter squshed betwixt<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The up'ard and the down'ard motions of a feller's teeth,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And it's the taste of ripe old age and juicy childhood mixed.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Fer I never taste a melon but my thoughts flies away<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To the summertime of youth; and again I see the dawn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the fadin' afternoon of the long summer day,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the dusk and dew a-fallin', and the night a'comin' on.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And thare's the corn around us, and the lispin' leaves and trees,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the stars a-peekin' down on us as still as silver mice,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And us boys in the wortermelons on our hands and knees,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the new-moon hangin' ore us like a yeller-cored slice.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh! it's wortermelon time is a-comin' round again,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And they ain't no man a-livin' any tickleder'n me,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fer the way I hanker after wortermelons is a sin—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which is the why and wharefore, as you can plainly see.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="MY_PHILOSOFY" id="MY_PHILOSOFY"></a>MY PHILOSOFY</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I ain't, ner don't p'tend to be,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Much posted on philosofy;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But thare is times, when all alone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I work out idees of my own.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And of these same thare is a few<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I'd like to jest refer to you—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pervidin' that you don't object<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To listen clos't and rickollect.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I allus argy that a man<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who does about the best he can<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is plenty good enugh to suit<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This lower mundane institute—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No matter ef his daily walk<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is subject fer his neghbor's talk,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And critic-minds of ev'ry whim<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Jest all git up and go fer him!<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I knowed a feller onc't that had<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The yeller-janders mighty bad,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And each and ev'ry friend he'd meet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Would stop and give him some receet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fer cuorin' of 'em. But he'd say<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He kindo' thought they'd go away<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Without no medicin', and boast<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That he'd git well without one doste.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He kep' a-yellerin' on—and they<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Perdictin' that he'd die some day<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Before he knowed it! Tuck his bed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The feller did, and lost his head,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And wundered in his mind a spell—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then rallied, and, at last, got well;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But ev'ry friend that said he'd die<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Went back on him eternally!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Its natchurl enugh, I guess,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When some gits more and some gits less,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fer them-uns on the slimmest side<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To claim it ain't a fare divide;<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span> +<span class="i0">And I've knowed some to lay and wait,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And git up soon, and set up late,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To ketch some feller they could hate<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fer goin' at a faster gait.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The signs is bad when folks commence<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A-findin' fault with Providence,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And balkin' 'cause the earth don't shake<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At ev'ry prancin' step they take.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No man is grate tel he can see<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How less than little he would be<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ef stripped to self, and stark and bare<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He hung his sign out anywhare.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">My doctern is to lay aside<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Contensions, and be satisfied:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Jest do your best, and praise er blame<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That follers that, counts jest the same.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I've allus noticed grate success<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is mixed with troubles, more or less,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And it's the man who does the best<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That gits more kicks than all the rest.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="WHEN_THE_FROST_IS_ON_THE_PUNKIN" id="WHEN_THE_FROST_IS_ON_THE_PUNKIN"></a>WHEN THE FROST IS ON THE PUNKIN</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And you hear the kyouck and gobble of the struttin' turkey-cock,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the clackin' of the guineys, and the cluckin' of the hens,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the rooster's hallylooyer as he tiptoes on the fence;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O, its then's the times a feller is a-feelin' at his best,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With the risin' sun to greet him from a night of peaceful rest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As he leaves the house, bare-headed, and goes out to feed the stock,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They's something kindo' harty-like about the atmusfere<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the heat of summer's over and the coolin' fall is here—<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Of course we miss the flowers, and the blossums on the trees,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the mumble of the hummin'-birds and buzzin' of the bees;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But the air's so appetizin'; and the landscape through the haze<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of a crisp and sunny morning of the airly autumn days<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is a pictur' that no painter has the colorin' to mock—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The husky, rusty russel of the tossels of the corn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the raspin' of the tangled leaves, as golden as the morn;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The stubble in the furries—kindo' lonesome-like, but still<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A-preachin' sermuns to us of the barns they growed to fill;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The strawstack in the medder, and the reaper in the shed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The hosses in theyr stalls below—the clover overhead!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O, it sets my hart a-clickin' like the tickin' of a clock,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock!<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then your apples all is getherd, and the ones a feller keeps<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is poured around the celler-floor in red and yeller heaps;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And your cider-makin' 's over, and your wimmern-folks is through<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With their mince and apple-butter, and theyr souse and saussage, too!...<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I don't know how to tell it—but ef sich a thing could be<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As the Angels wantin' boardin', and they'd call around on <i>me</i>—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I'd want to 'commodate 'em—all the whole-indurin' flock—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="ON_THE_DEATH_OF_LITTLE_MAHALA_ASHCRAFT" id="ON_THE_DEATH_OF_LITTLE_MAHALA_ASHCRAFT"></a>ON THE DEATH OF LITTLE MAHALA ASHCRAFT</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Little Haly! Little Haly!" cheeps the robin in the tree;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Little Haly!" sighs the clover, "Little Haly!" moans the bee;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Little Haly! Little Haly!" calls the kill-deer at twilight;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the katydids and crickets hollers "Haly!" all the night.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The sunflowers and the hollyhawks droops over the garden fence;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The old path down the gardenwalks still holds her footprints' dents;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the well-sweep's swingin' bucket seems to wait fer her to come<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And start it on its wortery errant down the old bee-gum.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The bee-hives all is quiet; and the little Jersey steer,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When any one comes nigh it, acts so lonesome-like and queer;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the little Banty chickens kindo' cutters faint and low,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like the hand that now was feedin' 'em was one they didn't know.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They's sorrow in the wavin' leaves of all the apple-trees;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sorrow in the harvest-sheaves, and sorrow in the breeze;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sorrow in the twitter of the swallers 'round the shed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all the song her red-bird sings is "Little Haly's dead!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The medder 'pears to miss her, and the pathway through the grass,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whare the dewdrops ust to kiss her little bare feet as she passed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the old pin in the gate-post seems to kindo'-sorto' doubt<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That Haly's little sunburnt hands'll ever pull it out.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Did her father er her mother ever love her more'n me,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Er her sisters er her brother prize her love more tendurly?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I question—and what answer?—only tears, and tears alone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And ev'ry neghbor's eyes is full o' tear-drops as my own.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Little Haly! Little Haly!" cheeps the robin in the tree;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Little Haly!" sighs the clover, "Little Haly!" moans the bee;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Little Haly! Little Haly!" calls the kill-deer at twilight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the katydids and crickets hollers "Haly!" all the night.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="THE_MULBERRY_TREE" id="THE_MULBERRY_TREE"></a>THE MULBERRY TREE</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O, it's many's the scenes which is dear to my mind<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As I think of my childhood so long left behind;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The home of my birth, with its old puncheon-floor,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the bright morning-glorys that growed round the door;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The warped clab-board roof whare the rain it run off<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Into streams of sweet dreams as I laid in the loft,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Countin' all of the joys that was dearest to me,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And a-thinkin' the most of the mulberry tree.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And to-day as I dream, with both eyes wide-awake,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I can see the old tree, and its limbs as they shake,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the long purple berries that rained on the ground<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whare the pastur' was bald whare we trommpt it around.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And again, peekin' up through the thick leafy shade,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I can see the glad smiles of the friends when I strayed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With my little bare feet from my own mother's knee<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To foller them off to the mulberry tree.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Leanin' up in the forks, I can see the old rail,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the boy climbin' up it, claw, tooth, and toe-nail,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And in fancy can hear, as he spits on his hands,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The ring of his laugh and the rip of his pants.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But that rail led to glory, as certin and shore<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As I'll never climb thare by that rout' any more—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What was all the green lauruls of Fame unto me,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With my brows in the boughs of the mulberry tree!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then its who can fergit the old mulberry tree<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That he knowed in the days when his thoughts was as free<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As the flutterin' wings of the birds that flew out<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the tall wavin' tops as the boys come about?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O, a crowd of my memories, laughin' and gay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is a-climbin' the fence of that pastur' to-day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And a-pantin' with joy, as us boys ust to be,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They go racin' acrost fer the mulberry tree.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="TO_MY_OLD_FRIEND_WILLIAM_LEACHMAN" id="TO_MY_OLD_FRIEND_WILLIAM_LEACHMAN"></a>TO MY OLD FRIEND, WILLIAM LEACHMAN</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Fer forty year and better you have been a friend to me,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through days of sore afflictions and dire adversity,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You allus had a kind word of counsul to impart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which was like a healin' 'intment to the sorrow of my hart.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When I burried my first womern, William Leachman, it was you<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had the only consolation that I could listen to—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fer I knowed you had gone through it and had rallied from the blow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And when you said I'd do the same, I knowed you'd ort to know.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But that time I'll long remember; how I wundered here and thare—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through the settin'-room and kitchen, and out in the open air—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the snowflakes whirlin', whirlin', and the fields a frozen glare,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the neghbors' sleds and wagons congergatin' ev'rywhare.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I turned my eyes to'rds heaven, but the sun was hid away;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I turned my eyes to'rds earth again, but all was cold and gray;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the clock, like ice a-crackin', clickt the icy hours in two—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And my eyes'd never thawed out ef it hadn't been fer you!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We set thare by the smoke-house—me and you out thare alone—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Me a-thinkin'—you a-talkin' in a soothin' undertone—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You a-talkin'—me a-thinkin' of the summers long ago,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And a-writin' "Marthy—Marthy" with my finger in the snow!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">William Leachman, I can see you jest as plane as I could then;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And your hand is on my shoulder, and you rouse me up again;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I see the tears a-drippin' from your own eyes, as you say:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Be rickonciled and bear it—we but linger fer a day!"<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">At the last Old Settlers' Meetin' we went j'intly, you and me—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your hosses and my wagon, as you wanted it to be;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sence I can remember, from the time we've neghbored here,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In all sich friendly actions you have double-done your sheer.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">It was better than the meetin', too, that 9-mile talk we had<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the times when we first settled here and travel was so bad;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When we had to go on hoss-back, and sometimes on "Shanks's mare,"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And "blaze" a road fer them behind that had to travel thare.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And now we was a-trottin' 'long a level gravel pike,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In a big two-hoss road-wagon, jest as easy as you like—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Two of us on the front seat, and our wimmern-folks behind,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A-settin' in theyr Winsor-cheers in perfect peace of mind!<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And we pinted out old landmarks, nearly faded out of sight:—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thare they ust to rob the stage-coach; thare Gash Morgan had the fight<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With the old stag-deer that pronged him—how he battled fer his life,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And lived to prove the story by the handle of his knife.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Thare the first griss-mill was put up in the Settlement, and we<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had tuck our grindin' to it in the Fall of Forty-three—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When we tuck our rifles with us, techin' elbows all the way,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And a-stickin' right together ev'ry minute, night and day.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Thare ust to stand the tavern that they called the "Travelers' Rest,"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And thare, beyent the covered bridge, "The Counterfitters' Nest"—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whare they claimed the house was ha'nted—that a man was murdered thare,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And burried underneath the floor, er 'round the place somewhare.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And the old Plank-road they laid along in Fifty-one er two—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You know we talked about the times when the old road was new:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How "Uncle Sam" put down that road and never taxed the State<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was a problem, don't you rickollect, we couldn't <i>dim</i>onstrate?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Ways was devius, William Leachman, that me and you has past;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But as I found you true at first, I find you true at last;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, now the time's a-comin' mighty nigh our jurney's end,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I want to throw wide open all my soul to you, my friend.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">With the stren'th of all my bein', and the heat of hart and brane,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And ev'ry livin' drop of blood in artery and vane,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I love you and respect you, and I venerate your name,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fer the name of William Leachman and True Manhood's jest the same!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="MY_FIDDLE" id="MY_FIDDLE"></a>MY FIDDLE</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">My fiddle?—Well, I kindo' keep her handy, don't you know!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though I ain't so much inclined to tromp the strings and switch the bow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As I was before the timber of my elbows got so dry,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And my fingers was more limber-like and caperish and spry;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Yit I can plonk and plunk and plink,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">And tune her up and play,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And jest lean back and laugh and wink<br /></span> +<span class="i6">At ev'ry rainy day!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">My playin' 's only middlin'—tunes I picked up when a boy—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The kindo'-sorto' fiddlin' that the folks calls "cordaroy";<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"The Old Fat Gal," and "Rye-straw," and "My Sailyor's on the Sea,"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is the old cowtillions <i>I</i> "saw" when the ch'ice is left to me;<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span> +<span class="i4">And so I plunk and plonk and plink,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">And rosum-up my bow<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And play the tunes that makes you think<br /></span> +<span class="i6">The devil's in your toe!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I was allus a romancin', do-less boy, to tell the truth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A-fiddlin' and a-dancin', and a-wastin' of my youth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And a-actin' and a-cuttin'-up all sorts o' silly pranks<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That wasn't worth a botton of anybody's thanks!<br /></span> +<span class="i4">But they tell me, when I ust to plink<br /></span> +<span class="i6">And plonk and plunk and play,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">My music seemed to have the kink<br /></span> +<span class="i6">O' drivin' cares away!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">That's how this here old fiddle's won my hart's indurin' love!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From the strings acrost her middle, to the schreechin' keys above—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From her "apern," over "bridge," and to the ribbon round her throat,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She's a wooin', cooin' pigeon, singin' "Love me" ev'ry note!<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span> +<span class="i4">And so I pat her neck, and plink<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Her strings with lovin' hands,—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And, list'nin' clos't, I sometimes think<br /></span> +<span class="i6">She kindo' understands!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="THE_CLOVER" id="THE_CLOVER"></a>THE CLOVER</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Some sings of the lilly, and daisy, and rose,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the pansies and pinks that the Summertime throws<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the green grassy lap of the medder that lays<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blinkin' up at the skyes through the sunshiney days;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But what is the lilly and all of the rest<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the flowers, to a man with a hart in his brest<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That was dipped brimmin' full of the honey and dew<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the sweet clover-blossoms his babyhood knew?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I never set eyes on a clover-field now,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Er fool round a stable, er climb in the mow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But my childhood comes back jest as clear and as plane<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As the smell of the clover I'm sniffin' again;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I wunder away in a bare-footed dream,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whare I tangle my toes in the blossoms that gleam<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With the dew of the dawn of the morning of love<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ere it wept ore the graves that I'm weepin' above.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And so I love clover—it seems like a part<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the sacerdest sorrows and joys of my hart;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And wharever it blossoms, oh, thare let me bow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And thank the good God as I'm thankin' Him now;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I pray to Him still fer the stren'th when I die,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To go out in the clover and tell it good-bye,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And lovin'ly nestle my face in its bloom<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While my soul slips away on a breth of purfume.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="NEGHBORLY_POEMS" id="NEGHBORLY_POEMS"></a>NEGHBORLY POEMS<br /> + +ON FRIENDSHIP, GRIEF AND FARM-LIFE<br /><br /> + +BY<br /> + +BENJ. F. JOHNSON, OF BOONE</h2> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span></p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><i> +<span class="i0">Us farmers in the country, as the seasons go and come,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is purty much like other folks,—we're apt to grumble some!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Spring's too back'ard fer us, er too for'ard—ary one—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We'll jaw about it anyhow, and have our way er none!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The thaw's set in too suddent; er the frost's stayed in the soil<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Too long to give the wheat a chance, and crops is bound to spoil!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The weather's eether most too mild, er too outrageous rough,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And altogether too much rain, er not half rain enugh!<br /></span></i> +</div><div class="stanza"><i> +<span class="i0">Now what I'd like and what you'd like is plane enugh to see:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It's jest to have old Providence drop round on you and me<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And ast us what our views is first, regardin' shine er rain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And post 'em when to shet her off, er let her on again!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And yit I'd ruther, after all—considern other chores<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I' got on hands, a-tendin' both to my affares and yours—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I'd ruther miss the blame I'd git, a-rulin' things up thare,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And spend my extry time in praise and gratitude and prayer.<br /></span></i> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="ERASMUS_WILSON" id="ERASMUS_WILSON"></a>ERASMUS WILSON</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Ras Wilson, I respect you, 'cause<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You're common, like you allus was<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Afore you went to town and s'prised<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The world by gittin' "reckonized,"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And yit perservin', as I say,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your common hoss-sense ev'ryway!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And when that name o' yourn occurs<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On hand-bills, er in newspapers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Er letters writ by friends 'at ast<br /></span> +<span class="i0">About you, same as in the past,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And neghbors and relations 'low<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You're out o' the tall timber now,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And "gittin' thare" about as spry's<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The next!—as <i>I say</i>, when my eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Er ears, lights on your name, I mind<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The first time 'at I come to find<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You—and my Rickollection yells,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Jest jubilunt as old sleigh-bells—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"'Ras Wilson! Say! Hold up! and shake<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A paw, fer old acquaintance sake!"<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> +<span class="i0">My <i>Rickollection</i>, more'n like,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hain't overly too apt to strike<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The what's-called "cultchurd public eye"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As wisdom of the deepest dye,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And yit my <i>Rickollection</i> makes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So blame lots fewer bad mistakes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Regardin' human-natchur' and<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The fellers 'at I've shook theyr hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than my <i>best jedgemunt's</i> done, the day<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I've met 'em—'fore I got away,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'At—Well, 'Ras Wilson, let me grip<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Your</i> hand in warmest pardnership!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Dad-burn ye!—Like to jest haul back<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A' old flat-hander, jest che-whack!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And take you 'twixt the shoulders, say,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sometime you're lookin' t'other way!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Er, maybe whilse you're speakin' to<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A whole blame Courthouse-full o' 'thu-<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Syastic friends, I'd like to jest<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Come in-like and break up the nest<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Afore you hatched anuther cheer,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And say: "'Ras, <i>I</i> can't stand hitched here<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span> +<span class="i0">All night—ner wouldn't ef I could!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But Little Bethel Neghborhood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You ust to live at, 's sent some word<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fer you, ef ary chance occurred<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To git it to ye,—so ef you<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Kin</i> stop, I'm waitin' fer ye to!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">You're common, as I said afore—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You're common, yit oncommon <i>more</i>.—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You allus kindo' 'pear, to me,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What all mankind had ort to be—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Jest <i>natchurl</i>, and the more hurraws<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You git, the less you know the cause—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like as ef God Hisse'f stood by<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where best on earth hain't half knee-high,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And <i>seein'</i> like, and knowin' <i>He</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0">'S the Only Grate Man really,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You're jest content to size your hight<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With any feller-man's in sight.—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And even then they's scrubs, like me,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Feels stuck-up, in your company!<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Like now:—I want to go with you<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Plum out o' town a mile er two<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Clean past the Fair-ground whare's some hint<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O' pennyrile er peppermint,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And bottom-lands, and timber thick<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Enugh to sorto' shade the crick!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I want to <i>see</i> you—want to set<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Down somers, whare the grass hain't wet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And kindo' <i>breathe</i> you, like puore air—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And taste o' your tobacker thare,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And talk and chaw! Talk o' the birds<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We've knocked with cross-bows.—Afterwards<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Drop, mayby, into some dispute<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Bout "pomgrannies," er cal'mus-root—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And how <i>they</i> growed, and <i>whare</i>?—on tree<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Er vine?—Who's best boy-memory!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And wasn't it <i>gingsang</i>, insted<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O' cal'mus-root, growed like you said?—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Er how to tell a coon-track from<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A mussrat's;—er how milksick come—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Er ef <i>cows</i> brung it?—Er why now<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We never see no "muley"-cow—<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Ner "frizzly"-chicken—ner no "clay-<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bank" mare—ner nothin' thataway!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And what's come o' the <i>yellow</i>-core<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Old wortermelons?—hain't no more.—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tomattusus, the same—all <i>red</i>-<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Uns nowadays—All past joys fled—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Each and all jest gone k-whizz!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like our days o' childhood is!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Dag-gone it, 'Ras! they hain't no friend,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It 'pears-like, left to comperhend<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sich things as these but you, and see<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How dratted sweet they air to me!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But you, 'at's loved 'em allus, and<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Kin sort 'em out and understand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Em, same as the fine books you've read,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all fine thoughts you've writ, er said,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Er worked out, through long nights o' rain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And doubts and fears, and hopes, again,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As bright as morning when she broke,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You know a teardrop from a joke!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And so, 'Ras Wilson, stop and shake<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A paw, fer old acquaintance sake!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="MY_RUTHERS" id="MY_RUTHERS"></a>MY RUTHERS</h2> + +<p>[Writ durin' State Fair at Indanoplis, whilse visitin' a Sonin-law +then residin' thare, who has sence got back to the country +whare he says a man that's raised thare ort to a-stayed in the +first place.]</p> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I tell you what I'd ruther do—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ef I only had my ruthers,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I'd ruther work when I wanted to<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Than be bossed round by others;—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">I'd ruther kindo' git the swing<br /></span> +<span class="i4">O' what was <i>needed</i>, first, I jing!<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Afore I <i>swet</i> at anything!—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ef I only had my ruthers;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In fact I'd aim to be the same<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With all men as my brothers;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And they'd all be the same with <i>me</i>—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ef I only had my ruthers.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I wouldn't likely know it all—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ef I only had my ruthers;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I'd know <i>some</i> sense, and some base-ball—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Some <i>old</i> jokes, and—some others:<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span> +<span class="i4">I'd know <i>some politics</i>, and 'low<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Some tarif-speeches same as now,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Then go hear Nye on "Branes and How<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To Detect Theyr Presence." <i>T'others</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That stayed away, I'd <i>let</i> 'em stay—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">All my dissentin' brothers<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Could chuse as shore a kill er cuore,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ef I only had my ruthers.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The pore 'ud git theyr dues <i>some</i>times—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ef I only had my ruthers,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And be paid <i>dollars</i> 'stid o' <i>dimes</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Fer childern, wives and mothers:<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Theyr boy that slaves; theyr girl that sews—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Fer <i>others</i>—not herself, God knows!—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The grave's <i>her</i> only change of clothes!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">... Ef I only had my ruthers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They'd all have "stuff" and time enugh<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To answer one-another's<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Appealin' prayer fer "lovin' care"—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ef I only had my ruthers.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They'd be few folks 'ud ast fer trust,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ef I only had my ruthers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And blame few business-men to bu'st<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Theyrselves, er harts of others:<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Big Guns that come here durin' Fair-<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Week could put up jest anywhare,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And find a full-and-plenty thare,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ef I only had my ruthers:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The rich and great 'ud 'sociate<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With all theyr lowly brothers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Feelin' <i>we</i> done the honorun—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ef I only had my ruthers.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="ON_A_DEAD_BABE" id="ON_A_DEAD_BABE"></a>ON A DEAD BABE</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Fly away! thou heavenly one!—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I do hail thee on thy flight!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sorrow? thou hath tasted none—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Perfect joy is yourn by right.<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Fly away! and bear our love<br /></span> +<span class="i4">To thy kith and kin above!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I can tetch thy finger-tips<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ca'mly, and bresh back the hair<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From thy forr'ed with my lips,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And not leave a teardrop thare.—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Weep fer <i>Tomps and Ruth</i>—and <i>me</i>—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">But I can not weep fer <i>thee</i>.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="A_OLD_PLAYED-OUT_SONG" id="A_OLD_PLAYED-OUT_SONG"></a>A OLD PLAYED-OUT SONG</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">It's the curiousest thing in creation,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whenever I hear that old song<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Do They Miss Me at Home," I'm so bothered,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My life seems as short as it's long!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fer ev'rything 'pears like adzackly<br /></span> +<span class="i2">It 'peared in the years past and gone,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When I started out sparkin', at twenty,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And had my first neckercher on!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Though I'm wrinkelder, older and grayer<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Right now than my parents was then,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You strike up that song "Do They Miss Me,"<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And I'm jest a youngster again!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I'm a-standin' back thare in the furries<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A-wishin' fer evening to come,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And a-whisperin' over and over<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Them words "Do They Miss Me at Home?"<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">You see, <i>Marthy Ellen she</i> sung it<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The first time I heerd it; and so,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As she was my very first sweethart,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">It reminds me of her, don't you know;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How her face ust to look, in the twilight,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As I tuck her to Spellin'; and she<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Kep' a-hummin' that song tel I ast her,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Pine-blank, ef she ever missed <i>me</i>!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I can shet my eyes now, as you sing it,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And hear her low answerin' words;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And then the glad chirp of the crickets,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As clear as the twitter of birds;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the dust in the road is like velvet,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the ragweed and fennel and grass<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is as sweet as the scent of the lillies<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of Eden of old, as we pass.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"<i>Do They Miss Me at Home?</i>" Sing it lower—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And softer—and sweet as the breeze<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That powdered our path with the snowy<br /></span> +<span class="i2">White bloom of the old locus'-trees!<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Let the whipperwills he'p you to sing it,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the echoes 'way over the hill,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tel the moon boolges out, in a chorus<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of stars, and our voices is still.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But oh! "They's a chord in the music<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That's missed when <i>her</i> voice is away!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though I listen from midnight tel morning,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And dawn tel the dusk of the day!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I grope through the dark, lookin' up'ards<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And on through the heavenly dome,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With my longin' soul singin' and sobbin'<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The words "Do They Miss Me at Home?"<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="COON-DOG_WESS" id="COON-DOG_WESS"></a>"COON-DOG WESS"</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Coon-dog Wess"—he allus went<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Mongst us here by that-air name.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Moved in this-here Settlement<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From next county—he laid claim,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lived down in the bottoms—whare<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Ust</i> to be some coons in thare!—<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In nigh Clayton's, next the crick,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Mind old Billy ust to say<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Coons in thare was jest that thick,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He'p him corn-plant any day!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, in rostneer-time, be then<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Aggin' him to plant again!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Well,—In Spring o' '67,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">This-here "Coon-dog Wess" he come—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fetchin' 'long 'bout forty-'leven<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ornriest-lookin' hounds, I gum!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ever mortul-man laid eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On sence dawn o' Christian skies!<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Wife come traipsin' at the rag-<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Tag-and-bobtail of the crowd,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dogs and childern, with a bag<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Corn-meal and some side-meat,—<i>Proud</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And as <i>independunt</i>—<i>My!</i>—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yit a mild look in her eye.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Well—this "Coon-dog Wess" he jest<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Moved in that-air little pen<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of a pole-shed, aidgin' west<br /></span> +<span class="i2">On "The Slues o' Death," called then.—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Otter- and mink-hunters ust<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To camp thare 'fore game vam-moosd.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Abul-bodied man,—and lots<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Call fer <i>choppers</i>—and fer hands<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To git <i>cross-ties</i> out.—But what's<br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>Work</i> to sich as understands<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ways appinted and is hence<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Under special providence?—<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Coon-dog Wess's" holts was <i>hounds</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2">And <i>coon-huntin'</i>; and he knowed<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>His</i> own range, and stayed in bounds<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And left work for them 'at showed<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Talents</i> fer it—same as his<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gifts regardin' coon-dogs is.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Hounds of ev'ry mungerl breed<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ever whelped on earth!—Had these<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Yeller</i> kind, with punkin-seed<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Marks above theyr eyes—and fleas<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Both to sell and keep!—Also<br /></span> +<span class="i0">These-here <i>lop-yeerd</i> hounds, you know.—<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Yes-and <i>brindle</i> hounds—and long,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ga'nt hounds, with them eyes they' got<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So blame <i>sorry</i>, it seems wrong,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Most, to kick 'em as to not!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Man, though, wouldn't dast, I guess,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Kick a hound fer "Coon-dog Wess"!<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Tended to his own affairs<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Stric'ly;—made no brags,—and yit<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You could see 'at them hounds' cares<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Peared like <i>his</i>,—and he'd a-fit<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fer 'em, same as wife er child!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Them facts made folks rickonciled,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Sorto', fer to let him be<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And not pester him. And then<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Word begin to spread 'at he<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Had brung in as high as ten<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Coon-pelts in one night—and yit<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Didn't 'pear to boast of it!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Neghborhood made some complaints<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Bout them plague-gone hounds at night<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Howlin' fit to wake the saints,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Clean from dusk tel plum day-light!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But to "Coon-dog Wess" them-thare<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Howls was "music in the air"!<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Fetched his pelts to Gilson's Store—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Newt he shipped fer him, and said,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sence <i>he'd</i> cooned thare, he'd shipped more<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Than three hunderd pelts!—"By Ned!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Git shet of my <i>store</i>," Newt says,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"I'd go in with 'Coon-dog Wess'!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And the feller 'peared to be<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Makin' best and most he could<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of his rale prospairity:—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Bought some household things—and <i>good</i>,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Likewise, wagon-load onc't come<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From wharever he'd moved from.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But pore feller's huntin'-days,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Bout them times, was glidin' past!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Goes out onc't one night and <i>stays!</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2">... Neghbors they turned out, at last,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Headed by his wife and one<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Half-starved hound—and search begun.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Boys said, that blame hound, he led<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Searchin' party, 'bout a half<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mile ahead, and bellerin', said,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Worse'n ary yearlin' calf!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tel, at last, come fur-off sounds<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like the howl of other hounds.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And-sir, shore enugh, them signs<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Fetched 'em—in a' hour er two—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whare the <i>pack</i> was;—and they finds<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"Coon-dog Wess" <i>right thare</i>;—And you<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Would admitted he was right<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Stayin'</i>, as he had, <i>all night!</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Facts is, cuttin' down a tree,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The blame thing had sorto' fell<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In a twist-like—<i>mercy me!</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2">And had ketched him.—Couldn't tell,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wess said, <i>how</i> he'd managed—yit<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He'd got both legs under it!<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Fainted and come to, I s'pose,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Bout a dozen times whilse they<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Chopped him out!—And wife she froze<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To him!—bresh his hair away<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And smile cheerful'—only when<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He'd faint.—Cry and kiss him <i>then</i>.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Had <i>his</i> nerve!—And nussed him through,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Neghbors he'pped her—all she'd stand.—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had a loom, and she could do<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Carpet-weavin' railly grand!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"'Sides," she ust to laugh and say,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"She'd have Wess, now, <i>night</i> and day!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">As fer <i>him</i>, he'd say, says-ee,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"I'm resigned to bein' lame:—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They was four coons up that tree,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And hounds got 'em, jest the same!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Peared like, one er two legs less<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Never worried "Coon-dog Wess"!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span></p> +<h2> +LINES TO<br /> +PERFESSER JOHN CLARK RIDPATH<br /> +A. M., LL. D. T-Y-TY!<br /> +</h2> + +<p>[Cumposed by A Old Friend of the Fambily sence 'way back +in the Forties, when they Settled nigh Fillmore, Putnam County, +this State, whare John was borned and growed up, you might +say, like the wayside flower.]</p> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Your neghbors in the country, whare you come from, hain't fergot!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We knowed you even better than your own-self, like as not.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We profissied your runnin'-geers 'ud stand a soggy load<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And pull her, purty stiddy, up a mighty rocky road:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We been a-watchin' your career sence you could write your name—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But way you writ it <i>first</i>, I'll say, was jest a burnin' shame!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your "J. C." in the copybook, and "Ridpath"—mercy-sakes!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Quiled up and tide in dubble bows, lookt like a nest o' snakes!—<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span> +<span class="i2">But <i>you</i> could read it, I <i>suppose</i>, and kindo' gloted on<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A-bein' "<i>J. C. Ridpath</i>" when <i>we</i> only called you "<i>John</i>."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But you'd work 's well as fool, and what you had to do was <i>done</i>:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We've watched you at the woodpile—not the <i>woodshed</i>—wasent none,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And snow and sleet, and haulin', too, and lookin' after stock,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And milkin', nights, and feedin' pigs,—then turnin' back the clock,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So's you could set up studyin' your 'Rethmatic, and fool<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your Parents, whilse a-piratin' your way through winter school!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I've heerd tell—from your own folks—you've set and baked your face<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A-readin' Plutark Slives all night by that old fi-er-place.—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yit, 'bout them times, the blackboard, onc't, had on it, I <i>de</i>-clare,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"Yours truly, <i>J. Clark</i> Ridpath."—And the teacher—left it thare!<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And they was other symptums, too, that pinted, plane as day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To nothin' short of <i>College</i>!—and <i>one</i> was the lovin' way<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your mother had of cheerin' you to efforts brave and strong,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And puttin' more faith in you, as you needed it along:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She'd pat you on the shoulder, er she'd grab you by the hands,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And <i>laugh</i> sometimes, er <i>cry</i> sometimes.—They's few that understands<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Jest <i>what</i> theyr mother's drivin' at when they act thataway;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But I'll say this fer <i>you</i>, John-Clark,—you answered, night and day,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To ev'ry trust and hope of hers—and half your College fame<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Was battled fer and won fer her and glory of her name.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The likes of <i>you</i> at <i>College</i>! But you went thare. How you paid<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your way nobody's astin'—but you <i>worked</i>,—you hain't afraid,—<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Your <i>clothes</i> was, more'n likely, kindo' out o' style, perhaps,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And not as snug and warm as some 'at hid the other chaps;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But when it come to <i>Intullect</i>—they tell me yourn was dressed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A <i>leetle</i> mite <i>superber</i>-like than any of the rest!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And there you <i>stayed</i>—and thare you've made your rickord, fare and square—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tel <i>now</i> its <i>Fame</i> 'at writes your name, approvin', <i>ev'rywhare</i>—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Not <i>jibblets</i> of it, nuther,—but all John Clark Ridpath, set<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Plum at the dashboard of the whole-endurin' Alfabet!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="A_TALE_OF_THE_AIRLY_DAYS" id="A_TALE_OF_THE_AIRLY_DAYS"></a>A TALE OF THE AIRLY DAYS</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh! tell me a tale of the airly days—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of the times as they ust to be;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Piller of Fi-er" and "Shakspeare's Plays"<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is a' most too deep fer me!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I want plane facts, and I want plane words,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of the good old-fashiond ways,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When speech run free as the songs of birds<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Way back in the airly days.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Tell me a tale of the timber-lands—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of the old-time pioneers;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Somepin' a pore man understands<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With his feelin's well as ears.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tell of the old log house,—about<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The loft, and the puncheon flore—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The old fi-er-place, with the crane swung out,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the latch-string thrugh the door.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Tell of the things jest as they was—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They don't need no excuse!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Don't tetch 'em up like the poets does,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Tel theyr all too fine fer use!—<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Say they was 'leven in the fambily—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Two beds, and the chist, below,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the trundle-beds that each helt three,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the clock and the old bureau.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then blow the horn at the old back-door<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Tel the echoes all halloo,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the childern gethers home onc't more,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Jest as they ust to do:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blow fer Pap tel he hears and comes,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With Tomps and Elias, too,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A-marchin' home, with the fife and drums<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the old Red White and Blue!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Blow and blow tel the sound draps low<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As the moan of the whipperwill,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And wake up Mother, and Ruth and Jo,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">All sleepin' at Bethel Hill:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blow and call tel the faces all<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Shine out in the back-log's blaze,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the shadders dance on the old hewed wall<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As they did in the airly days.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="MYLO_JONESS_WIFE" id="MYLO_JONESS_WIFE"></a>"MYLO JONES'S WIFE"</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Mylo Jones's wife" was all<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I heerd, mighty near, last Fall—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Visitun relations down<br /></span> +<span class="i0">T'other side of Morgantown!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mylo Jones's wife she does<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This and that, and "those" and "thus"!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Can't 'bide babies in her sight—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ner no childern, day and night,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whoopin' round the premises—<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Ner no nothin' else</i>, I guess!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Mylo Jones's wife she 'lows<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She's the boss of her own house!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mylo—consequences is—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stays whare things seem <i>some</i> like <i>his</i>,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Uses, mostly, with the stock—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Coaxin' "Old Kate" not to balk,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ner kick hoss-flies' branes out, ner<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Act, I s'pose, so much like <i>her</i>!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yit the wimmern-folks tells you<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She's <i>perfection</i>.—Yes they do!<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Mylo's wife she says she's found<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Home hain't home with <i>men-folks</i> round<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When they's work like <i>hern</i> to do—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Picklin' pears and <i>butchern</i>, too,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And a-rendern lard, and then<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cookin' fer a pack of men<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To come trackin' up the flore<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>She's</i> scrubbed <i>tel</i> she'll scrub no <i>more</i>!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yit she'd keep things clean ef they<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Made her scrub tel Jedgmunt Day!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Mylo Jones's wife she sews<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Carpet-rags and patches clothes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Jest year <i>in</i> and <i>out</i>!—and yit<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whare's the livin' use of it?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She asts Mylo that.—And he<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gits back whare he'd ruther be,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With his team;—jest <i>plows</i>—and don't<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Never sware—like some folks won't!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Think ef <i>he'd cut loose</i>, I gum!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'D he'p his heavenly chances some!<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Mylo's wife don't see no use,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ner no reason ner excuse<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fer his pore relations to<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hang round like they allus do!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thare 'bout onc't a year—and <i>she</i>—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She jest <i>ga'nts</i> 'em, folks tells me,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On spiced pears!—Pass Mylo one,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He says "No, he don't chuse none!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Workin' men like Mylo they<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'D ort to have <i>meat</i> ev'ry day!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Dad-burn Mylo Jones's wife!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ruther rake a blame caseknife<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Crost my wizzen than to see<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sich a womern rulin' <i>me</i>!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ruther take and turn in and<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Raise a fool mule-colt by hand!<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Mylo</i>, though—od-rot the man!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Jest keeps ca'm—like some folks <i>can</i>—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And 'lows sich as her, I s'pose,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is <i>Man's he'pmeet</i>!—Mercy knows!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="ON_A_SPLENDUD_MATCH" id="ON_A_SPLENDUD_MATCH"></a>ON A SPLENDUD MATCH</h2> + +<p>[On the night of the marraige of the foregoin' couple, which +shall be nameless here, these lines was ca'mly dashed off in the +albun of the happy bride whilse the shivver-ree was goin' on +outside the residence.]</p> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He was warned against the <i>womern</i>—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">She was warned aginst the <i>man</i>.—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And ef <i>that</i> won't make a weddin',<br /></span> +<span class="i2">W'y, they's nothin' else that can!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="OLD_JOHN_CLEVENGER_ON_BUCKEYES" id="OLD_JOHN_CLEVENGER_ON_BUCKEYES"></a>OLD JOHN CLEVENGER ON BUCKEYES</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Old John Clevenger lets on,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Allus, like he's purty rough<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Timber.—He's a grate old John!—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"Rough?"—don't swaller no sich stuff!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Moved here, sence the war was through,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From Ohio—somers near<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Old Bucyrus,—loyal, too,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As us "Hoosiers" is to <i>here</i>!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Git old John stirred up a bit<br /></span> +<span class="i2">On his old home stompin'-ground—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Talks same as he lived thare yit,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When some subject brings it round—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like, fer instunce, Sund'y last,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Fetched his wife, and et and stayed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All night with us.—Set and gassed<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Tel plum midnight—'cause I made<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some remark 'bout "buckeyes" and<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"What was buckeyes good fer?"—So,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like I 'lowed, he waved his hand<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And lit in and let me know:—<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span> +<span class="i0">"'What is Buckeyes good fer?'—What's<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Pineys</i> and <i>fergitmenots</i>?—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Honeysuckles, and sweet peas,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sweet-williamsuz, and these<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Johnny-jump-ups ev'rywhare,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Growin' round the roots o' trees<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In Spring-weather?—what air <i>they</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Good fer?—kin you tell me—<i>Hey?</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Good to look at?' Well they air!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Specially when <i>Winter's</i> gone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Clean <i>dead-certin!</i> and the wood's<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Green again, and sun feels good's<br /></span> +<span class="i0">June!—and shed your blame boots on<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The back porch, and lit out to<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Roam round like you ust to do,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bare-foot, up and down the crick,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whare the buckeyes growed so thick,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And witch-hazel and pop-paws,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And hackberries and black-haws—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With wild pizen-vines jis knit<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Over</i> and <i>en-nunder</i> it,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And wove round it all, I jing!<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Tel you couldn't hardly stick<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A durn <i>caseknife</i> through the thing!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wriggle round through <i>that</i>; and then—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All het-up, and scratched and tanned,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And muskeeter-bit and mean-<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Feelin'—all at onc't again,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Come out suddent on a clean<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Slopin' little hump o' green<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dry soft grass, as fine and grand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As a pollor-sofy!—And<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Jis pile down thare!—and tell <i>me</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Anywhares</i> you'd ruther be—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Ceptin' <i>right thare</i>, with the wild-<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Flowrs all round ye, and your eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Smilin' with 'em at the skies,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Happy as a little child!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Well!—right here, <i>I</i> want to say,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Poets kin talk all they please<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Bout 'wild-flowrs, in colors gay,'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And 'sweet blossoms flauntin' theyr<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beauteous fragrunce on the breeze'—<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span> +<span class="i0">But the sight o' <i>buckeyes</i> jis<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sweet to me as <i>blossoms</i> is!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"I'm <i>Ohio-born</i>—right whare<br /></span> +<span class="i0">People's <i>all</i> called 'Buckeyes' <i>thare</i>—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Cause, I s'pose, our buckeye crap's<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Biggest in the world, perhaps!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ner my head don't stretch my hat<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Too much on account o' <i>that</i>!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Cause it's Natchur's ginerus hand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sows 'em broadcast ore the land,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With eye-single fer man's good<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the gineral neghborhood!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So <i>buckeyes</i> jis natchurly<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Pears like <i>kith-and-kin</i> to <i>me</i>!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Slike the good old sayin' wuz,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Purty <i>is</i> as purty <i>does</i>!'—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We can't eat 'em, cookd er raw—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yit, I mind, <i>tomattusuz</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wuz considerd pizenus<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Onc't</i>—and dasent eat 'em!—<i>Pshaw</i>—<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span> +<span class="i0">'Twouldn't take <i>me</i> by supprise,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Someday, ef we et <i>buckeyes</i>!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That, though, 's nuther here ner thare!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Jis the Buckeye</i> whare we air,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the present times, is what<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ockuppies my lovin' care<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And my most perfoundest thought!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">... Guess, this minute, what I got<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In my pocket, 'at I've packed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Purt'-nigh forty year.—A dry,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Slick and shiny, warped and cracked,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wilted, weazened old <i>buckeye</i>!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What's it <i>thare</i> fer? What's my hart<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In my <i>brest</i> fer?—'Cause it's part<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of my <i>life</i>—and 'tends to biz—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like this <i>buckeye's</i> bound to act—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Cause <i>it</i> 'tends to <i>Rhumatiz</i>!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"... Ketched more <i>rhumatiz</i> than <i>fish</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Seinen', onc't—and pants froze on<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My blame legs!—And ust to wish<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I wuz well er <i>dead and gone</i>!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Doc give up the case, and shod<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span> +<span class="i0">His old boss again and stayed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On good roads!—<i>And thare I laid!</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pap he tuck some bluegrass sod<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Steeped in whisky, bilin'-hot,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And socked <i>that</i> on! Then I got<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sorto' holt o' him, <i>somehow</i>—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Kindo' crazy-like, they say—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I'd <i>killed</i> him, like as not,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ef I hadn't swooned away!<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Smell my scortcht pelt purt'-nigh now!</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Well—to make a long tale short—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I hung on the blame disease<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like a shavin'-hoss! and sort<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O' wore it out by slow degrees—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tel my legs wuz straight enugh<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To poke through my pants again<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And kick all the doctor-stuff<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the fi-er-place! Then turned in<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And tuck Daddy Craig's old cuore—<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Jis a buckeye</i>—and that's <i>shore</i>.—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hain't no case o' rhumatiz<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Kin subsist whare buckeyes is!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="THE_HOSS" id="THE_HOSS"></a>THE HOSS</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The hoss he is a splendud beast;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He is man's friend, as heaven desined,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, search the world from west to east,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">No honester you'll ever find!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Some calls the hoss "a pore dumb brute,"<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And yit, like Him who died fer you,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I say, as I theyr charge refute,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"'Fergive; they know not what they do!'"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">No wiser animal makes tracks<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Upon these earthly shores, and hence<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Arose the axium, true as facts,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Extoled by all, as "Good hoss-sense!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The hoss is strong, and knows his stren'th,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">You hitch him up a time er two<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And lash him, and he'll go his len'th<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And kick the dashboard out fer you!<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But, treat him allus good and kind,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And never strike him with a stick,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ner aggervate him, and you'll find<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He'll never do a hostile trick.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A hoss whose master tends him right<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And worters him with daily care,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Will do your biddin' with delight,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And act as docile as <i>you</i> air.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He'll paw and prance to hear your praise,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Because he's learn't to love you well;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, though you can't tell what he says,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He'll nicker all he wants to tell.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He knows you when you slam the gate<br /></span> +<span class="i2">At early dawn, upon your way<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unto the barn, and snorts elate,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To git his corn, er oats, er hay.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He knows you, as the orphant knows<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The folks that loves her like theyr own,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And raises her and "finds" her clothes,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And "schools" her tel a womern-grown!<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I claim no hoss will harm a man,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ner kick, ner run away, cavort,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stump-suck, er balk, er "catamaran,"<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ef you'll jest treat him as you ort.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But when I see the beast abused,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And clubbed around as I've saw some,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I want to see his owner noosed,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And jest yanked up like Absolum!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Of course they's differunce in stock,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A hoss that has a little yeer,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And slender build, and shaller hock,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Can beat his shadder, mighty near!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Whilse one that's thick in neck and chist<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And big in leg and full in flank,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That tries to race, I still insist<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He'll have to take the second rank.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And I have jest laid back and laughed,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And rolled and wallered in the grass<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At fairs, to see some heavy-draft<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Lead out at <i>first</i>, yit come in <i>last</i>!<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Each hoss has his appinted place,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The heavy hoss should plow the soil;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The blooded racer, he must race,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And win big wages fer his toil.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I never bet—ner never wrought<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Upon my feller-man to bet—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And yit, at times, I've often thought<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of my convictions with regret.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I bless the hoss from hoof to head—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From head to hoof, and tale to mane!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I bless the hoss, as I have said,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From head to hoof, and back again!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I love my God the first of all,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Then Him that perished on the cross,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And next, my wife,—and then I fall<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Down on my knees and love the hoss.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="EZRA_HOUSE" id="EZRA_HOUSE"></a>EZRA HOUSE</h2> + +<p>[These lines was writ, in ruther high sperits, jest at the close of +what's called the Anti Bellum Days, and more to be a-foolin' +than anything else,—though they is more er less facts in it. But +some of the boys, at the time we was all a-singin' it, fer Ezry's +benefit, to the old tune of "The Oak and the Ash and the Bonny +Willer Tree," got it struck off in the weekly, without leave er +lisence of mine; and so sence they's allus some of 'em left to +rigg me about it yit, I might as well claim the thing right here +and now, so here goes. I give it jest as it appeared, fixed up and +grammatisized consider'ble, as the editer told me he took the +liburty of doin', in that sturling old home paper <span class="smcap">The Advance</span>—as +sound a paper yit to-day and as stanch and abul as you'll +find in a hunderd.]</p> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Come listen, good people, while a story I do tell,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the sad fate of one which I knew so passing well;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He enlisted at McCordsville, to battle in the South,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And protect his country's union; his name was Ezra House.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He was a young school-teacher, and educated high<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In regards to Ray's arithmetic, and also Algebra:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He give good satisfaction, but at his country's call<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He dropped his position, his Algebra and all.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"It's oh, I'm going to leave you, kind scholars," he said—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For he wrote a composition the last day and read;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And it brought many tears in the eyes of the school,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To say nothing of his sweetheart he was going to leave so soon.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"I have many recollections to take with me away,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the merry transpirations in the school-room so gay;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And of all that's past and gone I will never regret<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I went to serve my country at the first of the outset!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He was a good penman, and the lines that he wrote<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On that sad occasion was too fine for me to quote,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For I was there and heard it, and I ever will recall<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It brought the happy tears to the eyes of us all.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And when he left, his sweetheart she fainted away,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And said she could never forget the sad day<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When her lover so noble, and gallant and gay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Said "Fare you well, my true love!" and went marching away.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But he hadn't been gone for more than two months,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the sad news come—"he was in a skirmish once,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And a cruel Rebel ball had wounded him full sore<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the region of the chin, through the canteen he wore."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But his health recruited up, and his wounds they got well,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But whilst he was in battle at Bull Run or Malvern Hill,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The news come again, so sorrowful to hear—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"A sliver from a bombshell cut off his right ear."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But he stuck to the boys, and it's often he would write,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That "he wasn't afraid for his country to fight."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But oh, had he returned on a furlough, I believe<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He would not, to-day, have such cause to grieve.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">For in another battle—the name I never heard—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He was guarding the wagons when an accident occurred,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A comrade who was under the influence of drink,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shot him with a musket through the right cheek, I think.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But his dear life was spared; but it hadn't been for long,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till a cruel Rebel colonel come riding along,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And struck him with his sword, as many do suppose,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For his cap-rim was cut off, and also his nose.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But Providence, who watches o'er the noble and the brave,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Snatched him once more from the jaws of the grave;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And just a little while before the close of the war,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He sent his picture home to his girl away so far.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And she fell into decline, and she wrote in reply,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"She had seen his face again and was ready to die";<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And she wanted him to promise, when she was in her tomb,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He would only visit that by the light of the moon.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But he never returned at the close of the war,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the boys that got back said he hadn't the heart;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But he got a position in a powder-mill, and said<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He hoped to meet the doom that his country denied.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span></p> +<h2> +A PEN-PICTUR'<br /> +OF A CERTIN FRIVVOLUS OLD MAN<br /> +</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Most ontimely old man yit!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Pear-like sometimes he jest <i>tries</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0">His fool-self, and takes the bitt<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In his teeth and jest de-fies<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All perpryties!—Lay and swet<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Doin' <i>nothin'</i>—only jest<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sorto' speckillatun on<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whare old summertimes is gone,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And 'bout things that he loved best<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When a youngster! Heerd him say<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Springtimes</i> made him thataway—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Speshully on <i>Sund'ys</i>—when<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sun shines out and in again,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the lonesome old hens they<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Git off under the old kern-<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Bushes, and in deep concern<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Talk-like to theyrselvs</i>, and scratch<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Kindo' absunt-minded, jest<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like theyr thoughts was fur away<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In some neghbor's gyarden-patch<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Folks has tended keerfullest!<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Heerd the old man dwell on these<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Idys time and time again!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Heerd him claim that orchurd-trees<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Bloomin', put the mischief in<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His old hart sometimes that bad<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And owdacious that he "<i>had</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2">To break loose <i>some</i>way," says he,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"Ornry as I ust to be!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Heerd him say one time—when I<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was a sorto' standin' by,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the air so still and clear,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Heerd the bell fer church clean here!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Said: "Ef I could climb and set<br /></span> +<span class="i2">On the old three-cornerd rail<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Old home-place, nigh Maryette',<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Swop my soul off, hide and tale!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And-sir! blame ef tear and laugh<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Didn't ketch him half and half!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"Oh!" he says, "to wake and be<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bare-foot, in the airly dawn<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In the pastur'!—thare," says he,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Standin' whare the cow's slep' on<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span> +<span class="i2">The cold, dewy grass that's got<br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>Print</i> of her jest steamy hot<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fer to warm a feller's heels<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In a while!—How good it feels!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sund'y!—Country!—Morning!—Hear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nothin' but the <i>silunce</i>—see<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nothin' but green woods and clear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Skies and unwrit poetry<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By the acre!... Oh!" says he,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"What's this voice of mine?—to seek<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To speak out, and yit <i>can't</i> speak!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"<i>Think!</i>—the lazyest of days"—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Takin' his contrairyest leap,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He went on,—"git up, er sleep—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Er whilse feedin', watch the haze<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Dancin' 'crost the wheat,—and keep<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My pipe goin' laisurely—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Puff and whiff as pleases me,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Er I'll leave a trail of smoke<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through <i>the house</i>!—no one'll say<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'<i>Throw that nasty thing away!</i>'<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span> +<span class="i2">'Pear-like nothin' sacerd's broke,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Goin' bare-foot ef I chuse!—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I <i>have fiddled</i>;—and dug bait<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And <i>went fishin'</i>;—pitched hoss-shoes—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whare they couldn't see us from<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The main road.—And I've <i>beat</i> some.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I've set round and had my joke<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With the thrashers at the barn—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I've swopped 'em yarn fer yarn!—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Er I've he'pped the childern poke<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fer hens'-nests—agged on a match<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Twixt the boys, to watch 'em scratch<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And paw round and rip and tare,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And bust buttons and pull hair<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To theyr rompin' harts' content—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And me jest a-settin' thare<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hatchin' out more devilment!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">"What you s'pose now ort to be<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Done with sich a man?" says he—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"Sich a fool-old-man as me!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="WET-WEATHER_TALK" id="WET-WEATHER_TALK"></a>WET-WEATHER TALK</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">It hain't no use to grumble and complane;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">It's jest as cheap and easy to rejoice.—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When God sorts out the weather and sends rain,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">W'y, rain's my choice.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Men ginerly, to all intents—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Although they're apt to grumble some—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Puts most theyr trust in Providence,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And takes things as they come—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">That is, the commonality<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Of men that's lived as long as me<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Has watched the world enugh to learn<br /></span> +<span class="i4">They're not the boss of this concern.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">With <i>some</i>, of course, it's different—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I've saw <i>young</i> men that knowed it all,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And didn't like the way things went<br /></span> +<span class="i2">On this terrestchul ball;—<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">But all the same, the rain, some way,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Rained jest as hard on picnic day;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Er, when they railly <i>wanted</i> it,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">It mayby wouldn't rain a bit!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In this existunce, dry and wet<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Will overtake the best of men—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some little skift o' clouds'll shet<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The sun off now and then.—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And mayby, whilse you're wundern who<br /></span> +<span class="i4">You've fool-like lent your umbrell' to,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And <i>want</i> it—out'll pop the sun,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And you'll be glad you hain't got none!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">It aggervates the farmers, too—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They's too much wet, er too much sun,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Er work, er waitin' round to do<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Before the plowin' 's done:<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And mayby, like as not, the wheat,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Jest as it's lookin' hard to beat,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Will ketch the storm—and jest about<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The time the corn's a-jintin' out.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">These-here <i>cy-clones</i> a-foolin' round—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And back'ard crops!—and wind and rain!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And yit the corn that's wallerd down<br /></span> +<span class="i2">May elbow up again!—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">They hain't no sense, as I can see,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Fer mortuls, sich as us, to be<br /></span> +<span class="i4">A-faultin' Natchur's wise intents,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And lockin' horns with Providence!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">It hain't no use to grumble and complane;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">It's jest as cheap and easy to rejoice.—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When God sorts out the weather and sends rain,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">W'y, rain's my choice.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="THOUGHTS_ON_A_PORE_JOKE" id="THOUGHTS_ON_A_PORE_JOKE"></a>THOUGHTS ON A PORE JOKE</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I like fun—and I like jokes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Bout as well as most o' folks!—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Like my joke, and like my fun;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But a joke, I'll state right here,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'S got some p'int—er I don't keer<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Fer no joke that hain't got none.—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I hain't got no use, I'll say,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fer a <i>pore</i> joke, anyway!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">F'rinstunce, now, when <i>some</i> folks gits<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To relyin' on theyr wits,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ten to one they git too smart<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And <i>spile</i> it all, right at the start!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Feller wants to jest go slow<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And do his <i>thinkin'</i> first, you know.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'F I can't think up somepin' good,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I set still and chaw my cood!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'F you <i>think</i> nothin'—jest keep on,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But don't <i>say</i> it—er you're gone!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="A_MORTUL_PRAYER" id="A_MORTUL_PRAYER"></a>A MORTUL PRAYER</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh! Thou that vaileth from all eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The glory of Thy face,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And setteth throned behind the skies<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In Thy abiding-place:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though I but dimly recko'nize<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thy purposes of grace;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And though with weak and wavering<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Deserts, and vexd with fears,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I lift the hands I can not wring<br /></span> +<span class="i2">All dry of sorrow's tears,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Make puore my prayers that daily wing<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Theyr way unto Thy ears!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh! with the hand that tames the flood<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And smooths the storm to rest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Make ba'mmy dews of all the blood<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That stormeth in my brest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And so refresh my hart to bud<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And bloom the loveliest.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Lull all the clammer of my soul<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To silunce; bring release<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unto the brane still in controle<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of doubts; bid sin to cease,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And let the waves of pashun roll<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And kiss the shores of peace.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Make me to love my feller-man—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yea, though his bitterness<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Doth bite as only adders can—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Let <i>me</i> the fault confess,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And go to him and clasp his hand<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And love him none the less.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So keep me, Lord, ferever free<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From vane concete er whim;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And he whose pius eyes can see<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My faults, however dim,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh! let him pray the least fer me,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And me the most fer him.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="THE_FIRST_BLUEBIRD" id="THE_FIRST_BLUEBIRD"></a>THE FIRST BLUEBIRD</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Jest rain and snow! and rain again!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And dribble! drip! and blow!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then snow! and thaw! and slush! and then—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Some more rain and snow!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">This morning I was 'most afeard<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To <i>wake</i> up—when, I jing!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I seen the sun shine out and heerd<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The first bluebird of Spring!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mother she'd raised the winder some;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And in acrost the orchurd come,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Soft as a angel's wing,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A breezy, treesy, beesy hum,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Too sweet fer anything!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The winter's shroud was rent a-part—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The sun bust forth in glee,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And when that <i>that bluebird</i> sung, my hart<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Hopped out o' bed with me!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span></p> +<h2> +EVAGENE BAKER—WHO WAS DYIN' OF DRED CONSUMTION<br /> +AS THESE LINES WAS PENNED BY A TRUE FRIEND<br /> +</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Pore afflicted Evagene!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whilse the woods is fresh and green,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the birds on ev'ry hand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sings in rapture sweet and grand,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou, of all the joyus train,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Art bedridden, and in pain<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sich as only them can cherish<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who, like flowrs, is first to perish!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When the neghbors brought the word<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She was down, the folks inferred<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It was jest a cold she'd caught,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dressin' thinner than she'd ort<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fer the frolicks and the fun<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the dancin' that she'd done<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Fore the Spring was flush er ary<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Blossom on the peach er cherry.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But, last Sund'y, her request<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fer the Church's prayers was jest<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rail hart-renderin' to hear!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Many was the silunt tear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the tremblin' sigh, to show<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She was dear to us below<br /></span> +<span class="i2">On this earth—and <i>dearer</i>, even,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When we thought of her a-leavin'!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Sisters prayed, and coted from<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Genesis to Kingdom-come<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Provin' of her title clear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To the mansions.—"Even <i>her</i>,"<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>They</i> claimed, "might be saved, <i>someway</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though she'd danced, and played crowkay,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And wrought on her folks to git her<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Fancy shoes that never fit her!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Us</i> to pray fer <i>Evagene</i>!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With her hart as puore and clean<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As a rose is after rain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the sun comes out again!—<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span> +<span class="i0">What's the use to pray for <i>her</i>?<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>She</i> don't need no prayin' fer!—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Needed, all her life, more <i>playin'</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Than she ever needed prayin'!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I jest thought of all she'd been<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sence her <i>mother</i> died, and when<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She turned in and done <i>her</i> part—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All <i>her</i> cares on that child-hart!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thought of years she'd slaved—and had<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Saved the farm—danced and was glad....<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Mayby Him who marks the sporry<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Will smooth down her wings tomorry!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span></p> +<h2> +ON ANY ORDENARY MAN IN A HIGH STATE<br /> +OF LAUGHTURE AND DELIGHT<br /> +</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">As it's give' me to percieve,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I most certin'y believe<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When a man's jest glad plum through,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">God's pleased with him, same as you.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="TOWN_AND_COUNTRY" id="TOWN_AND_COUNTRY"></a>TOWN AND COUNTRY</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They's a predjudice allus 'twixt country and town<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which I wisht in my hart wasent so.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You take <i>city</i> people, jest square up and down,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And they're mighty good people to know:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And whare's better people a-livin', to-day,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Than us in the <i>country</i>?—Yit good<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As both of us is, we're divorsed, you might say,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And won't compermise when we could!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Now as nigh into town fer yer Pap, ef you please,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is the what's called the sooburbs.—Fer thare<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You'll at least ketch a whiff of the breeze and a sniff<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of the breth of wild-flowrs ev'rywhare.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They's room fer the childern to play, and grow, too—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And to roll in the grass, er to climb<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Up a tree and rob nests, like they <i>ortent</i> to do,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But they'll do <i>any</i>how ev'ry time!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">My Son-in-law said, when he lived in the town,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He jest natchurly pined, night and day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fer a sight of the woods, er a acre of ground<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whare the trees wasent all cleared away!<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And he says to me onc't, whilse a-visitin' us<br /></span> +<span class="i2">On the farm, "It's not strange, I declare,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That we can't coax you folks, without raisin' a fuss,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To come to town, visitin' thare!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And says I, "Then git back whare you sorto' <i>belong</i>—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And <i>Madaline</i>, too,—and yer three<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Little childern," says I, "that don't know a birdsong,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ner a hawk from a chicky-dee-dee!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Git back," I-says-I, "to the blue of the sky<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the green of the fields, and the shine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the sun, with a laugh in yer voice and yer eye<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As harty as Mother's and mine!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Well—long-and-short of it,—he's compermised <i>some</i>—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He's moved in the sooburbs.—And now<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They don't haf to coax, when they want us to come,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Cause we turn in and go <i>anyhow</i>!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fer thare—well, they's room fer the songs and purfume<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of the grove and the old orchurd-ground,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And they's room fer the childern out thare, and they's room<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Fer theyr Gran'pap to waller 'em round!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span></p> +<h2> +LINES FER ISAAC BRADWELL, OF INDANOPLIS, IND.,<br /> +COUNTY-SEAT OF MARION<br /> +</h2> + +<p>[Writ on the flyleaf of a volume of the author's poems that +come in one of gittin' burnt up in the great Bowen-Merrill's fire +of March 17, 1890.]</p> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Through fire and flood this book has passed.—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fer what?—I hardly dare to ast—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Less'n it's still to pamper me<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With extry food fer vanity;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fer, sence it's fell in hands as true<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As <i>yourn</i> is—and a <i>Hoosier</i> too,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I'm prouder of the book, I jing!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than 'fore they tried to burn the thing!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="DECORATION_DAY_ON_THE_PLACE" id="DECORATION_DAY_ON_THE_PLACE"></a>DECORATION DAY ON THE PLACE</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">It's lonesome—sorto' lonesome,—it's a <i>Sund'y-day</i>, to me,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It 'pears-like—more'n any day I nearly ever see!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yit, with the Stars and Stripes above, a-flutterin' in the air,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On ev'ry Soldier's grave I'd love to lay a lilly thare.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They say, though, Decoration Days is giner'ly observed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Most <i>ev'rywhares</i>—espeshally by soldier-boys that's served.—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But me and Mother's never went—we seldom git away,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In p'int o' fact, we're <i>allus</i> home on <i>Decoration Day</i>.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They say the old boys marches through the streets in colum's grand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A-follerin' the old war-tunes they're playin' on the band—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And citizuns all jinin' in—and little childern, too—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All marchin', under shelter of the old Red White and Blue.—<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">With roses! roses! roses!—everybody in the town!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And crowds o' little girls in white, jest fairly loaded down!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh! don't <span class="smcap">The Boys</span> know it, from theyr camp acrost the hill?—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Don't they see theyr com'ards comin' and the old flag wavin' still?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh! can't they hear the bugul and the rattle of the drum?—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ain't they no way under heavens they can rickollect us some?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ain't they no way we can coax 'em, through the roses, jest to say<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They know that ev'ry day on earth's theyr Decoration Day?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We've tried that—me and Mother,—whare Elias takes his rest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the orchurd—in his uniform, and hands acrost his brest,<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span> +<span class="i0">And the flag he died fer, smilin' and a-ripplin' in the breeze<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Above his grave—and over that,—<i>the robin in the trees</i>!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And <i>yit</i> it's lonesome—lonesome!—It's a <i>Sund'y-day</i>, to <i>me</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It 'pears-like—more'n any day I nearly ever see!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Still, with the Stars and Stripes above, a-flutterin' in the air,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On ev'ry Soldier's grave I'd love to lay a lilly thare.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="THE_TREE-TOAD" id="THE_TREE-TOAD"></a>THE TREE-TOAD</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"'S cur'ous-like," said the tree-toad,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"I've twittered fer rain all day;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And I got up soon,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And hollered tel noon—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But the sun, hit blazed away,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Tell I jest clumb down in a crawfish-hole,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Weary at hart, and sick at soul!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Dozed away fer an hour,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And I tackled the thing agin:<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And I sung, and sung,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Tel I knowed my lung<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Was jest about give in;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And <i>then</i>, thinks I, ef hit don't rain <i>now</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">They's nothin' in singin', anyhow!<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Onc't in a while some farmer<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Would come a-drivin' past;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And he'd hear my cry,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And stop and sigh—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Tel I jest laid back, at last,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And I hollered rain tel I thought my th'oat<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Would bust wide open at ever' note!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"But I <i>fetched</i> her!—O <i>I fetched</i> her!—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Cause a little while ago,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">As I kindo' set,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">With one eye shet,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And a-singin' soft and low,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">A voice drapped down on my fevered brain,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">A-sayin',—'<i>Ef you'll jest hush I'll rain!</i>'"<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="THE_ROSSVILLE_LECTUR_COURSE" id="THE_ROSSVILLE_LECTUR_COURSE"></a>THE ROSSVILLE LECTUR' COURSE</h2> + +<p>[Set down from the real facts of the case that come under +notice of the author whilse visitun far distunt relatives who wuz +then residin' at Rossville, Mich.]</p> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Folks up here at Rossville got up a Lectur' Course:—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All the leadin' citizens they wuz out in force;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Met and talked at Williamses', and 'greed to meet ag'in;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And helt another corkus when the next reports wuz in:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Met ag'in at Samuelses'; and met ag'in at Moore's,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Johnts putt the shutters up and jest barr'd the door!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And yit, I'll jest be dagg-don'd! ef't didn't take a week<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Fore we'd settled whare to write to git a man to speak!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Found out whare the "<i>Bureau</i>" wuz; and then and thare agreed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To strike whilse the iron's hot and foller up the lead.—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Simp wuz Secatary; so he tuk his pen in hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And ast 'em what they'd tax us fer the one on "Holy Land"—<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"One of Colonel J. De-Koombs's Abelust and Best<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lectur's," the circ'lar stated, "Give East er West!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wanted fifty dollars and his kyar-fare to and from,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Simp wuz hence instructed fer to write him not to come.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then we talked and jawed around another week er so,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And writ the "<i>Bureau</i>" 'bout the town a-bein' sorto' slow—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Old-fogey-like, and pore as dirt, and lackin' interprise,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And ignornter'n any other, 'cordin' to its size:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tel finully the "<i>Bureau</i>" said they'd send a cheaper man<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fer forty dollars, who would give "A Talk About Japan"—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"A reg'lar Japanee hise'f," the pamphlet claimed; and so,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nobody knowed his languige, and of course we let him go!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Kindo' then let up a spell—but rallied onc't ag'in,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And writ to price a feller on what's called the "violin"—<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span> +<span class="i0">A Swede, er Pole, er somepin'—but no matter what he wuz,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Doc Cooper said he'd heerd him, and he wuzn't wuth a kuss!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And then we ast fer <i>Swingse's</i> terms; and <i>Cook</i>, and <i>Ingersoll</i>—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And blame! ef forty dollars looked like anything at all!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And then <i>Burdette</i>, we tried fer <i>him</i>; and Bob he writ to say<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He wuz busy writin' ortographts and couldn't git away.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">At last—along in Aprile—we signed to take this-here<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bill Nye of Californy, 'at wuz posted to appear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"The Comicalest Funny Man 'at Ever Jammed a Hall!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So we made big preperations, and swep' out the church and all!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And night he wuz to lectur', and the neghbors all wuz thare,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And strangers packed along the aisles 'at come from ev'rywhare,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Committee got a telegrapht the preacher read, 'at run—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Got off at Rossville, <i>Indiany</i>, 'stid of Michigun."<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="WHEN_THE_GREEN_GITS_BACK_IN_THE_TREES" id="WHEN_THE_GREEN_GITS_BACK_IN_THE_TREES"></a>WHEN THE GREEN GITS BACK IN THE TREES</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In Spring, when the green gits back in the trees,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the sun comes out and <i>stays</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And yer boots pulls on with a good tight squeeze,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And you think of yer bare-foot days;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When you <i>ort</i> to work and you want to <i>not</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And you and yer wife agrees<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It's time to spade up the garden-lot,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When the green gits back in the trees—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Well! work is the least o' <i>my</i> idees<br /></span> +<span class="i4">When the green, you know, gits back in the trees!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When the green gits back in the trees, and bees<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is a-buzzin' aroun' ag'in<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In that kind of a lazy go-as-you-please<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Old gait they bum roun' in;<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span> +<span class="i0">When the groun's all bald whare the hay-rick stood,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the crick's riz, and the breeze<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Coaxes the bloom in the old dogwood,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the green gits back in the trees,—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">I like, as I say, in sich scenes as these,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The time when the green gits back in the trees!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When the whole tail-fethers o' Wintertime<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is all pulled out and gone!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the sap it thaws and begins to climb,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the swet it starts out on<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A feller's forred, a-gittin' down<br /></span> +<span class="i2">At the old spring on his knees—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I kindo' like jest a-loaferin' roun'<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When the green gits back in the trees—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Jest a-potterin' roun' as I—durn—please—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">When the green, you know, gits back in the trees!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="HOW_IT_HAPPENED" id="HOW_IT_HAPPENED"></a>HOW IT HAPPENED</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I got to <i>thinkin'</i> of her—both her parunts dead and gone—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all her sisters married off, and none but her and John<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A-livin' all alone thare in that lonesome sorto' way,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And him a blame old bachelor, confirmder ev'ry day!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I'd knowed 'em all, from childern, and theyr daddy from the time<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He settled in the neghborhood, and hadn't ary a dime<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Er dollar, when he married, fer to start housekeepin' on!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So I got to <i>thinkin'</i> of her—both her parunts dead and gone!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I got to <i>thinkin'</i> of her; and a-wundern what <i>she</i> done<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That all <i>her sisters</i> kep' a-gittin' married, one by one,<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span> +<span class="i0">And her without <i>no</i> chances—and the best girl of the pack—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A' old maid, with her hands, you might say, tied behind her back!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And <i>Mother</i>, too, afore she died,—<i>she</i> ust to jest take on,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When none of 'em wuz left, you know, but Evaline and John,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And jest declare to goodness 'at the young men must be bline<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To not see what a wife they'd git ef they got Evaline!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I got to <i>thinkin'</i> of her: In my great affliction she<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wuz sich a comfert to us, and so kind and neghborly,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She'd come, and leave her housework, fer to he'p out little Jane,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And talk of <i>her own</i> mother 'at she'd never see again—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They'd sometimes <i>cry</i> together—though, fer the most part, she<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Would have the child so rickonciled and happy-like 'at we<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Felt lonesomer'n ever when she'd putt her bonnet on<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And say she'd railly <i>haf</i> to be a-gittin' back to John!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I got to <i>thinkin'</i> of her, as I say,—and more and more<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I'd think of her dependence, and the burdens 'at she bore,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her parunts both a-bein' dead, and all her sisters gone<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And married off, and her a-livin' thare alone with John—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You might say jest a-toilin' and a-slavin' out her life<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fer a man 'at hadn't pride enugh to git hisse'f a wife—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Less some one married <i>Evaline</i> and packed her off some day!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So I got to <i>thinkin'</i> of her—and—It happened <i>thataway</i>.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="A_DOST_O_BLUES" id="A_DOST_O_BLUES"></a>A DOS'T O' BLUES</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I' got no patience with blues at all!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And I ust to kindo' talk<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Aginst 'em, and claim, tel along last Fall,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They wuz none in the fambly stock;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But a nephew of mine, from Eelinoy,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That visitud us last year,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He kindo' convinct me differunt<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whilse he wuz a-stayin' here.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">From ev'ry-which-way that blues is from,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They'd pester him <i>ev'ry</i>-ways;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They'd come to him in the night, and come<br /></span> +<span class="i2">On Sundys, and rainy days;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They'd tackle him in corn-plantin' time,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And in harvest, and airly Fall,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But a dos't o' blues in the <i>Winter</i>time,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He 'lowed, wuz the worst of all!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Said "All diseases that ever <i>he</i> had—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The mumps, er the rhumatiz—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Er ev'ry-other-day-aigger—bad<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As ever the blame thing is!—<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Er a cyarbuncle, say, on the back of his neck,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Er a felon on his thumb,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But you keep <i>the blues</i> away from him,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And all o' the rest could come!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And he'd moan, "They's nary a leaf below!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ner a spear o' grass in sight!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the whole woodpile's clean under snow!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the days is dark as night!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You can't go out—ner you can't stay in—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Lay down—stand up—ner set!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And a tetch o' regular tyfoid-blues<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Would double him jest clean shet!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I writ his parunts a postal-kyard<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He could stay tel Springtime come;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Aprile—<i>first</i>, as I rickollect—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Wuz the day we shipped him home!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Most o' his <i>relatives</i>, sence then,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Has eether give up, er quit,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Er jest died off; but I understand<br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>He's</i> the same old color yit!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="THE_OLD_HOME_BY_THE_MILL" id="THE_OLD_HOME_BY_THE_MILL"></a>THE OLD HOME BY THE MILL</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">This is "The old Home by the Mill"—fer we still call it so,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Although the <i>old mill</i>, roof and sill, is all gone long ago.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The old home, though, and the old folks—the old spring, and a few<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Old cattails, weeds and hartychokes, is left to welcome you!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Here, Marg'et!—fetch the man a <i>tin</i> to drink out of! Our spring<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Keeps kindo'-sorto' cavin' in, but don't "<i>taste</i>" anything!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She's kindo' <i>age</i>in', Marg'et is—"the <i>old</i> process"—like me,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All ham-stringed up with rhumatiz, and on in seventy-three.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Jest me and Marg'et lives alone here—like in long ago;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The childern all putt off and gone, and married, don't you know?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One's millin' 'way out West somewhare; two other miller-boys<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In Minnyopolis they air; and one's in Illinoise.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span> +<span class="i0">The <i>oldest</i> gyrl—the first that went—married and died right here;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The next lives in Winn's Settlement—fer purt'-nigh thirty year!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And youngest one—was allus fer the old home here—but no!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her man turns in and he packs <i>her</i> 'way off to Idyho!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I don't miss them like <i>Marg'et</i> does—'cause I got <i>her</i>, you see;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And when she pines for them—that's 'cause <i>she's</i> only jest got <i>me</i>!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I laugh, and joke her 'bout it all.—But talkin' sense, I'll say,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When she was tuk so bad last Fall, I laughed then t'other way!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I hain't so favor'ble impressed 'bout <i>dyin'</i>; but ef I<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Found I was only second-best when <i>us two</i> come to die,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I'd 'dopt the "new process" in full, ef <i>Marg'et</i> died, you see,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I'd jest crawl in my grave and pull the green grass over me!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="THE_WAY_IT_WUZ" id="THE_WAY_IT_WUZ"></a>THE WAY IT WUZ</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Las' July—and, I persume,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Bout as hot<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As the old Gran'-Jury room<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whare they sot!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fight 'twixt Mike and Dock McGreff....<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Pears to me jest like as ef<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I'd a-dremp' the whole blame thing—<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Allus ha'nts me roun' the gizzard<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When they's nightmares on the wing<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And a feller's blood's jes' friz!<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Seed the row from A to Izzard—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Cause I wuz a-standin' as clos't to 'em<br /></span> +<span class="i4">As me and you is!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Tell you the way it wuz—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And I don't <i>want</i> to see,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like <i>some</i> fellers does,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When they's goern to be<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Any kind o' fuss—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On'y makes a rumpus wuss<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span> +<span class="i2">Fer to <i>interfere</i><br /></span> +<span class="i4">When theyr dander's riz—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Might as lif to <i>cheer</i>!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But I wuz a-standin' as clos't to 'em<br /></span> +<span class="i4">As me and you is!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I wuz kindo' strayin'<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Past the blame saloon—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Heerd some fiddler playin'<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That old "Hee-cup tune!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I'd <i>stopped</i>-like, you know,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fer a minit er so,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And wuz jest about<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Settin' down, when—<i>Jeemses-whizz!</i>—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whole durn winder-sash fell out!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And thare laid Dock McGreff, and Mike<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A-straddlin' him, all bloody-like,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And both a-gittin' down to biz!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I wuz a-standin' as clos't to 'em<br /></span> +<span class="i4">As me and you is!<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I wuz the on'y man aroun'—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(Durn old-fogey town!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Peared more like, to me,<br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>Sund'y</i> than <i>Saturd'y</i>!)<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Dog come 'crost the road<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And tuk a smell<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And putt right back:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Mishler driv by 'ith a load<br /></span> +<span class="i3">O' cantalo'pes he couldn't sell—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Too mad, 'i jack!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To even ast<br /></span> +<span class="i2">What wuz up, as he went past!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Weather most outrageous hot!—<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Fairly hear it sizz<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Roun' Dock and Mike—tel Dock he shot,—<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And Mike he slacked that grip o' his<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And fell, all spraddled out. Dock riz<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Bout half up, a spittin' red,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And shuck his head....<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I wuz a-standin' as clos't to 'em<br /></span> +<span class="i3">As me and you is!<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And Dock he says,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A-whisperin'-like,—<br /></span> +<span class="i3">"It hain't no use<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A-tryin'!—Mike<br /></span> +<span class="i3">He's jest ripped my daylights loose!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Git that blame-don fiddler to<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let up, and come out here—You<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Got some burryin' to do,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Mike makes <i>one</i>, and, I expects,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Bout ten seconds, I'll make <i>two</i>!"<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And he drapped back, whare he'd riz,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Crost Mike's body, black and blue,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Like a great big letter X!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I wuz a-standin' as clos't to 'em<br /></span> +<span class="i3">As me and you is!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="PAPS_OLD_SAYIN" id="PAPS_OLD_SAYIN"></a>PAP'S OLD SAYIN'</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Pap had one old-fashioned sayin'<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That I'll never quite fergit—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And they's seven growed-up childern<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of us rickollects it yit!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Settin' round the dinner-table,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Talkin' 'bout our friends, perhaps,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Er abusin' of our neghbors,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I kin hear them words o' Pap's—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">"Shet up, and eat yer vittels!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Pap he'd never argy with us,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ner cut any subject short<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whilse we all kep' clear o' gossip,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And wuz actin' as we ort:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But ef we'd git out o' order—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Like sometimes a fambly is,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Faultin' folks, er one another,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Then we'd hear that voice o' his—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">"Shet up, and eat yer vittels!"<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Wuz no hand hisse'f at talkin'—<br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>Never</i> hadn't <i>much</i> to say,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Only, as I said, pervidin'<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When we'd rile him thataway:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then he'd allus lose his temper<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Spite o' fate, and jerk his head<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And slam down his caseknife vicious'<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whilse he glared around and said—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">"Shet up, and eat yer vittels!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Mind last time 'at Pap was ailin'<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With a misery in his side,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And had hobbled in the kitchen—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Jest the day before he died,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Laury Jane she ups and tells him,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"Pap, you're pale as pale kin be—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hain't ye 'feard them-air cowcumbers<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Hain't good fer ye?" And says he,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">"Shet up, and eat yer vittels!"<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Well! I've saw a-many a sorrow,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Forty year', through thick and thin;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I've got best,—and I've got <i>wors'ted</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Time and time and time ag'in!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But I've met a-many a trouble<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That I hain't run onto twice,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Haltin'-like and thinkin' over<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Them-air words o' Pap's advice:<br /></span> +<span class="i4">"Shet up, and eat yer vittels!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="ROMANCIN" id="ROMANCIN"></a>ROMANCIN'</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I' b'en a-kindo' "<i>musin'</i>," as the feller says, and I'm<br /></span> +<span class="i0">About o' the conclusion that they hain't no better time,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When you come to cipher on it, than the times we ust to know<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When we swore our first "<i>dog-gone-it</i>" sorto' solum-like and low!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">You git my idy, do you?—<i>Little</i> tads, you understand—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Jest a-wishin' thue and thue you that you on'y wuz a <i>man</i>.—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yit here I am, this minit, even sixty, to a day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And fergettin' all that's in it, wishin' jest the other way!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I hain't no hand to lectur' on the times, er <i>dim</i>onstrate<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whare the trouble is, er hector and domineer with Fate,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But when I git so flurried, and so pestered-like and blue,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And so rail owdacious worried, let me tell you what I do!—<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I jest gee-haw the hosses, and onhook the swingle-tree,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whare the hazel-bushes tosses down theyr shadders over me;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I draw my plug o' navy, and I climb the fence, and set<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Jest a-thinkin' here, i gravy! tel my eyes is wringin'-wet!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Tho' I still kin see the trouble o' the <i>presunt</i>, I kin see—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Kindo' like my sight wuz double—all the things that <i>ust</i> to be;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the flutter o' the robin and the teeter o' the wren<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sets the willer-branches bobbin' "howdy-do" thum <i>Now</i> to <i>Then</i>!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The deadnin' and the thicket's jest a-bilin' full of June,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thum the rattle o' the cricket, to the yallar-hammer's tune;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the catbird in the bottom, and the sapsuck on the snag,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Seems ef they can't—od-rot 'em!—jest do nothin' else but brag!<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They's music in the twitter of the bluebird and the jay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And that sassy little critter jest a-<i>peckin'</i> all the day;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They's music in the "flicker," and they's music in the thrush,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And they's music in the snicker o' the chipmunk in the brush!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They's music <i>all around</i> me!—And I go back, in a dream<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sweeter yit than ever found me fast asleep,—and in the stream<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That ust to split the medder whare the dandylions growed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I stand knee-deep, and redder than the sunset down the road.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then's when I' b'en a-fishin'!—And they's other fellers, too,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With theyr hick'ry-poles a-swishin' out behind 'em; and a few<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Little "shiners" on our stringers, with theyr tails tip-toein' bloom,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As we dance 'em in our fingers all the happy jurney home.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I kin see us, true to Natur', thum the time we started out,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With a biscuit and a 'tater in our little "roundabout"!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I kin see our lines a-tanglin', and our elbows in a jam,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And our naked legs a-danglin' thum the apern o' the dam.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I kin see the honeysuckle climbin' up around the mill,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And kin hear the worter chuckle, and the wheel a-growlin' still;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And thum the bank below it I kin steal the old canoe,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And jest git in and row it like the miller ust to do.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">W'y, I git my fancy focussed on the past so mortul plane<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I kin even smell the locus'-blossoms bloomin' in the lane;<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span> +<span class="i0">And I hear the cow-bells clinkin' sweeter tunes 'n "Money-musk"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fer the lightnin' bugs a-blinkin' and a-dancin' in the dusk.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And when I've kep' on "musin'," as the feller says, tel I'm<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Firm-fixed in the conclusion that they hain't no better time,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When you come to cipher on it, than the <i>old</i> times,—I de-clare<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I kin wake and say "dog-gone-it!" jest as soft as any prayer!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="AN_OLD_SETTLERS_STORY" id="AN_OLD_SETTLERS_STORY"></a>AN OLD SETTLER'S STORY</h2> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span></p> +<h2>AN OLD SETTLER'S STORY</h2> + + +<p>William Williams his name was—er 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, fer 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 congerssmen, and I reckon got better wages; +fer afore Ezry built, there wasn't a dust o' meal er flour +to be had short o' the White Water, better'n sixty mil'd +from here, the way we had to fetch it. And they used +to come to Ezry's fer their grindin' as fur as that; and +one feller I knowed to come from what used to be the +old South Fork, over eighty mil'd from here, and in the +wettest, rainyest weather; and mud! <i>Law!</i></p> + +<p>Well, this-here Bills was a-workin' fer Ezry at the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span> +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 fur back as Fifty-eight +used to make his brags that he could cut and putt 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 fur down his breast—awful lookin'; and +he never shaved, and there 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-and-out ornry-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 fer, le' me see,—well, +anyways, I rickon, over thirty year.—Steve was a-drivin' +the team at the time—I allus let Steve drive; 'peared +like Steve was made a-purpose fer hosses. The beatin'est<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span> +hand with hosses 'at ever you <i>did</i> see and-I-know! +W'y, a hoss, after he got kindo' used to Steve a-handlin' +of him, would do anything fer <i>him</i>! And I've +knowed that boy to swap fer hosses 'at couldn'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 fer some grindin' +that day; and Steve wanted to price some lumber fer 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 +fer a while. 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 fer each and all.</p> + +<p>We lived <i>then</i> about eight mil'd from Ezry's, and it +tuck about a day to make the trip; so you kin kindo' +git an idy 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span> +says, says he, "Ben, I want you to kindo' keep an eye +out fer Ezry's new hand"—meanin' Bills. And then +I kindo' suspicioned somepin' o' nother was up betwixt +'em; and shore enough there 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 neighberhood +afore he'd be'n here two weeks.</p> + +<p>In the first place, he come in a suspicious sorto' way: +Him and his wife, and a little baby on'y 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, fer 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 lif +settle there as anywheres; he was huntin' a home, he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span> +said, and the outlook kindo' struck him, and his woman +railly needed rest, and wasn't strong enough to go much +furder. And old Ezry kindo' tuk pity on the feller; +and havin' house-room 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 wouldn't +a-knowed him!</p> + +<p>Well, I'd heerd o' this, and the facts is I'd made up +my mind 'at Bills was a bad stick, and the place wasn't +none the better fer 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, fer the noise o' the wheel; but +he looked to me as ef he'd hollered somepin' mean<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span> +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 ornry +name 'thout givin' him a <i>chance</i> to take it up. Steve +was allus quiet-like, but ef you raised his dander onc'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 fer 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 or anything; nuss +him like a baby, she would.</p> + +<p>So when Bills hollered, Steve didn't pay no attention; +and <i>I</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' fer dinner. Most of 'em +brought ther dinners—lived so fur away, you know. The +two Smith boys lived on what used to be the old Warrick +farm, five er six mild, anyhow, from where the mill +stood. Great stout fellers, they was; and little Jake,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span> +the father of 'em, wasn't no man at all—not much bigger'n +you, I rickon. Le' me see, now:—There 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 <i>all</i> the boys—'s a long time ago, +and I never was much of a hand fer names.—Now, +some folks'll hear a name and never fergit it, but I +can't boast of a good rickollection, 'specially o' names; +and fer 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. W'y, my breeches was +like stove-pipes when I pulled 'em off. 'Ll, ef I didn't +pay fer <i>that</i> spree! Rheumatiz got a holt o' me and +helt me there flat o' my back fer eight weeks, and +couldn't move hand er foot 'thout a-hollerin' like a' Injun. +And I'd a-be'n there yit, I rickon, ef it hadn't a-be'n fer +a' old hoss-doctor, name o' Jones; and he gits a lot o' +sod and steeps it in hot whiskey and pops it on me,—and +I'll be-switched-to-death ef it didn't cuore me up,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span> +fer all I laughed and told him I'd better take the whiskey +in'ardly and let him keep the grass fer his doctor +bill. But that's nuther here ner there!—As I was +a-sayin' 'bout the mill: As I went in, the boys had +stopped work and was a-gittin' down their dinners, and +Bills amongst 'em, and old Ezry a-chattin' away—great +hand, he was, fer 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 fer 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 +tuk his dram, you understand. You see, they made +their own whiskey in them days, and it wasn't nothin' +like the bilin' stuff you git now. Old Ezry had a little +still, and allus made his own whiskey, enough fer 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 putt 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span> +purty free; I seed that as quick as I went in. And old +Ezry called out to <i>me</i> to come and take some, the first +thing. Told him I didn'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 wouldn't +hurt; so I takes a swig; and as I set the jug down +<i>Bills</i> spoke up and says, "You're a stranger to me, and +I'm a stranger to you, but I rickon 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 couldn't well +refuse, of course; so I says "Here's to us," and drunk +her down—mighty nigh a half pint, I rickon. Now, I +railly didn'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, fer, to tell the fact about it, I liked the taste o' +liquor; and I do <i>yit</i>, on'y 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—fer +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,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span> +and I was jist a-tellin' Ezry what they was a-astin' fer +their liquor there—fer I'd fetched a couple o' gallon home +with me 'at I'd paid six bits fer, 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 fer half that price, and was +a-goin' on a-braggin' about his liquor—and it was a good +article—fer new whiskey,—and jist then Steve comes +in, jist as Bills was a-sayin' 'at a man 'at wouldn't +drink <i>that</i> whiskey wasn't no man at all! So, of +course, when they ast <i>Steve</i> to take some and he told +'em no, 'at he was much obleeged, Bills was kindo' tuk +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 didn't let +on like he noticed Bills at all, and retch and shuk 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, kindo snarlin'-like, +'at "he'd knowed o' men in his day 'at had +be'n licked fer refusin' to drink when their betters ast +em"; and said furder 'at "a lickin' wasn't none too<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span> +good fer anybody 'at would refuse liquor like that o' +Ezry's, and in his own house too"—er <i>buildin'</i>, ruther. +Ezry shuk his head at him, but I seed 'at Bills was +bound fer 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 <i>kin</i> fight fer <i>you</i>, and <i>die</i> fer you, 'cause +you're wuth it!"—And I didn't someway feel like it +would amount to much ef I <i>did</i> die er git killed er +somepin' on <i>his</i> account. I seed Steve was mighty +white around the mouth, and his eyes was a-glitterin' +like a snake's; yit Bills didn't seem to take warnin', but +went on to say 'at "he'd knowed boys 'at loved their +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,—for Steve was a-comin' fer him dangerss. +But they'd ketched Steve from behind jist then;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span> +and Bills turned fer 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 rickollect was a +roarin' and a buzzin' in my ears, and when I kindo' +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 <i>tell</i> you! Bills and +Steve it was—head and tail, tooth and toe-nail, 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 <i>Steve</i> didn't need no he'p, +and they might need me to keep Bills's friends off +ef <i>they</i> 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span> +and got him by the th'oat, 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 kindo' give him a side swipe o' some kind and +knocked him—I don't know <i>how</i> fur! And jist then Carter +and Morris come a-scufflin' back'ards right amongst +us, and Carter th'owed 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 tuk advantage of it:—As +Wesley and Ben fell it pulled Bills down in a kindo' +twist, don't you understand, so's he couldn't he'p hisse'f, +yit still a-clinchin' Steve by the th'oat, 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 kindo' 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,—fer he had Steve's chunk as +nigh putt 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' a while fer him +to come to, and him not a-comin' to, we concluded 'at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span> +we'd better he'p him, maybe. And we worked with him, +and warshed him, and drenched him with whiskey, 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-<i>died</i> 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 mil'd, +I reckon, from the mill. Looked kindo' cur'ous to see +Steve a-he'ppin' pack the feller, after his nearly chokin' +him to death. Oh, it was a bloody fight, I tell you! +W'y, they 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 fer a while +she'd gone plum crazy, fer she cried so pitiful over him, +and called him "Charley! Charley!" 'stid of his right<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span> +name, and went on, clean out of her head, tel she finally +jist fainted clean away.</p> + +<p>Fer 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 <i>was</i> a' angel, too; and +he'd a-never lived to bother nobody agin ef it hadn't +a-be'n fer Annie, as he called her. Zions said there was +a 'brazure of the—some kind o' p'tuber'nce, 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 fer—on'y,—well, no odds—I've sence wished +'at I <i>had</i> a-hit him jist a quarter of a' inch below!</p> + +<p>Well, of course, them days they 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 fer Bills, 'cause he was a good hand, and when +he wasn't drinkin' they wasn't no peaceabler man in the +Settlement. I kindo' 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span> +was best to kindo' humor him a little. "And you must +kindo' be on you 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 putt out fer home.</p> + +<p>Mother tuk on awful about it. You see, she thought +she'd be'n 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 <i>try</i> it, and dared Steve and double-dared +him fer 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 style="width: 35%;" /> + +<p>Ezry was over at our house about six weeks after the +fight, appearantly as happy as you please. We ast him<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span> +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 fer 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 fur as you and Steve's concerned, Bills don't +'pear to bear you no ill feelin's, and says as fur as he's +concerned the thing's settled." "Well," says I, "Ezry, +I hope so; but I can't he'p but think they's somepin' +at the bottom of all this"; and says I, "I don't +think it's in Bills to ever amount to anything good"; +and says I, "It's my opinion they'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 sorto' 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span> +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 +pictur's fer the childern; and how they all liked her +better'n their 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' their 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 fer a +while, and kiss all the childern and women-folks about +the place,—the greatest hand fer the childern, she was; +tell 'em all sorts o' little stories, you know, and sing fer +'em; said 'at she could sing so sweet-like, 'at time and +time agin she'd break clean down in some song o' +nother, 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span> +he got to jawin' her fer a-makin' some to-do over the +baby, and swore at her and tuk it away from her and +whirped it fer cryin', and <i>she</i> cried and told him to +whirp her and not little Annie, and he said that was jist +what he <i>was</i> a-doin'. And the childern was allus afeard +to go there any more after that—'feard he'd come home +and whirp 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 neighbers begin to think +he was all right after all, and railly <i>some</i> got to <i>likin'</i> +him. But fer <i>me</i>,—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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span> +tuk back—the idee o' Bills a-wantin' anybody to <i>fergive +him</i>! 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' fer 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 tuk 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 fer +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 +retch out one hand to Steve and one to me; and Steve +shuk with him kindo' 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 shuk as ef I +had the agur, and I folded my hands behind me and I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span> +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-tuk +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, fer 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, fer 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.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span></p> + +<p>Mother was awful tickled when she heerd about it, fer +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 fer 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 they +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 they +ever was one. I mind now when she was tuk with her +last spell and laid bedfast fer 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 fer 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 myster'ous<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span> +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 fer her—she used to sing +that'n so much, I rickollect as fur 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 o' evenings, 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 kindo' tried to +turn herse'f in bed, and smiled so weak and faint-like, +and looked at me, with her lips a-kindo' movin'; and I +thought maybe she wanted another dos't of her syrup +'at Ezry's woman had fixed up fer her, and I kindo' +stooped down over her and ast her ef she wanted anything. +"Yes," she says, and nodded, and her voice +sounded so low and solemn and so fur-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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span> +couldn't say nothin'; my throat hurt me, and I felt the +warm tears a-boolgin' up, and her kind old face a-glimmerin' +away so pale-like afore my eyes, and still +a-smilin' up so lovin' and forgivin' and so good 'at it +made me think so fur 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 fer me 'at I never even thanked her +fer; 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 <i>didn't</i> think and feel +and see. And I knelt down by her, and she whispered +then fer Steven, and he come, and we kissed her—and +she died—a-smilin' like a child—jist like a child.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span></p> + +<p>Well—well! 'Pears like I'm allus a-runnin' into +somepin' else. I wisht I <i>could</i> 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 rickollection 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 maybe to kindo' 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 rickollect;—about Bills +a-jinin' church. Well, sir, they wasn't a better-actin' +feller and more religious-like in all the neighberhood. +Spoke in meetin's, he did, and tuk 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. They was a big excitement, +and ever'body was a'tendin' from fur and near. Bills +and Ezry got the mill-hands to go, and didn't talk o' +nothin' <i>but</i> religion. People thought awhile 'at old +Ezry'd turn preacher, he got so interested 'bout church<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span> +matters. He was easy excited 'bout anything; and +when he went into a thing it was in dead airnest, +shore!—"jist flew off the handle," as I heerd a comical +feller git off onc't. And him and Bills was up and at +it ever' night—prayin' and shoutin' at the top o' their +voice. Them railly did seem like good times—when +ever'body jined together, and prayed and shouted hosanner, +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>I</i> jined; it looked +so kindo' whole-souled-like and good, you understand. +But law! I didn't hold out—on'y fer a little while, and +no wunder!</p> + +<p>Well, about them times Bills was tuk down with the +agur; first got to chillin' ever'-other-day, then <i>ever'</i> day, +and harder and harder, tel sometimes he'd be obleeged +to stay away from meetin' on account of it. And onc'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, fer onc't +he'd prayed fer a new outpourin' of the Holy Sperit, +and that very night they was three new jiners. And another<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span> +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 <i>prayed</i> 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 fer 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 tuk +the baby and went along with Ezry and his folks.</p> + +<p>I was at meetin' that night and rickollect 'em comin' +in. Annie got a seat jist behind me—Steve give her +his'n and stood up; and I rickollect 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 rickollect right, was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span> +"workin' out your own salvation"; and when I listen to +preachers nowadays in their big churches and their fine +pulpits, I allus think o' Daddy Barker, and kindo' 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 Hisse'f +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' +fer the privilege, like it was a theatre.</p> + +<p>Ezry had his two little girls jine that night, and I +rickollect the preacher made sich a purty prayer about +the Saviour a-cotin' from the Bible 'bout "Suffer little +childern to come unto Me"—and all; and talked so purty +'bout the jedgment day, and mothers a-meetin' their +little ones there—and all; and went on tel they 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 south'ards<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span> +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 putt +out together fer it. Well, it was two mil'd 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 tuk 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 fer 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span> +jist awful—shore's you're born!—Losin' ever'thing +they'd worked so hard fer—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 fer 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, fer a +while anyhow.</p> + +<p>Bills said he seed the fire when it first started, and +could a-putt 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> + +<hr style="width: 35%;" /> + +<p>It was too late in the fall then to think o' buildin' even +the onriest kind o' shanty, and so Ezry moved in with +Bills. And Bills used to say ef it hadn't a-be'n fer Ezry +<i>he'd</i> a-never a-had no house, ner nothin' to putt 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span> +a triflin' whelp ef he didn't do all in <i>his</i> power to make +<i>Ezry</i> perfeckly at home's long as he wanted to stay +there. And together they managed to make room fer +'em all, by a-buildin' a kindo' 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'tickler.</p> + +<p>Ezry was kindo' down fer 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 kindo' 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 they was that winter; and 'fore +<i>then</i>, I kin mind the time when they 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 +rickollect one night in p'tickler—the <i>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 their hats afore<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span> +the candles, and then onc'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—yes-sir! +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 where the stove +was. Lots o' folks had their 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 <i>was</i> cold, now I <i>tell</i> +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 they 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 kindo' jiggin' +along agin. Plenty to do there 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 fer buildin', you know,—wanted +a house of his own, he said.—And of course it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span> +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' fer the +childern; said her two little girls had learnt to read, and +didn't know their a-b abs afore Annie learnt 'em; well, +the oldest one, Mary Patience, she <i>did</i> know her <i>letters</i>, +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 <i>was</i>; and +in my opinion she railly had more sense'n all the rest o' +the childern putt together, 'bout books and cipherin' and +'rethmetic, and the like; and John Wesley, the oldest of +'em, he got to teachin' at last, when he growed up,—but, +law! he couldn't write his own name so's you could read +it. I allus thought they was a good 'eal of old Ezry in +John Wesley. Liked to romance 'round with the youngsters +'most too well.—Spiled him fer teachin', I allus<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span> +thought; fer 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 fer the boys, you know, +to go to school to <i>him</i>. Allus in fer spellin'-matches +and the like, and learnin' songs and sich. I rickollect +he give a' exhibition onc't, one winter, and I'll never +fergit it, I rickon.</p> + +<p>The school-house would on'y hold 'bout forty, comf'table, +and that night they was up'ards of a hunderd er +more—jist crammed and jammed! And the benches +was piled back so's to make room fer the flatform they'd +built to make their speeches and dialogues on; and fellers +a-settin' up on them back seats, their heads was clean +aginst the j'ist. It was a low ceilin', anyhow, and o' +course them 'at tuk 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span> +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 haf +to stop and fool with 'em awhile 'fore they could git 'em +the balance o' the way acrost. Well, finally, to'rds 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, +and where the string was stretched fer the curtain to +slide on it looked like the p'formers was strung on it. +And when Lige Boyer's boy was a-speakin'—kindo' +mumbled it, you know, and you couldn't half hear—it +looked fer 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 fer 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span> +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 they was done that night; but everybody said the +teacher wrote it fer her; and I wouldn't be su'prised +much, fer they was married not long afterwards. I expect +he wrote it fer her.—Wouldn't putt 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 whiskey-bar'l tel it was strong +enough to bear up a' egg. I kin rickollect 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span> +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 rickon, ef the +fiddler hadn't a-give out. Wash Lowry was a-fiddlin' +fer us; and along to'rds three er four in the morning +Wash was purty well fagged out. You see, Wash +could never play fer a dance er nothin' 'thout a-drinkin' +more or 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, <i>no</i> way you can fix +it; and, o' course, the boys seed at onc't their fun was +gone ef they couldn'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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span> +Allan," and we had to wake him up afore he'd +quit! Now, that's jes' the plum facts. And they +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 new-fangled 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 heerd him say, time and time agin, +'at a five-dollar gold-piece wouldn't buy it, and I +knowed him myse'f to refuse a calf fer it onc't—yes-sir, +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' 'bout little Bob, with that +old hat; and he had on a swaller-tail coat and a lot o'<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span> +fixin's, a-actin' like he was a 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 fer 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' fer p'session, you +understand. Well, Bob he made out it was a mighty +bad case when <i>John-Wes</i> comes to consult him 'bout +it, and tells <i>him</i> ef a little p'int o' law was left out he +thought he could git the land fer him. And then John-Wes +<i>bribes</i> 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' <i>Wiles</i> some +cock-and-bull story 'bout havin' to manage it thataway +so's to git the case mixed so's he could git it fer him<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span> +shore; and posts <i>him</i> to sue fer change of venue or +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 +their money besides, and leaves them to hold the bag! +Well-sir, 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 beginnin' o' summer, things had got +back to purty much the old way. The boys round was +a-gittin' devilish, and o' nights 'specially theyr 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 <i>Bills</i> 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span> +to see him do it, and not go back on his word; and even +went so fer as to tell Ezry ef they didn't putt a stop to +it he'd quit the neighberhood and go somers 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 fer 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' +ornry 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 <i>they</i> +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.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span></p> + +<p>Well, this night they cut up awful, and ef they was +one fight they 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 tuk '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 collogued 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, fer 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 firin' of it. But I'll +tell you he sobered up mighty suddent when he seed +what was a-goin' on, and heerd the neighbers a-hollerin', +and a-threatenin' and a-goin' on!—fer 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 haf to +say good-bye to you, fer 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span> +and Ben and Steve was a-standin'; and Ben says, wild-like, +"Don't you two fellers ever think it was <i>my</i> +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 the last anybody ever seed o' +Ben Carter!</p> + +<p>It must a-be'n about three o'clock in the morning by +this time, and the mill then was jist a-smoulderin' to +ashes—fer 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 tell another flood. Old Ezry, it was, as white as a +corpse, and with the blood a-streamin' out of a gash in +his forred, 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 +whilse you're a-standin' here! And Bills done it!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span> +Bills done it!" he hollered, as he headed the crowd and +started back fer home. "Bills done it! I caught him at +it; and he would a-murdered me in cold blood ef it +hadn't a-be'n fer 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 fer he'p; +and says I, 'Where's Bills?' and she says, 'He's after +<i>me</i> 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! fer 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 kindo' 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 "<i>Brother +Williams</i>" 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 <i>now</i> fer I hain't +got time to waste on you furder.' And jist then his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span> +woman kindo' come to her senses ag'in and hollered fer +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 yer mother! ef it hadn't a-be'n +fer <i>her</i> I' a-be'n all right. And dam you, too!' he says +to me.—'This'll pay you fer that lick you struck me; +and fer 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 yer 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 off in the dark to'rds the river."</p> + +<p>This was about the tale 'at Ezry told us, as nigh as I +can rickollect: 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span> +wasn't long in makin' our minds up 'at he'd haf to cross +it, and ef he done <i>that</i> he'd haf to use the boat 'at was +down below the mill, er wade it at the ford, a mil'd 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 fer 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 they wasn't no boat there! Steve kindo' tuk the +lead, and we all talked in whispers. And Steve said to +kindo' lay low and maybe we could hear somepin'; and +some feller said he thought he heerd somepin' strange-like, +but the wind was kindo' raisin' and kep' up sich a +moanin' through the trees along the bank 'at we couldn't +make out nothin'. "Listen!" says Steve, suddent-like, +"<i>I</i> hear somepin'!" We was all still ag'in—and we all +heerd a moanin' 'at was sadder'n the wind—sounded +mournfuller to <i>me</i>,—'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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span> +was still's death; and we heerd a voice we knowed was +Bills's say, "Dam ye! Keep still, or I'll drownd ye!" +And the wind kindo' moaned ag'in, and we could hear +the trees a-screetchin' together in the dark, and the +leaves a-rustlin'; and when it kindo' lulled ag'in, we +heerd Bills make a kindo' splash with the oars; and jist +then Steve whispered fer to lay low and be ready—he +was a-goin' to riconn'itre; and he took his coat and +shoes off, and slid over the bank and down into the +worter as slik as a' eel. Then ever'thing was still +ag'in, '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 sorto' miss-lick with the oar, I +reckon, and must a-splashed the baby, fer she set up a +loud cryin'; and jist then old Ezry, who was a-leanin' +over the bank, kindo' lost his grip, some way o' nother, +and fell kersplash in the worter like a' old chunk. +"Hello?" says Bills, through the dark, "you're there,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span> +too, air ye?" as old Ezry splashed up the bank ag'in. +And "Cuss you!" he says then, to the baby—"ef it +hadn't be'n fer <i>your</i> 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 kindo gurglin', and then +Steve's voice a-hollerin', "Close in on him, boys; I've +got the baby!" And about a dozent 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 +fer a minute we kindo' 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 rickon—twenty +men ag'in one!" "You'd better give yourse'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 ag'in, jist yit awhile," he says; "I +see you kindo' 'pear to go in fer baptism; guess you'd +better go home and git some dry clothes on; and,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span> +speakin' o' home, you'd ort 'o be there by all means—your +house might catch afire and burn up whilse you're +gone!" And jist then the boat give a suddent shove +under him—some feller'd div under and tilted it—and +fer 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, tell finally they got to pilin' in a little too +fast fer 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 fer 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 they was more su'prise +waitin' fer us yit,—fer lo-and-behold-ye, when we +got ashore they 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span> +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 kindo' fergot about her tel +the thing was over, and he went to look fer 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 <i>Steve</i>'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, <i>Bills</i> must a-got ashore unbeknownst to +us and packed her off. Sich a thing wasn't hardly +probable, yit it was a thing 'at <i>might</i> be; and after +a-talkin' it over we had to admit 'at <i>that</i> must a-be'n +the way of it. But where was <i>Steve</i>? W'y, we argied, +he'd diskivvered she was gone, and had putt out on +track of her 'thout losin' time to stop and explain the +thing. The next question was, what did Bills want +with her ag'in?—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 putt out fer the ford, fer that was the nighdest +place Bills could cross 'thout a boat, and ef it <i>was</i><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span> +him tuk the child, he was still on our side o' the river, +o' course. So we struck out fer the ford, a-leavin' +a couple o' men to search <i>up</i> the river. A drizzlin' +sorto' 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 ag'in.</p> + +<p>It was jist a-gittin' a little gray-like in the morning by +the time we reached the ford, but you couldn't hardly +see two rods afore you fer the mist and the fog 'at had +settled along the river. We looked fer tracks, but +couldn't make out nothin'. 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 <i>Bills</i>," says I—"and I reckon they hain't no<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span> +doubt but it is—what in the name o' all that's good and +bad's the feller a-standin' there fer!" And a-creepin' +clos'ter, we could make him out plainer and plainer. It +<i>was</i> 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' fer?"</p> + +<p>And, a-strainin' my eyes in the direction <i>he</i> 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' fer 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 ag'in! +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 ye air! Move another inch and I'll drownd +this dam young-un afore yer eyes!" he says.—And he'd +a-done it. "Boys," says I, "he's got us. Don't move!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span> +This thing'll have to rest with a higher power'n our'n! +Ef any of you kin <i>pray</i>," says I, "now's a good time to +do it!"</p> + +<p>Jist then the boat swung up, and Bills grabbed it and +retch 'round and set the baby in it, never a-takin' his eye +off o' us, though, fer a minute. "Now," says he, with a +sorto' 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 fer findin' it out so late in the +day, you hain't none the worse fer losin' me so soon—fer +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'tickler friend o' mine, and he forgive<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span> +me with his dyin' breath, and told me to run whilse I +could, and be a better man. But he'd spotted me with +a' ugly mark 'at made it kindo' onhandy <i>to</i> 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 <i>Annie</i> word 'at I'll still +be a father to her young-un here, I'll bid you all good-bye." +And with that he turned and clum in the boat—or +ruther <i>fell</i> in,—fer 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 t'other 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 +mil'd er more 'thout knowin' of it. Bills had struck and +stunt him as he clum in whilse the rumpus was a-goin'<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span> +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 tuk charge o' little Annie ag'in, 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 ag'in. 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-takin' 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span> +wife—and you needn't look su'prised, nuther, and I'll +tell you fer why:—They was own brother and sister; and +that brings me to <i>her</i> part of the story, which you'll haf +to admit beats anything 'at you ever read about in books.</p> + +<hr style="width: 35%;" /> + +<p>Her and Williams—that <i>wasn't</i> his name, like he acknowledged, +hisse'f, you rickollect—ner <i>she</i> didn't want +to tell his right name; and we forgive her fer that. Her +and "Williams" was own brother and sister, and their +parunts lived in Ohio some'ers. Their 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 ag'in, 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 <i>mother</i> +and ruined <i>him</i>, and he'd jist give up all hopes! But<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span> +Annie—you know how a sister is—she still clung to him +and done ever'thing fer him, tel finally, one night, about +three years after she was married, she got word some +way that he was in trouble ag'in, 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 tuk 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 +quarrelled with her husband, and the officers was after +him, and he was obleeged to leave the country, and fer +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 ag'in in +case he hadn't killed him. And so it run on tel you'd<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span> +a-cried to hear her tell it, and still see her sister's love +fer 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 fer his ungov'nable temper. But I couldn't +he'p but notice, when she was a-tellin' of her hist'ry, +what a quiet sorto' look o' satisfaction settled on the +face o' Steve and the rest of 'em, don't you understand.</p> + +<p>And now they 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 ag'in, not knowin', of course, +whether <i>they</i> was dead er alive; fer time and time ag'in +she said somepin' told her she'd never see her husband +ag'in 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' nother Steve was +never like hisse'f from that time on.</p> + +<p>And so things went fer 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span> +neighberhood inte<i>rest</i>ed—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 kindo' 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 her 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-p'intin' over his shoulder,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span> +"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 their eyes +met. "Annie! My wife!" he says; and Annie she +kindo' 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> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="DIALECT_IN_LITERATURE" id="DIALECT_IN_LITERATURE"></a>DIALECT IN LITERATURE</h2> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span></p> +<h2>DIALECT IN LITERATURE</h2> + +<p>"<i>And the common people heard him gladly.</i>"</p> + + +<p>Of what shall be said herein of dialect, let it be understood +the term dialect referred to is of that general +breadth of meaning given it to-day, namely, any speech +or vernacular outside the prescribed form of good English +in its present state. The present state of the +English is, of course, not any one of its prior states. +So first let it be remarked that it is highly probable that +what may have been the best of English once may now +by some be counted as a weak, inconsequent <i>patois</i>, or +dialect.</p> + +<p>To be direct, it is the object of this article to show +that dialect is not a thing to be despised in any event—that +its origin is oftentimes of as royal caste as that of +any speech. Listening back, from the standpoint of to-day, +even to the divine singing of that old classic master +to whom England's late laureate refers as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span></p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"... the first warbler, whose sweet breath<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Preluded those melodious bursts that fill<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The spacious times of great Elizabeth<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With sounds that echo still";<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>or to whom Longfellow alludes, in his matchless sonnet, as</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"... the poet of the dawn, who wrote<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Canterbury Tales, and his old age<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Made beautiful with song";—<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Chaucer's verse to us is <i>now</i> as veritably dialect as to +that old time it <i>was</i> the chastest English; and even then +his materials were essentially dialect when his song was +at best pitch. Again, our present dialect, of most +plebeian ancestry, may none the less prove worthy. +Mark the recognition of its own personal merit in the +great new dictionary, where what was, in our own remembrance, +the most outlandish dialect, is now good, +sound, official English.</p> + +<hr style="width: 35%;" /> + +<p>Since Literature must embrace all naturally existing +materials—physical, mental, and spiritual—we have no +occasion to urge its acceptance of so-called dialect, for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span> +dialect <i>is</i> in Literature, and <i>has</i> been there since the beginning +of all written thought and utterance. Strictly +speaking, as well as paradoxically, all verbal expression +is more or less dialectic, however grammatical. While +usage establishes grammar, it no less establishes so-called +dialect. Therefore we may as rightfully refer to +"so-called grammar."</p> + +<p>It is not really a question of Literature's position +toward dialect that we are called upon to consider, but +rather how much of Literature's valuable time shall be +taken up by this dialectic country cousin. This question +Literature her gracious self most amiably answers by +hugging to her breast voluminous tomes, from Chaucer +on to Dickens, from Dickens on to Joel Chandler Harris. +And this affectionate spirit on the part of Literature, in +the main, we all most feelingly indorse.</p> + +<p>Briefly summed, it would appear that dialect means +something more than mere rude form of speech and +action—that it must, in some righteous and substantial +way, convey to us a positive force of soul, truth, dignity, +beauty, grace, purity and sweetness that may even touch +us to the tenderness of tears. Yes, dialect as certainly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span> +does all this as that speech and act refined may do it, +and for the same reason: it is simply, purely natural +and human.</p> + +<p>Yet the Lettered and the Unlettered powers are at +swords' points; and very old and bitter foemen, too, +they are. As fairly as we can, then, let us look over +the field of these contending forces and note their diverse +positions: First, <i>the Lettered</i>—they who have +the full advantages of refined education, training, and +association—are undoubtedly as wholly out of order +among <i>the Unlettered</i> as the Unlettered are out of order +in the exalted presence of the Lettered. Each faction +may in like aversion ignore or snub the other; but a +long-suffering Providence must bear with the society of +both. There may be one vague virtue demonstrated by +this feud: each division will be found unwaveringly +loyal to its kind, and mutually they desire no interchange +of sympathy whatever.—Neither element will +accept from the other any <i>patronizing</i> treatment; and, +perhaps, the more especially does the <i>Unlettered</i> faction +reject anything in vaguest likeness of this spirit. Of +the two divisions, in graphic summary,—<i>one</i> knows the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span> +very core and centre of refined civilization, and this +only; the <i>other</i> knows the outlying wilds and suburbs +of civilization, and this only. Whose, therefore, is the +greater knowledge, and whose the just right of any whit +of self-glorification?</p> + +<p>A curious thing, indeed, is this factional pride, as +made equally manifest in both forces; in one, for instance, +of the Unlettered forces: The average farmer, +or countryman, knows, in reality, a far better and wider +range of diction than he permits himself to use. He restricts +and abridges the vocabulary of his speech, fundamentally, +for the reason that he fears offending his rural +<i>neighbors</i>, to whom a choicer speech might suggest, on +his part, an assumption—a spirit of conscious superiority, +and therewith an implied reflection on <i>their</i> lack of +intelligence and general worthiness. If there is any one +text universally known and nurtured of the Unlettered +masses of our common country, it is that which reads, +"All men are created equal." Therefore it is a becoming +thing when true gentility prefers to overlook some +variations of the class who, more from lack of cultivation +than out of rude intent, sometimes almost compel a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span> +positive doubt of the nice veracity of the declaration, or +at least a grief at the munificent liberality of the so-be-quoted +statement. The somewhat bewildering position +of these conflicting forces leaves us nothing further to +consider, but how to make the most and best of the situation +so far as Literature may be hurt or helped +thereby.</p> + +<p>Equally with the perfect English, then, dialect should +have full justice done it. Then always it is worthy, and +in Literature is thus welcome. The writer of dialect +should as reverently venture in its use as in his chastest +English. His effort in the <i>scholarly</i> and <i>elegant</i> direction +suffers no neglect—he is <i>schooled</i> in that, perhaps, +he may explain. Then let him be <i>schooled</i> in <i>dialect</i> +before he sets up as an expounder of it—a teacher, forsooth +a master! The real master must not only know +each varying light and shade of dialect expression, but +he must as minutely know the inner character of the +people whose native tongue it is, else his product is +simply a pretence—a wilful forgery, a rank abomination. +Dialect has been and is thus insulted, vilified, +and degraded, now and continually; and through this<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span> +outrage solely, thousands of generous-minded readers +have been turned against dialect who otherwise would +have loved and blessed it in its real form of crude purity +and unstrained sweetness—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Honey dripping from the comb!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Let no impious faddist, then, assume its just interpretation. +He may know everything else in the world, but +not dialect, nor dialectic people, for both of which he +has supreme contempt, which same, be sure, is heartily +returned. Such a "superior" personage may even go +among these simple country people and abide indefinitely +in the midst of them, yet their more righteous contempt +never for one instant permits them to be their real selves +in his presence. In consequence, his most conscientious +report of them, their ways, lives, and interests, is absolutely +of no importance or value in the world. He never +knew them, nor will he ever know them. They are not +his kind of people, any more than he is their kind of +man; and <i>their</i> disappointment grieves us more than his.</p> + +<p>The master in Literature, as in any art, is that "divinely +gifted man" who does just obeisance to all living<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span> +creatures, "both man and beast and bird." It is this +master only who, as he writes, can sweep himself aside +and leave his humble characters to do the thinking and +the talking. This man it is who celebrates his performance—not +himself. His work he celebrates because it +is not his only, but because he feels it the conscientious +reproduction of the life itself—as he has seen and known +and felt it;—a representation it is of God's own script, +translated and transcribed by the worshipful mind and +heart and hand of genius. This virtue in all art is impartially +demanded, and genius only can fully answer +the demand in any art for which we claim perfection. +The painter has his expression of it, with no slighting +of the dialectic element; so, too, the sculptor, the musician, +and the list entire. In the line of Literature and +literary material, an illustration of the nice meaning and +distinction of dialectic art will be found in Charles Dudley +Warner's comment of George Cable's work, as far +back as 1883, referring to the author's own rendition of +it from the platform. Mr. Warner says:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>While the author was unfolding to his audience a life and +society unfamiliar to them and entrancing them with pictures,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span> +the reality of which none doubted and the spell of which none +cared to escape, it occurred to me that here was the solution of +all the pother we have recently got into about the realistic and +the ideal schools in fiction. In "Posson Jone," an awkward +camp-meeting country preacher is the victim of a vulgar confidence +game; the scenes are the street, a drinking-place, a +gambling-saloon, a bull-ring, and a calaboose; there is not a +"respectable" character in it. Where shall we look for a more +faithful picture of low life? Where shall we find another so +vividly set forth in all its sordid details? And yet see how art +steps in, with the wand of genius, to make literature! Over the +whole the author has cast an ideal light; over a picture that, in +the hands of a bungling realist, would have been repellant he +has thrown the idealizing grace that makes it one of the most +charming sketches in the world. Here is nature, as nature only +ought to be in literature, elevated but never departed from.</p></div> + +<p>So we find dialect, as a branch of Literature, worthy +of the high attention and employment of the greatest +master in letters—not the merest mountebank. Turn to +Dickens, in innumerable passages of pathos: the death +of poor Jo, or that of the "Cheap John's" little daughter +in her father's arms, on the foot-board of his peddling +cart before the jeering of the vulgar mob; smile moistly, +too, at Mr. Sleary's odd philosophies; or at the trials of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span> +Sissy Jupe; or lift and tower with indignation, giving +ear to Stephen Blackpool and the stainless nobility of +his cloyed utterances.</p> + +<p>The crudeness or the homeliness of the dialectic element +does not argue its unfitness in any way. Some +readers seem to think so; but they are wrong, and very +gravely wrong. Our own brief history as a nation, and our +finding and founding and maintaining of it, left our forefathers +little time indeed for the delicate cultivation of +the arts and graces of refined and scholarly attainments. +And there is little wonder, and great blamelessness on +their part, if they lapsed in point of high mental accomplishments, +seeing their attention was so absorbed +by propositions looking toward the protection of their +rude farm-homes, their meagre harvests, and their half-stabled +cattle from the dread invasion of the Indian. +Then, too, they had their mothers and their wives and +little ones to protect, to clothe, to feed, and to die for +in this awful line of duty, as hundreds upon hundreds +did. These sad facts are here accented and detailed not +so much for the sake of being tedious as to more clearly +indicate why it was that many of the truly heroic ancestry<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span> +of "our best people" grew unquestionably dialect +of caste—not alone in speech, but in every mental trait +and personal address. It is a grievous fact for us to +confront, but many of them wore apparel of the commonest, +talked loudly, and doubtless said "thisaway" +and "thataway," and "Watch y' doin' of?" and "Whur +y' goin' at?"—using dialect even in their prayers to Him +who, in His gentle mercy, listened and was pleased; and +who listens verily unto this hour to all like prayers, and +yet pleased; yea, haply listens even to the refined rhetorical +petitions of those who are <i>not</i> pleased.</p> + +<p>There is something more at fault than the language +when we turn from or flinch at it; and, as has been intimated, +the wretched fault may be skulkingly hidden +away in the ambush of <i>ostensible</i> dialect—that type of +dialect so copiously produced by its sole manufacturers, +who, utterly stark and bare of the vaguest idea of +country life or country people, at once assume that all +their "gifted pens" have to do is to stupidly misspell +every word; vulgarly mistreat and besloven every theme, +however sacred; maim, cripple, and disfigure language +never in the vocabulary of the countryman—then<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span> +smuggle these monstrosities of either rhyme or prose +somehow into the public print that is to innocently +smear them broadcast all over the face of the country +they insult.</p> + +<p>How different the mind and method of the true interpreter. +As this phrase goes down the man himself +arises—the type perfect—Colonel Richard Malcolm +Johnston, who wrote "The Dukesborough Tales"—an +accomplished classic scholar and teacher, yet no less an +accomplished master and lover of his native dialect of +middle Georgia. He, like Dickens, permits his rustic +characters to think, talk, act, and live, just as nature +designed them. He does not make the pitiable error of +either patronizing or making fun of them. He knows +them and he loves them; and they know and love him in +return. Recalling Colonel Johnston's dialectic sketches, +with his own presentation of them from the platform, +the writer notes a fact that seems singularly to obtain +among all true dialect-writers, namely, that they are +also endowed with native histrionic capabilities: <i>Hear</i>, +as well as read, Twain, Cable, Johnston, Page, Smith, +and all the list, with barely an exception.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span></p> + +<p>Did space permit, no better illustration of true dialect +sketch and characterization might here be offered than +Colonel Johnston's simple story of "Mr. Absalom Billingslea," +or the short and simple annals of his like +quaint contemporaries, "Mr. Bill Williams" and "Mr. +Jonas Lively." The scene is the country and the very +little country town, with landscape, atmosphere, simplicity, +circumstance—all surroundings and conditions—<i>veritable</i>—everything +rural and dialectic, no less than +the simple, primitive, common, wholesome-hearted men +and women who so naturally live and have their blessed +being in his stories, just as in the life itself. This is the +manifest work of the true dialect writer and expounder. +In every detail, the most minute, such work reveals the +master-hand and heart of the humanitarian as well as +artist—the two are indissolubly fused—and the result of +such just treatment of whatever lowly themes or characters +we can but love and loyally approve with all our +human hearts. Such masters necessarily are rare, and +such ripe perfecting as is here attained may be in part +the mellowing result of age and long observation, though<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span> +it can but be based upon the wisest, purest spirit of the +man as well as artist.</p> + +<p>In no less excellence should the work of Joel Chandler +Harris be regarded: His touch alike is ever reverential. +He has gathered up the bruised and broken voices and +the legends of the slave, and from his child-heart he +has affectionately yielded them to us in all their eerie +beauty and wild loveliness. Through them we are made +to glorify the helpless and the weak and to revel in their +victories. But, better, we are taught that even in barbaric +breasts there dwells inherently the sense of right +above wrong—equity above law—and the One Unerring +Righteousness Eternal. With equal truth and strength, +too, Mr. Harris has treated the dialectic elements of the +interior Georgia country—the wilds and fastnesses of +the "moonshiners." His tale of "Teague Poteet," of +some years ago, was contemporaneous with the list of +striking mountain stories from that strong and highly +gifted Tennesseean, Miss Murfree, or "Charles Egbert +Craddock." In the dialectic spirit her stories charm and +hold us. Always there is strangely mingled, but most +naturally, the gentle nature cropping out amid the most<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span> +desperate and stoical: the night scene in the isolated +mountain cabin, guarded ever without and within from +any chance down-swooping of the minions of the red-eyed +law; the great man-group of gentle giants, with +rifles never out of arm's-reach, in tender rivalry ranged +admiringly around the crowing, wakeful little boy-baby; +the return, at last, of the belated mistress of the +house—the sister, to whom all do great, awkward reverence. +Jealously snatching up the babe and kissing it, +she querulously demands why he has not long ago been +put to bed. "He 'lowed he wouldn't go," is the reply.</p> + +<p>Thomas Nelson Page, of Virginia, who wrote "Meh +Lady"—a positive classic in the Negro dialect: his +work is veritable—strong and pure and sweet; and as an +oral reader of it the doubly gifted author, in voice and +cadence, natural utterance, every possible effect of +speech and tone, is doubtless without rival anywhere.</p> + +<p>Many more, indeed, than may be mentioned now +there are of these real benefactors and preservers of the +wayside characters, times, and customs of our ever-shifting +history. Needless is it to speak here of the earlier +of our workers in the dialectic line—of James Russell<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span> +Lowell's New England "Hosea Biglow," Dr. Eggleston's +"Hoosier School-Master," or the very rare and +quaint, bright prattle of "Helen's Babies." In connection +with this last let us very seriously inquire what this +<i>real</i> child has done that Literature should so persistently +refuse to give him an abiding welcome? Since for ages +this question seems to have been left unasked, it may be +timely now to propound it. Why not the real child in +Literature? The real child is good enough (we all +know he is bad enough) to command our admiring attention +and most lively interest in real life, and just as +we find him "in the raw." Then why do we deny him +any righteous place of recognition in our Literature? +From the immemorial advent of our dear old Mother +Goose, Literature has been especially catering to the +juvenile needs and desires, and yet steadfastly overlooking, +all the time, the very principles upon which Nature +herself founds and presents this lawless little brood of +hers—the children. It is not the children who are out +of order; it is Literature. And not only is Literature +out of order, but she is presumptuous; she is impudent. +She takes Nature's children and revises and corrects<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span> +them till "their own mother doesn't know them." This +is literal fact. So, very many of us are coming to inquire, +as we've a right, why is the real child excluded +from a just hearing in the world of letters as he has in +the world of fact? For instance, what has the lovely +little ragamuffin ever done of sufficient guilt to eternally +consign him to the monstrous penalty of speaking most +accurate grammar all the literary hours of the days of +the years of his otherwise natural life?—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Oh, mother, may I go to school<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With brother Charles to-day?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The air is very fine and cool;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Oh, mother, say I may!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>—Is this a real boy that would make such a request, +and is it the real language he would use? No, we are +glad to say that it is not. Simply it is a libel, in every +particular, on any boy, however fondly and exactingly +trained by parents however zealous for his overdecorous +future. Better, indeed, the dubious sentiment of the +most trivial nursery jingle, since the latter at least maintains +the lawless though wholesome spirit of the child-genuine.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span>—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Hink! Minx! The old witch winks—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The fat begins to fry;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There's nobody home but Jumping Joan,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Father and mother and I."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Though even here the impious poet leaves the scar of +grammatical knowledge upon childhood's native diction; +and so the helpless little fellow is again misrepresented, +and his character, to all intents and purposes, is assaulted +and maligned outrageously thereby.</p> + +<p>Now, in all seriousness, this situation ought not to be +permitted to exist, though to change it seems an almost +insurmountable task. The general public, very probably, +is not aware of the real gravity of the position of +the case as even unto this day it exists. Let the public +try, then, to contribute the real child to the so-called +Child Literature of its country, and have its real child +returned as promptly as it dare show its little tousled +head in the presence of that scholarly and dignified institution. +Then ask why your real child has been +spanked back home again, and the wise mentors there +will virtually tell you that Child Literature wants no +real children in it, that the real child's example of defective<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span> +grammar and lack of elegant deportment would +furnish to its little patrician patrons suggestions very +hurtful indeed to their higher morals, tendencies, and +ambitions. Then, although the general public couldn't +for the life of it see why or how, and might even be +reminded that <i>it</i> was just such a rowdying child itself, +and that its <i>father</i>—the Father of his Country—was just +such a child; that Abraham Lincoln was just such a +lovable, lawless child, and yet was blessed and chosen in +the end for the highest service man may ever render +unto man,—all—all this argument would avail not in +the least, since the elegantly minded purveyors of Child +Literature can not possibly tolerate the presence of any +but the refined children—the very proper children—the +studiously thoughtful, poetic children;—and these must +be kept safe from the contaminating touch of our rough-and-tumble +little fellows in "hodden gray," with frowzly +heads, begrimed but laughing faces, and such awful, +awful vulgarities of naturalness, and crimes of simplicity, +and brazen faith and trust, and love of life and +everybody in it. All other real people are getting into +Literature; and without some real children along will +they not soon be getting lonesome, too?</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + +<h2> +Books By<br /> +James Whitcomb Riley<br /></h2> + +<p>NEGHBORLY POEMS<br /> +<br /> +SKETCHES IN PROSE, WITH INTERLUDING VERSES<br /> +<br /> +AFTERWHILES<br /> +<br /> +PIPES O' PAN (Prose and Verse)<br /> +<br /> +RHYMES OF CHILDHOOD<br /> +<br /> +FLYING ISLANDS OF THE NIGHT<br /> +<br /> +GREEN FIELDS AND RUNNING BROOKS<br /> +<br /> +ARMAZINDY<br /> +<br /> +A CHILD-WORLD<br /> +<br /> +HOME-FOLKS<br /> +<br /> +OLD-FASHIONED ROSES<br /> +(English Edition)<br /> +<br /> +THE GOLDEN YEAR<br /> +(English Edition)<br /> +<br /> +POEMS HERE AT HOME<br /> +<br /> +RUBÁIYÁT OF DOC SIFERS<br /> +<br /> +CHILD-RHYMES, WITH HOOSIER PICTURES<br /> +<br /> +RILEY LOVE-LYRICS<br /> +(Pictures by Dyer)<br /> +</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="Transcribers_Notes" id="Transcribers_Notes"></a>Transcriber's Notes</h3> + +<p>Moved List of Books by James Whitcomb Riley to end of book.</p> + +<p>Page <a href="#Page_204">204</a>: Corrected typo genious to genius<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(and genious only can fully answer the demand in any art).</span></p> + +<p>Made minor punctuation corrections.</p> + + + + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Neghborly Poems and Dialect Sketches, by +James Whitcomb Riley + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NEGHBORLY POEMS, DIALECT SKETCHES *** + +***** This file should be named 37074-h.htm or 37074-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/7/0/7/37074/ + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Diane Monico, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + +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. 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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: Neghborly Poems and Dialect Sketches + +Author: James Whitcomb Riley + +Release Date: August 14, 2011 [EBook #37074] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NEGHBORLY POEMS, DIALECT SKETCHES *** + + + + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Diane Monico, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + + + +NEGHBORLY POEMS + +AND + +DIALECT SKETCHES + +JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY + +INDIANAPOLIS +THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY +PUBLISHERS + + +Copyright 1883, 1891 and 1897 + +By JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY + +PRESS OF +BRAUNWORTH & CO. +BOOKBINDERS AND PRINTERS +BROOKLYN, N. Y. + + +TO MY BROTHER +HUMBOLDT RILEY + + + + +PREFACE + + +As far back into boyhood as the writer's memory may intelligently go, +the "country poet" is most pleasantly recalled. He was, and is, as +common as the "country fiddler," and as full of good old-fashioned +music. Not a master of melody, indeed, but a poet, certainly-- + + "Who, through long days of labor, + And nights devoid of ease, + Still heard in his soul the music + Of wonderful melodies." + +And it is simply the purpose of this series of dialectic studies to +reflect the real worth of this homely child of nature, and to echo +faithfully, if possible, the faltering music of his song. + +In adding to this series, as the writer has, for many years, been urged +to do, and answering as steadfast a demand of Benj. F. Johnson's first +and oldest friends, it has been decided that this further work of his +be introduced to the reader of the volume as was the old man's first +work to the reader of the newspaper of nearly ten years ago. + +Directly, then, referring to the Indianapolis "Daily Journal,"--under +whose management the writer had for some time been employed,--from +issue of date June 17, 1882, under editorial caption of "A Boone County +Pastoral," this article is herewith quoted: + + Benj. F. Johnson, of Boone county, who considers the Journal + a "very valubul" newspaper, writes to enclose us an original + poem, desiring that we kindly accept it for publication, as + "many neghbors and friends is astin' him to have the same + struck off." + + Mr. Johnson thoughtfully informs us that he is "no edjucated + man," but that he has, "from childhood up tel old enough to + vote, allus wrote more er less poetry, as many of an albun + in the neghborhood can testify." Again, he says that he + writes "from the hart out"; and there is a touch of genuine + pathos in the frank avowal, "Thare is times when I write the + tears rolls down my cheeks." + + In all sincerity, Mr. Johnson, we are glad to publish the + poem you send, and just as you have written it. That is its + greatest charm. Its very defects compose its excellence. You + need no better education than the one from which emanates + "The Old Swimmin'-Hole." It is real poetry, and all the more + tender and lovable for the unquestionable evidence it bears + of having been written "from the hart out." The only thing + we find to--but hold! Let us first lay the poem before the + reader: + +Here followed the poem, "The Old Swimmin'-Hole," entire--the editorial +comment ending as follows: + + The only thing now, Mr. Johnson--as we were about to + observe--the only thing we find to criticise, at all + relative to the poem, is your closing statement to the + effect that "It was wrote to go to the tune of 'The Captin + with his Whiskers!'" You should not have told us that, O + Rare Ben. Johnson! + +A week later, in the "Journal" of date June 24th, followed this +additional mention of "Benj. F. Johnson, of Boone": + + It is a pleasure for us to note that the publication of the + poem of "The Old Swimmin'-Hole," to which the Journal, with + just pride, referred last week, has proved almost as great a + pleasure to its author as to the hosts of delighted readers + who have written in its praise, or called to personally + indorse our high opinion of its poetic value. We have just + received a letter from Mr. Johnson, the author, inclosing us + another lyrical performance, which in many features even + surpasses the originality and spirit of the former effort. + Certainly the least that can be said of it is that it + stands a thorough proof of our first assertion, that the + author, though by no means a man of learning and profound + literary attainments, is none the less a true poet and an + artist. The letter, accompanying this later amaranth of + blooming wildwood verse, we publish in its entirety, assured + that Mr. Johnson's many admirers will be charmed, as we have + been, at the delicious glimpse he gives us of his + inspiration, modes of study, home-life, and surroundings: + + "To the Editer of the Indanoplus Jurnal: + + "Respected Sir--The paper is here, markin' the old + swimmin'-hole, my poetry which you seem to like so well. I + joy to see it in print, and I thank you, hart and voice, fer + speakin' of its merrits in the way in which you do. I am + glad you thought it was real poetry, as you said in your + artikle. But I make bold to ast you what was your idy in + sayin' I had ortent of told you it went to the tune I spoke + of in my last. I felt highly flatered tel I got that fur. + Was it because you don't know the tune refered to in the + letter? Er wasent some words spelt right er not? Still ef + you hadent of said somepin' aginst it Ide of thought you was + makin' fun. As I said before I well know my own + unedjucation, but I don't think that is any reason the + feelin's of the soul is stunted in theyr growth however. + 'Juge not less ye be juged,' says The Good Book, and so say + I, ef I thought you was makin' fun of the lines that I wrote + and which you done me the onner to have printed off in sich + fine style that I have read it over and over again in the + paper you sent, and I would like to have about three more ef + you can spare the same and state by mail what they will come + at. All nature was in tune day before yisterday when your + paper come to hand. It had ben a-raining hard fer some days, + but that morning opened up as clear as a whissel. No clouds + was in the sky, and the air was bammy with the warm sunshine + and the wet smell of the earth and the locus blossoms and + the flowrs and pennyroil and boneset. I got up, the first + one about the place, and went forth to the plesant fields. I + fed the stock with lavish hand and wortered them in merry + glee, they was no bird in all the land no happier than me. I + have jest wrote a verse of poetry in this letter; see ef you + can find it. I also send you a whole poem which was wrote + off the very day your paper come. I started it in the + morning I have so feebly tride to pictur' to you and wound + her up by suppertime, besides doin' a fare day's work around + the place. + + "Ef you print this one I think you will like it better than + the other. This ain't a sad poem like the other was, but you + will find it full of careful thought. I pride myself on + that. I also send you 30 cents in stamps fer you to take + your pay out of fer the other papers I said, and also fer + three more with this in it ef you have it printed and + oblige. Ef you don't print this poem, keep the stamps and + send me three more papers with _the other one_ in--makin' + the sum totul of six (6) papers altogether in full. Ever + your true friend, + + BENJ. F. JOHNSON. + + "N. B.--The tune of this one is 'The Bold Privateer.'" + +Here followed the poem, "Thoughts Fer The Discuraged Farmer";--and +here, too, fittingly ends any comment but that which would appear +trivial and gratuitous. + +Simply, in briefest conclusion, the hale, sound, artless, lovable +character of Benj. F. Johnson remains, in the writer's mind, as from +the first, far less a fiction than a living, breathing, vigorous +reality.--So strong, indeed, has his personality been made manifest, +that many times, in visionary argument with the sturdy old myth over +certain changes from the original forms of his productions, he has so +incontinently beaten down all suggestions as to a less incongruous +association of thoughts and words, together with protests against his +many violations of poetic method, harmony, and grace, that nothing was +left the writer but to submit to what has always seemed--and in truth +still seems--a superior wisdom of dictation. + + J. W. R. + +_Indianapolis, July, 1891._ + + + + +SALUTATION + +TO BENJ. F. JOHNSON + + +_THE OLD MAN_ + + + _Lo! steadfast and serene, + In patient pause between + The seen and the unseen, + What gentle zephyrs fan + Your silken silver hair,-- + And what diviner air + Breathes round you like a prayer, + Old Man?_ + + _Can you, in nearer view + Of Glory, pierce the blue + Of happy Heaven through; + And, listening mutely, can + Your senses, dull to us, + Hear Angel-voices thus, + In chorus glorious-- + Old Man?_ + + _In your reposeful gaze + The dusk of Autumn days + Is blent with April haze, + As when of old began + The bursting of the bud + Of rosy babyhood-- + When all the world was good, + Old Man._ + + _And yet I find a sly + Little twinkle in your eye; + And your whisperingly shy + Little laugh is simply an + Internal shout of glee + That betrays the fallacy + You'd perpetrate on me, + Old Man!_ + + _So just put up the frown + That your brows are pulling down! + Why, the fleetest boy in town, + As he bared his feet and ran, + Could read with half a glance-- + And of keen rebuke, perchance-- + Your secret countenance, + Old Man!_ + + _Now, honestly, confess: + Is an old man any less + Than the little child we bless + And caress when we can? + Isn't age but just a place + Where you mask the childish face + To preserve its inner grace, + Old Man?_ + + _Hasn't age a truant day, + Just as that you went astray + In the wayward, restless way, + When, brown with dust and tan, + Your roguish face essayed, + In solemn masquerade, + To hide the smile it made + Old Man?_ + + _Now, fair, and square, and true, + Don't your old soul tremble through, + As in youth it used to do + When it brimmed and overran + With the strange, enchanted sights, + And the splendors and delights + Of the old "Arabian Nights," + Old Man?_ + + _When, haply, you have fared + Where glad Aladdin shared + His lamp with you, and dared + The Afrite and his clan; + And, with him, clambered through + The trees where jewels grew-- + And filled your pockets, too, + Old Man?_ + + _Or, with Sinbad, at sea-- + And in veracity + Who has sinned as bad as he, + Or would, or will, or can?-- + Have you listened to his lies, + With open mouth and eyes, + And learned his art likewise, + Old Man?_ + + _And you need not deny + That your eyes were wet as dry, + Reading novels on the sly! + And review them, if you can, + And the same warm tears will fall-- + Only faster, that is all-- + Over Little Nell and Paul, + Old Man!_ + + _O, you were a lucky lad-- + Just as good as you were bad! + And the host of friends you had-- + Charley, Tom, and Dick, and Dan; + And the old School-Teacher, too, + Though he often censured you; + And the girls in pink and blue, + Old Man._ + + _And--as often you have leant, + In boyish sentiment, + To kiss the letter sent + By Nelly, Belle, or Nan-- + Wherein the rose's hue + Was red, the violet blue-- + And sugar sweet--and you, + Old Man,--_ + + _So, to-day, as lives the bloom, + And the sweetness, and perfume + Of the blossoms, I assume, + On the same mysterious plan + The master's love assures, + That the self-same boy endures + In that hale old heart of yours, + Old Man._ + + + + +CONTENTS + + +THE OLD SWIMMIN'-HOLE, AND 'LEVEN MORE POEMS + +_The Delights of our Childhood is soon Passed Away_ 2 + +THE OLD SWIMMIN'-HOLE 3 + +THOUGHTS FER THE DISCURAGED FARMER 6 + +A SUMMER'S DAY 9 + +A HYMB OF FAITH 13 + +WORTERMELON TIME 16 + +MY PHILOSOFY 20 + +WHEN THE FROST IS ON THE PUNKIN 23 + +ON THE DEATH OF LITTLE MAHALA ASHCRAFT 26 + +THE MULBERRY TREE 29 + +TO MY OLD FRIEND, WILLIAM LEACHMAN 31 + +MY FIDDLE 36 + +THE CLOVER 39 + + +NEGHBORLY POEMS + +ON FRIENDSHIP, GRIEF AND FARM-LIFE + +_Us Farmers in the Country, as the Seasons go and Come_ 42 + +ERASMUS WILSON 43 + +MY RUTHERS 48 + +ON A DEAD BABE 51 + +A OLD PLAYED-OUT SONG 52 + +"COON-DOG WESS" 55 + +PERFESSER JOHN CLARK RIDPATH 62 + +A TALE OF THE AIRLY DAYS 66 + +"MYLO JONES'S WIFE" 68 + +ON A SPLENDUD MATCH 71 + +OLD JOHN CLEVENGER ON BUCKEYES 72 + +THE HOSS 78 + +EZRA HOUSE 82 + +A PEN-PICTUR' 86 + +WET-WEATHER TALK 90 + +THOUGHTS ON A PORE JOKE 93 + +A MORTUL PRAYER 94 + +THE FIRST BLUEBIRD 96 + +EVAGENE BAKER 97 + +ON ANY ORDENARY MAN 100 + +TOWN AND COUNTRY 101 + +LINES WRIT FER ISAAC BRADWELL 103 + +DECORATION DAY ON THE PLACE 104 + +THE TREE-TOAD 107 + +THE ROSSVILLE LECTUR' COURSE 109 + +WHEN THE GREEN GITS BACK IN THE TREES 112 + +HOW IT HAPPENED 114 + +A DOS'T O' BLUES 117 + +THE OLD HOME BY THE MILL 119 + +THE WAY IT WUZ 121 + +PAP'S OLD SAYIN' 125 + +ROMANCIN' 128 + +AN OLD SETTLER'S STORY 133 + +DIALECT IN LITERATURE 195 + + Originally contributed to THE FORUM--reprinted here + by permission. + + + + +"THE OLD SWIMMIN'-HOLE" + +AND + +'LEVEN MORE POEMS + +BY + +BENJ. F. JOHNSON, OF BOONE + + + _The delights of our childhood is soon passed away, + And our gloryus youth it departs,-- + And yit, dead and burried, they's blossoms of May + Ore theyr medderland graves in our harts. + So, friends of my bare-footed days on the farm, + Whether truant in city er not, + God prosper you same as He's prosperin' me, + Whilse your past haint despised er fergot._ + + _Oh! they's nothin', at morn, that's as grand unto me + As the glorys of Nachur so fare,-- + With the Spring in the breeze, and the bloom in the trees, + And the hum of the bees ev'rywhare! + The green in the woods, and the birds in the boughs, + And the dew spangled over the fields; + And the bah of the sheep and the bawl of the cows + And the call from the house to your meals!_ + + _Then ho! fer your brekfast! and ho! fer the toil + That waiteth alike man and beast! + Oh! its soon with my team I'll be turnin' up soil, + Whilse the sun shoulders up in the East + Ore the tops of the ellums and beeches and oaks, + To smile his godspeed on the plow, + And the furry and seed, and the Man in his need, + And the joy of the swet of his brow!_ + + + + +THE OLD SWIMMIN'-HOLE + + + Oh! the old swimmin'-hole! whare the crick so still and deep + Looked like a baby-river that was laying half asleep, + And the gurgle of the worter round the drift jest below + Sounded like the laugh of something we onc't ust to know + Before we could remember anything but the eyes + Of the angels lookin' out as we left Paradise; + But the merry days of youth is beyond our controle, + And it's hard to part ferever with the old swimmin'-hole. + + Oh! the old swimmin'-hole! In the happy days of yore, + When I ust to lean above it on the old sickamore, + Oh! it showed me a face in its warm sunny tide + That gazed back at me so gay and glorified, + It made me love myself, as I leaped to caress + My shadder smilin' up at me with sich tenderness. + But them days is past and gone, and old Time's tuck his toll + From the old man come back to the old swimmin'-hole. + + Oh! the old swimmin'-hole! In the long, lazy days + When the hum-drum of school made so many run-a-ways, + How plesant was the jurney down the old dusty lane, + Whare the tracks of our bare feet was all printed so plane + You could tell by the dent of the heel and the sole + They was lots o' fun on hands at the old swimmin'-hole. + But the lost joys is past! Let your tears in sorrow roll + Like the rain that ust to dapple up the old swimmin'-hole. + + Thare the bullrushes growed, and the cattails so tall, + And the sunshine and shadder fell over it all; + And it mottled the worter with amber and gold + Tel the glad lillies rocked in the ripples that rolled; + And the snake-feeder's four gauzy wings fluttered by + Like the ghost of a daisy dropped out of the sky, + Or a wownded apple-blossom in the breeze's controle + As it cut acrost some orchurd to'rds the old swimmin'-hole. + + Oh! the old swimmin'-hole! When I last saw the place, + The scenes was all changed, like the change in my face; + The bridge of the railroad now crosses the spot + Whare the old divin'-log lays sunk and fergot. + And I stray down the banks whare the trees ust to be-- + But never again will theyr shade shelter me! + And I wish in my sorrow I could strip to the soul, + And dive off in my grave like the old swimmin'-hole. + + + + +THOUGHTS FER THE DISCURAGED FARMER + + + The summer winds is sniffin' round the bloomin' locus' trees; + And the clover in the pastur is a big day fer the bees, + And they been a-swiggin' honey, above board and on the sly, + Tel they stutter in theyr buzzin' and stagger as they fly. + The flicker on the fence-rail 'pears to jest spit on his wings + And roll up his feathers, by the sassy way he sings; + And the hoss-fly is a-whettin'-up his forelegs fer biz, + And the off-mare is a-switchin' all of her tale they is. + + You can hear the blackbirds jawin' as they foller up the plow-- + Oh, theyr bound to git theyr brekfast, and theyr not a-carin' how; + So they quarrel in the furries, and they quarrel on the wing-- + But theyr peaceabler in pot-pies than any other thing: + And it's when I git my shotgun drawed up in stiddy rest, + She's as full of tribbelation as a yeller-jacket's nest; + And a few shots before dinner, when the sun's a-shinin' right, + Seems to kindo'-sorto' sharpen up a feller's appetite! + + They's been a heap o' rain, but the sun's out to-day, + And the clouds of the wet spell is all cleared away, + And the woods is all the greener, and the grass is greener still; + It may rain again to-morry, but I don't think it will. + Some says the crops is ruined, and the corn's drownded out, + And propha-sy the wheat will be a failure, without doubt; + But the kind Providence that has never failed us yet, + Will be on hands onc't more at the 'leventh hour, I bet! + + Does the medder-lark complane, as he swims high and dry + Through the waves of the wind and the blue of the sky? + Does the quail set up and whissel in a disappinted way, + Er hang his head in silunce, and sorrow all the day? + Is the chipmuck's health a-failin'?--Does he walk, er does he run? + Don't the buzzards ooze around up thare jest like they've allus done? + Is they anything the matter with the rooster's lungs er voice? + Ort a mortul be complanin' when dumb animals rejoice? + + Then let us, one and all, be contentud with our lot; + The June is here this mornin', and the sun is shining hot. + Oh! let us fill our harts up with the glory of the day, + Any banish ev'ry doubt and care and sorrow fur away! + Whatever be our station, with Providence fer guide, + Sich fine circumstances ort to make us satisfied; + Fer the world is full of roses, and the roses full of dew, + And the dew is full of heavenly love that drips fer me and you. + + + + +A SUMMER'S DAY + + + The Summer's put the idy in + My head that I'm a boy again; + And all around's so bright and gay + I want to put my team away, + And jest git out whare I can lay + And soak my hide full of the day! + But work is work, and must be done-- + Yit, as I work, I have my fun, + Jest fancyin' these furries here + Is childhood's paths onc't more so dear:-- + And as I walk through medder-lands, + And country lanes, and swampy trails + Whare long bullrushes bresh my hands; + And, tilted on the ridered rails + Of deadnin' fences, "Old Bob White" + Whissels his name in high delight, + And whirrs away. I wunder still, + Whichever way a boy's feet will-- + Whare trees has fell, with tangled tops + Whare dead leaves shakes, I stop fer breth, + Heerin' the acorn as it drops-- + H'istin' my chin up still as deth, + And watchin' clos't, with upturned eyes, + The tree where Mr. Squirrel tries + To hide hisse'f above the limb, + But lets his own tale tell on him. + I wunder on in deeper glooms-- + Git hungry, hearin' female cries + From old farm-houses, whare perfumes + Of harvest dinners seems to rise + And ta'nt a feller, hart and brane, + With memories he can't explane. + + I wunder through the underbresh, + Whare pig-tracks, pintin' to'rds the crick, + Is picked and printed in the fresh + Black bottom-lands, like wimmern pick + Theyr pie-crusts with a fork, some way, + When bakin' fer camp-meetin' day. + I wunder on and on and on, + Tel my gray hair and beard is gone, + And ev'ry wrinkle on my brow + Is rubbed clean out and shaddered now + With curls as brown and fare and fine + As tenderls of the wild grape-vine + That ust to climb the highest tree + To keep the ripest ones fer me. + I wunder still, and here I am + Wadin' the ford below the dam-- + The worter chucklin' round my knee + At hornet-welt and bramble-scratch, + And me a-slippin' 'crost to see + Ef Tyner's plums is ripe, and size + The old man's wortermelon-patch, + With juicy mouth and drouthy eyes. + Then, after sich a day of mirth + And happiness as worlds is wurth-- + So tired that heaven seems nigh about,-- + The sweetest tiredness on earth + Is to git home and flatten out-- + So tired you can't lay flat enugh, + And sorto' wish that you could spred + Out like molasses on the bed, + And jest drip off the aidges in + The dreams that never comes again. + + + + +A HYMB OF FAITH + + + O, Thou that doth all things devise + And fashon fer the best, + He'p us who sees with mortul eyes + To overlook the rest. + + They's times, of course, we grope in doubt, + And in afflictions sore; + So knock the louder, Lord, without, + And we'll unlock the door. + + Make us to feel, when times looks bad + And tears in pitty melts, + Thou wast the only he'p we had + When they was nothin' else. + + Death comes alike to ev'ry man + That ever was borned on earth; + Then let us do the best we can + To live fer all life's wurth. + + Ef storms and tempusts dred to see + Makes black the heavens ore, + They done the same in Galilee + Two thousand years before. + + But after all, the golden sun + Poured out its floods on them + That watched and waited fer the One + Then borned in Bethlyham. + + Also, the star of holy writ + Made noonday of the night, + Whilse other stars that looked at it + Was envious with delight. + + The sages then in wurship bowed, + From ev'ry clime so fare; + O, sinner, think of that glad crowd + That congergated thare! + + They was content to fall in ranks + With One that knowed the way + From good old Jurden's stormy banks + Clean up to Jedgmunt Day. + + No matter, then, how all is mixed + In our near-sighted eyes, + All things is fer the best, and fixed + Out straight in Paradise. + + Then take things as God sends 'em here, + And, ef we live er die, + Be more and more contenteder, + Without a-astin' why. + + O, Thou that doth all things devise + And fashon fer the best, + He'p us who sees with mortul eyes + To overlook the rest. + + + + +WORTERMELON TIME + + + Old wortermelon time is a-comin' round again, + And they ain't no man a-livin' any tickleder'n me, + Fer the way I hanker after wortermelons is a sin-- + Which is the why and wharefore, as you can plainly see. + + Oh! it's in the sandy soil wortermelons does the best, + And it's thare they'll lay and waller in the sunshine and the dew + Tel they wear all the green streaks clean off of theyr breast; + And you bet I ain't a-findin' any fault with them; air you? + + They ain't no better thing in the vegetable line; + And they don't need much 'tendin', as ev'ry farmer knows; + And when theyr ripe and ready fer to pluck from the vine, + I want to say to you theyr the best fruit that grows. + + It's some likes the yeller-core, and some likes the red. + And it's some says "The Little Californy" is the best; + But the sweetest slice of all I ever wedged in my head, + Is the old "Edingburg Mounting-sprout," of the west. + + You don't want no punkins nigh your wortermelon vines-- + 'Cause, some-way-another, they'll spile your melons, shore;-- + I've seed 'em taste like punkins, from the core to the rines, + Which may be a fact you have heerd of before. + + But your melons that's raised right and 'tended to with care, + You can walk around amongst 'em with a parent's pride and joy, + And thump 'em on the heads with as fatherly a air + As ef each one of them was your little girl er boy. + + I joy in my hart jest to hear that rippin' sound + When you split one down the back and jolt the halves in two, + And the friends you love the best is gethered all around-- + And you says unto your sweethart, "Oh, here's the core fer you!" + + And I like to slice 'em up in big pieces fer 'em all, + Espeshally the childern, and watch theyr high delight + As one by one the rines with theyr pink notches falls, + And they holler fer some more, with unquenched appetite. + + Boys takes to it natchurl, and I like to see 'em eat-- + A slice of wortermelon's like a frenchharp in theyr hands, + And when they "saw" it through theyr mouth sich music can't be beat-- + 'Cause it's music both the sperit and the stummick understands. + + Oh, they's more in wortermelons than the purty-colored meat, + And the overflowin' sweetness of the worter squshed betwixt + The up'ard and the down'ard motions of a feller's teeth, + And it's the taste of ripe old age and juicy childhood mixed. + + Fer I never taste a melon but my thoughts flies away + To the summertime of youth; and again I see the dawn, + And the fadin' afternoon of the long summer day, + And the dusk and dew a-fallin', and the night a'comin' on. + + And thare's the corn around us, and the lispin' leaves and trees, + And the stars a-peekin' down on us as still as silver mice, + And us boys in the wortermelons on our hands and knees, + And the new-moon hangin' ore us like a yeller-cored slice. + + Oh! it's wortermelon time is a-comin' round again, + And they ain't no man a-livin' any tickleder'n me, + Fer the way I hanker after wortermelons is a sin-- + Which is the why and wharefore, as you can plainly see. + + + + +MY PHILOSOFY + + + I ain't, ner don't p'tend to be, + Much posted on philosofy; + But thare is times, when all alone, + I work out idees of my own. + And of these same thare is a few + I'd like to jest refer to you-- + Pervidin' that you don't object + To listen clos't and rickollect. + + I allus argy that a man + Who does about the best he can + Is plenty good enugh to suit + This lower mundane institute-- + No matter ef his daily walk + Is subject fer his neghbor's talk, + And critic-minds of ev'ry whim + Jest all git up and go fer him! + + I knowed a feller onc't that had + The yeller-janders mighty bad,-- + And each and ev'ry friend he'd meet + Would stop and give him some receet + Fer cuorin' of 'em. But he'd say + He kindo' thought they'd go away + Without no medicin', and boast + That he'd git well without one doste. + + He kep' a-yellerin' on--and they + Perdictin' that he'd die some day + Before he knowed it! Tuck his bed, + The feller did, and lost his head, + And wundered in his mind a spell-- + Then rallied, and, at last, got well; + But ev'ry friend that said he'd die + Went back on him eternally! + + Its natchurl enugh, I guess, + When some gits more and some gits less, + Fer them-uns on the slimmest side + To claim it ain't a fare divide; + And I've knowed some to lay and wait, + And git up soon, and set up late, + To ketch some feller they could hate + Fer goin' at a faster gait. + + The signs is bad when folks commence + A-findin' fault with Providence, + And balkin' 'cause the earth don't shake + At ev'ry prancin' step they take. + No man is grate tel he can see + How less than little he would be + Ef stripped to self, and stark and bare + He hung his sign out anywhare. + + My doctern is to lay aside + Contensions, and be satisfied: + Jest do your best, and praise er blame + That follers that, counts jest the same. + I've allus noticed grate success + Is mixed with troubles, more or less, + And it's the man who does the best + That gits more kicks than all the rest. + + + + +WHEN THE FROST IS ON THE PUNKIN + + + When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock, + And you hear the kyouck and gobble of the struttin' turkey-cock, + And the clackin' of the guineys, and the cluckin' of the hens, + And the rooster's hallylooyer as he tiptoes on the fence; + O, its then's the times a feller is a-feelin' at his best, + With the risin' sun to greet him from a night of peaceful rest, + As he leaves the house, bare-headed, and goes out to feed the stock, + When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock. + + They's something kindo' harty-like about the atmusfere + When the heat of summer's over and the coolin' fall is here-- + Of course we miss the flowers, and the blossums on the trees, + And the mumble of the hummin'-birds and buzzin' of the bees; + But the air's so appetizin'; and the landscape through the haze + Of a crisp and sunny morning of the airly autumn days + Is a pictur' that no painter has the colorin' to mock-- + When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock. + + The husky, rusty russel of the tossels of the corn, + And the raspin' of the tangled leaves, as golden as the morn; + The stubble in the furries--kindo' lonesome-like, but still + A-preachin' sermuns to us of the barns they growed to fill; + The strawstack in the medder, and the reaper in the shed; + The hosses in theyr stalls below--the clover overhead!-- + O, it sets my hart a-clickin' like the tickin' of a clock, + When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock! + + Then your apples all is getherd, and the ones a feller keeps + Is poured around the celler-floor in red and yeller heaps; + And your cider-makin' 's over, and your wimmern-folks is through + With their mince and apple-butter, and theyr souse and saussage, too!... + I don't know how to tell it--but ef sich a thing could be + As the Angels wantin' boardin', and they'd call around on _me_-- + I'd want to 'commodate 'em--all the whole-indurin' flock-- + When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock! + + + + +ON THE DEATH OF LITTLE MAHALA ASHCRAFT + + + "Little Haly! Little Haly!" cheeps the robin in the tree; + "Little Haly!" sighs the clover, "Little Haly!" moans the bee; + "Little Haly! Little Haly!" calls the kill-deer at twilight; + And the katydids and crickets hollers "Haly!" all the night. + + The sunflowers and the hollyhawks droops over the garden fence; + The old path down the gardenwalks still holds her footprints' dents; + And the well-sweep's swingin' bucket seems to wait fer her to come + And start it on its wortery errant down the old bee-gum. + + The bee-hives all is quiet; and the little Jersey steer, + When any one comes nigh it, acts so lonesome-like and queer; + And the little Banty chickens kindo' cutters faint and low, + Like the hand that now was feedin' 'em was one they didn't know. + + They's sorrow in the wavin' leaves of all the apple-trees; + And sorrow in the harvest-sheaves, and sorrow in the breeze; + And sorrow in the twitter of the swallers 'round the shed; + And all the song her red-bird sings is "Little Haly's dead!" + + The medder 'pears to miss her, and the pathway through the grass, + Whare the dewdrops ust to kiss her little bare feet as she passed; + And the old pin in the gate-post seems to kindo'-sorto' doubt + That Haly's little sunburnt hands'll ever pull it out. + + Did her father er her mother ever love her more'n me, + Er her sisters er her brother prize her love more tendurly? + I question--and what answer?--only tears, and tears alone, + And ev'ry neghbor's eyes is full o' tear-drops as my own. + + "Little Haly! Little Haly!" cheeps the robin in the tree; + "Little Haly!" sighs the clover, "Little Haly!" moans the bee; + "Little Haly! Little Haly!" calls the kill-deer at twilight, + And the katydids and crickets hollers "Haly!" all the night. + + + + +THE MULBERRY TREE + + + O, it's many's the scenes which is dear to my mind + As I think of my childhood so long left behind; + The home of my birth, with its old puncheon-floor, + And the bright morning-glorys that growed round the door; + The warped clab-board roof whare the rain it run off + Into streams of sweet dreams as I laid in the loft, + Countin' all of the joys that was dearest to me, + And a-thinkin' the most of the mulberry tree. + + And to-day as I dream, with both eyes wide-awake, + I can see the old tree, and its limbs as they shake, + And the long purple berries that rained on the ground + Whare the pastur' was bald whare we trommpt it around. + And again, peekin' up through the thick leafy shade, + I can see the glad smiles of the friends when I strayed + With my little bare feet from my own mother's knee + To foller them off to the mulberry tree. + + Leanin' up in the forks, I can see the old rail, + And the boy climbin' up it, claw, tooth, and toe-nail, + And in fancy can hear, as he spits on his hands, + The ring of his laugh and the rip of his pants. + But that rail led to glory, as certin and shore + As I'll never climb thare by that rout' any more-- + What was all the green lauruls of Fame unto me, + With my brows in the boughs of the mulberry tree! + + Then its who can fergit the old mulberry tree + That he knowed in the days when his thoughts was as free + As the flutterin' wings of the birds that flew out + Of the tall wavin' tops as the boys come about? + O, a crowd of my memories, laughin' and gay, + Is a-climbin' the fence of that pastur' to-day, + And a-pantin' with joy, as us boys ust to be, + They go racin' acrost fer the mulberry tree. + + + + +TO MY OLD FRIEND, WILLIAM LEACHMAN + + + Fer forty year and better you have been a friend to me, + Through days of sore afflictions and dire adversity, + You allus had a kind word of counsul to impart, + Which was like a healin' 'intment to the sorrow of my hart. + + When I burried my first womern, William Leachman, it was you + Had the only consolation that I could listen to-- + Fer I knowed you had gone through it and had rallied from the blow, + And when you said I'd do the same, I knowed you'd ort to know. + + But that time I'll long remember; how I wundered here and thare-- + Through the settin'-room and kitchen, and out in the open air-- + And the snowflakes whirlin', whirlin', and the fields a frozen glare, + And the neghbors' sleds and wagons congergatin' ev'rywhare. + + I turned my eyes to'rds heaven, but the sun was hid away; + I turned my eyes to'rds earth again, but all was cold and gray; + And the clock, like ice a-crackin', clickt the icy hours in two-- + And my eyes'd never thawed out ef it hadn't been fer you! + + We set thare by the smoke-house--me and you out thare alone-- + Me a-thinkin'--you a-talkin' in a soothin' undertone-- + You a-talkin'--me a-thinkin' of the summers long ago, + And a-writin' "Marthy--Marthy" with my finger in the snow! + + William Leachman, I can see you jest as plane as I could then; + And your hand is on my shoulder, and you rouse me up again; + And I see the tears a-drippin' from your own eyes, as you say: + "Be rickonciled and bear it--we but linger fer a day!" + + At the last Old Settlers' Meetin' we went j'intly, you and me-- + Your hosses and my wagon, as you wanted it to be; + And sence I can remember, from the time we've neghbored here, + In all sich friendly actions you have double-done your sheer. + + It was better than the meetin', too, that 9-mile talk we had + Of the times when we first settled here and travel was so bad; + When we had to go on hoss-back, and sometimes on "Shanks's mare," + And "blaze" a road fer them behind that had to travel thare. + + And now we was a-trottin' 'long a level gravel pike, + In a big two-hoss road-wagon, jest as easy as you like-- + Two of us on the front seat, and our wimmern-folks behind, + A-settin' in theyr Winsor-cheers in perfect peace of mind! + + And we pinted out old landmarks, nearly faded out of sight:-- + Thare they ust to rob the stage-coach; thare Gash Morgan had the fight + With the old stag-deer that pronged him--how he battled fer his life, + And lived to prove the story by the handle of his knife. + + Thare the first griss-mill was put up in the Settlement, and we + Had tuck our grindin' to it in the Fall of Forty-three-- + When we tuck our rifles with us, techin' elbows all the way, + And a-stickin' right together ev'ry minute, night and day. + + Thare ust to stand the tavern that they called the "Travelers' Rest," + And thare, beyent the covered bridge, "The Counterfitters' Nest"-- + Whare they claimed the house was ha'nted--that a man was murdered thare, + And burried underneath the floor, er 'round the place somewhare. + + And the old Plank-road they laid along in Fifty-one er two-- + You know we talked about the times when the old road was new: + How "Uncle Sam" put down that road and never taxed the State + Was a problem, don't you rickollect, we couldn't _dim_onstrate? + + Ways was devius, William Leachman, that me and you has past; + But as I found you true at first, I find you true at last; + And, now the time's a-comin' mighty nigh our jurney's end, + I want to throw wide open all my soul to you, my friend. + + With the stren'th of all my bein', and the heat of hart and brane, + And ev'ry livin' drop of blood in artery and vane, + I love you and respect you, and I venerate your name, + Fer the name of William Leachman and True Manhood's jest the same! + + + + +MY FIDDLE + + + My fiddle?--Well, I kindo' keep her handy, don't you know! + Though I ain't so much inclined to tromp the strings and switch the bow + As I was before the timber of my elbows got so dry, + And my fingers was more limber-like and caperish and spry; + Yit I can plonk and plunk and plink, + And tune her up and play, + And jest lean back and laugh and wink + At ev'ry rainy day! + + My playin' 's only middlin'--tunes I picked up when a boy-- + The kindo'-sorto' fiddlin' that the folks calls "cordaroy"; + "The Old Fat Gal," and "Rye-straw," and "My Sailyor's on the Sea," + Is the old cowtillions _I_ "saw" when the ch'ice is left to me; + And so I plunk and plonk and plink, + And rosum-up my bow + And play the tunes that makes you think + The devil's in your toe! + + I was allus a romancin', do-less boy, to tell the truth, + A-fiddlin' and a-dancin', and a-wastin' of my youth, + And a-actin' and a-cuttin'-up all sorts o' silly pranks + That wasn't worth a botton of anybody's thanks! + But they tell me, when I ust to plink + And plonk and plunk and play, + My music seemed to have the kink + O' drivin' cares away! + + That's how this here old fiddle's won my hart's indurin' love! + From the strings acrost her middle, to the schreechin' keys above-- + From her "apern," over "bridge," and to the ribbon round her throat, + She's a wooin', cooin' pigeon, singin' "Love me" ev'ry note! + And so I pat her neck, and plink + Her strings with lovin' hands,-- + And, list'nin' clos't, I sometimes think + She kindo' understands! + + + + +THE CLOVER + + + Some sings of the lilly, and daisy, and rose, + And the pansies and pinks that the Summertime throws + In the green grassy lap of the medder that lays + Blinkin' up at the skyes through the sunshiney days; + But what is the lilly and all of the rest + Of the flowers, to a man with a hart in his brest + That was dipped brimmin' full of the honey and dew + Of the sweet clover-blossoms his babyhood knew? + + I never set eyes on a clover-field now, + Er fool round a stable, er climb in the mow, + But my childhood comes back jest as clear and as plane + As the smell of the clover I'm sniffin' again; + And I wunder away in a bare-footed dream, + Whare I tangle my toes in the blossoms that gleam + With the dew of the dawn of the morning of love + Ere it wept ore the graves that I'm weepin' above. + + And so I love clover--it seems like a part + Of the sacerdest sorrows and joys of my hart; + And wharever it blossoms, oh, thare let me bow + And thank the good God as I'm thankin' Him now; + And I pray to Him still fer the stren'th when I die, + To go out in the clover and tell it good-bye, + And lovin'ly nestle my face in its bloom + While my soul slips away on a breth of purfume. + + + + +NEGHBORLY POEMS + +ON FRIENDSHIP, GRIEF AND FARM-LIFE + +BY + +BENJ. F. JOHNSON, OF BOONE + + + _Us farmers in the country, as the seasons go and come, + Is purty much like other folks,--we're apt to grumble some! + The Spring's too back'ard fer us, er too for'ard--ary one-- + We'll jaw about it anyhow, and have our way er none! + The thaw's set in too suddent; er the frost's stayed in the soil + Too long to give the wheat a chance, and crops is bound to spoil! + The weather's eether most too mild, er too outrageous rough, + And altogether too much rain, er not half rain enugh!_ + + _Now what I'd like and what you'd like is plane enugh to see: + It's jest to have old Providence drop round on you and me + And ast us what our views is first, regardin' shine er rain, + And post 'em when to shet her off, er let her on again! + And yit I'd ruther, after all--considern other chores + I' got on hands, a-tendin' both to my affares and yours-- + I'd ruther miss the blame I'd git, a-rulin' things up thare, + And spend my extry time in praise and gratitude and prayer._ + + + + +ERASMUS WILSON + + + 'Ras Wilson, I respect you, 'cause + You're common, like you allus was + Afore you went to town and s'prised + The world by gittin' "reckonized," + And yit perservin', as I say, + Your common hoss-sense ev'ryway! + And when that name o' yourn occurs + On hand-bills, er in newspapers, + Er letters writ by friends 'at ast + About you, same as in the past, + And neghbors and relations 'low + You're out o' the tall timber now, + And "gittin' thare" about as spry's + The next!--as _I say_, when my eyes, + Er ears, lights on your name, I mind + The first time 'at I come to find + You--and my Rickollection yells, + Jest jubilunt as old sleigh-bells-- + "'Ras Wilson! Say! Hold up! and shake + A paw, fer old acquaintance sake!" + My _Rickollection_, more'n like, + Hain't overly too apt to strike + The what's-called "cultchurd public eye" + As wisdom of the deepest dye,-- + And yit my _Rickollection_ makes + So blame lots fewer bad mistakes, + Regardin' human-natchur' and + The fellers 'at I've shook theyr hand, + Than my _best jedgemunt's_ done, the day + I've met 'em--'fore I got away,-- + 'At--Well, 'Ras Wilson, let me grip + _Your_ hand in warmest pardnership! + + Dad-burn ye!--Like to jest haul back + A' old flat-hander, jest che-whack! + And take you 'twixt the shoulders, say, + Sometime you're lookin' t'other way!-- + Er, maybe whilse you're speakin' to + A whole blame Courthouse-full o' 'thu- + Syastic friends, I'd like to jest + Come in-like and break up the nest + Afore you hatched anuther cheer, + And say: "'Ras, _I_ can't stand hitched here + All night--ner wouldn't ef I could!-- + But Little Bethel Neghborhood, + You ust to live at, 's sent some word + Fer you, ef ary chance occurred + To git it to ye,--so ef you + _Kin_ stop, I'm waitin' fer ye to!" + + You're common, as I said afore-- + You're common, yit oncommon _more_.-- + You allus kindo' 'pear, to me, + What all mankind had ort to be-- + Jest _natchurl_, and the more hurraws + You git, the less you know the cause-- + Like as ef God Hisse'f stood by + Where best on earth hain't half knee-high, + And _seein'_ like, and knowin' _He_ + 'S the Only Grate Man really, + You're jest content to size your hight + With any feller-man's in sight.-- + And even then they's scrubs, like me, + Feels stuck-up, in your company! + Like now:--I want to go with you + Plum out o' town a mile er two + Clean past the Fair-ground whare's some hint + O' pennyrile er peppermint, + And bottom-lands, and timber thick + Enugh to sorto' shade the crick! + I want to _see_ you--want to set + Down somers, whare the grass hain't wet, + And kindo' _breathe_ you, like puore air-- + And taste o' your tobacker thare, + And talk and chaw! Talk o' the birds + We've knocked with cross-bows.--Afterwards + Drop, mayby, into some dispute + 'Bout "pomgrannies," er cal'mus-root-- + And how _they_ growed, and _whare_?--on tree + Er vine?--Who's best boy-memory!-- + And wasn't it _gingsang_, insted + O' cal'mus-root, growed like you said?-- + Er how to tell a coon-track from + A mussrat's;--er how milksick come-- + Er ef _cows_ brung it?--Er why now + We never see no "muley"-cow-- + Ner "frizzly"-chicken--ner no "clay- + Bank" mare--ner nothin' thataway!-- + And what's come o' the _yellow_-core + Old wortermelons?--hain't no more.-- + Tomattusus, the same--all _red_- + Uns nowadays--All past joys fled-- + Each and all jest gone k-whizz! + Like our days o' childhood is! + + Dag-gone it, 'Ras! they hain't no friend, + It 'pears-like, left to comperhend + Sich things as these but you, and see + How dratted sweet they air to me! + But you, 'at's loved 'em allus, and + Kin sort 'em out and understand + 'Em, same as the fine books you've read, + And all fine thoughts you've writ, er said, + Er worked out, through long nights o' rain, + And doubts and fears, and hopes, again, + As bright as morning when she broke,-- + You know a teardrop from a joke! + And so, 'Ras Wilson, stop and shake + A paw, fer old acquaintance sake! + + + + +MY RUTHERS + +[Writ durin' State Fair at Indanoplis, whilse visitin' a Sonin-law then +residin' thare, who has sence got back to the country whare he says a +man that's raised thare ort to a-stayed in the first place.] + + + I tell you what I'd ruther do-- + Ef I only had my ruthers,-- + I'd ruther work when I wanted to + Than be bossed round by others;-- + I'd ruther kindo' git the swing + O' what was _needed_, first, I jing! + Afore I _swet_ at anything!-- + Ef I only had my ruthers;-- + In fact I'd aim to be the same + With all men as my brothers; + And they'd all be the same with _me_-- + Ef I only had my ruthers. + + I wouldn't likely know it all-- + Ef I only had my ruthers;-- + I'd know _some_ sense, and some base-ball-- + Some _old_ jokes, and--some others: + I'd know _some politics_, and 'low + Some tarif-speeches same as now, + Then go hear Nye on "Branes and How + To Detect Theyr Presence." _T'others_, + That stayed away, I'd _let_ 'em stay-- + All my dissentin' brothers + Could chuse as shore a kill er cuore, + Ef I only had my ruthers. + + The pore 'ud git theyr dues _some_times-- + Ef I only had my ruthers,-- + And be paid _dollars_ 'stid o' _dimes_, + Fer childern, wives and mothers: + Theyr boy that slaves; theyr girl that sews-- + Fer _others_--not herself, God knows!-- + The grave's _her_ only change of clothes! + ... Ef I only had my ruthers, + They'd all have "stuff" and time enugh + To answer one-another's + Appealin' prayer fer "lovin' care"-- + Ef I only had my ruthers. + + They'd be few folks 'ud ast fer trust, + Ef I only had my ruthers, + And blame few business-men to bu'st + Theyrselves, er harts of others: + Big Guns that come here durin' Fair- + Week could put up jest anywhare, + And find a full-and-plenty thare, + Ef I only had my ruthers: + The rich and great 'ud 'sociate + With all theyr lowly brothers, + Feelin' _we_ done the honorun-- + Ef I only had my ruthers. + + + + +ON A DEAD BABE + + + Fly away! thou heavenly one!-- + I do hail thee on thy flight! + Sorrow? thou hath tasted none-- + Perfect joy is yourn by right. + Fly away! and bear our love + To thy kith and kin above! + + I can tetch thy finger-tips + Ca'mly, and bresh back the hair + From thy forr'ed with my lips, + And not leave a teardrop thare.-- + Weep fer _Tomps and Ruth_--and _me_-- + But I can not weep fer _thee_. + + + + +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!-- + Fer ev'rything '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 thare in the furries + A-wishin' fer 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 sweethart, + It reminds me 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 lillies + 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 whipperwills 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?" + + + + +"COON-DOG WESS" + + + "Coon-dog Wess"--he allus went + 'Mongst us here by that-air name. + Moved in this-here Settlement + From next county--he laid claim,-- + Lived down in the bottoms--whare + _Ust_ to be some coons in thare!-- + + In nigh Clayton's, next the crick,-- + Mind old Billy ust to say + Coons in thare was jest that thick, + He'p him corn-plant any day!-- + And, in rostneer-time, be then + Aggin' him to plant again! + + Well,--In Spring o' '67, + This-here "Coon-dog Wess" he come-- + Fetchin' 'long 'bout forty-'leven + Ornriest-lookin' hounds, I gum! + Ever mortul-man laid eyes + On sence dawn o' Christian skies! + + Wife come traipsin' at the rag- + Tag-and-bobtail of the crowd, + Dogs and childern, with a bag + Corn-meal and some side-meat,--_Proud_ + And as _independunt_--_My!_-- + Yit a mild look in her eye. + + Well--this "Coon-dog Wess" he jest + Moved in that-air little pen + Of a pole-shed, aidgin' west + On "The Slues o' Death," called then.-- + Otter- and mink-hunters ust + To camp thare 'fore game vam-moosd. + + Abul-bodied man,--and lots + Call fer _choppers_--and fer hands + To git _cross-ties_ out.--But what's + _Work_ to sich as understands + Ways appinted and is hence + Under special providence?-- + + "Coon-dog Wess's" holts was _hounds_ + And _coon-huntin'_; and he knowed + _His_ own range, and stayed in bounds + And left work for them 'at showed + _Talents_ fer it--same as his + Gifts regardin' coon-dogs is. + + Hounds of ev'ry mungerl breed + Ever whelped on earth!--Had these + _Yeller_ kind, with punkin-seed + Marks above theyr eyes--and fleas + Both to sell and keep!--Also + These-here _lop-yeerd_ hounds, you know.-- + + Yes-and _brindle_ hounds--and long, + Ga'nt hounds, with them eyes they' got + So blame _sorry_, it seems wrong, + 'Most, to kick 'em as to not! + Man, though, wouldn't dast, I guess, + Kick a hound fer "Coon-dog Wess"! + + 'Tended to his own affairs + Stric'ly;--made no brags,--and yit + You could see 'at them hounds' cares + 'Peared like _his_,--and he'd a-fit + Fer 'em, same as wife er child!-- + Them facts made folks rickonciled, + + Sorto', fer to let him be + And not pester him. And then + Word begin to spread 'at he + Had brung in as high as ten + Coon-pelts in one night--and yit + Didn't 'pear to boast of it! + + Neghborhood made some complaints + 'Bout them plague-gone hounds at night + Howlin' fit to wake the saints, + Clean from dusk tel plum day-light! + But to "Coon-dog Wess" them-thare + Howls was "music in the air"! + + Fetched his pelts to Gilson's Store-- + Newt he shipped fer him, and said, + Sence _he'd_ cooned thare, he'd shipped more + Than three hunderd pelts!--"By Ned! + Git shet of my _store_," Newt says, + "I'd go in with 'Coon-dog Wess'!" + + And the feller 'peared to be + Makin' best and most he could + Of his rale prospairity:-- + Bought some household things--and _good_,-- + Likewise, wagon-load onc't come + From wharever he'd moved from. + + But pore feller's huntin'-days, + 'Bout them times, was glidin' past!-- + Goes out onc't one night and _stays!_ + ... Neghbors they turned out, at last, + Headed by his wife and one + Half-starved hound--and search begun. + + Boys said, that blame hound, he led + Searchin' party, 'bout a half + Mile ahead, and bellerin', said, + Worse'n ary yearlin' calf!-- + Tel, at last, come fur-off sounds + Like the howl of other hounds. + + And-sir, shore enugh, them signs + Fetched 'em--in a' hour er two-- + Whare the _pack_ was;--and they finds + "Coon-dog Wess" _right thare_;--And you + Would admitted he was right + _Stayin'_, as he had, _all night!_ + + Facts is, cuttin' down a tree, + The blame thing had sorto' fell + In a twist-like--_mercy me!_ + And had ketched him.--Couldn't tell, + Wess said, _how_ he'd managed--yit + He'd got both legs under it! + + Fainted and come to, I s'pose, + 'Bout a dozen times whilse they + Chopped him out!--And wife she froze + To him!--bresh his hair away + And smile cheerful'--only when + He'd faint.--Cry and kiss him _then_. + + Had _his_ nerve!--And nussed him through,-- + Neghbors he'pped her--all she'd stand.-- + Had a loom, and she could do + Carpet-weavin' railly grand!-- + "'Sides," she ust to laugh and say, + "She'd have Wess, now, _night_ and day!" + + As fer _him_, he'd say, says-ee, + "I'm resigned to bein' lame:-- + They was four coons up that tree, + And hounds got 'em, jest the same!" + 'Peared like, one er two legs less + Never worried "Coon-dog Wess"! + + + + +LINES TO +PERFESSER JOHN CLARK RIDPATH +A. M., LL. D. T-Y-TY! + +[Cumposed by A Old Friend of the Fambily sence 'way back in the +Forties, when they Settled nigh Fillmore, Putnam County, this State, +whare John was borned and growed up, you might say, like the wayside +flower.] + + + Your neghbors in the country, whare you come from, hain't fergot!-- + We knowed you even better than your own-self, like as not. + We profissied your runnin'-geers 'ud stand a soggy load + And pull her, purty stiddy, up a mighty rocky road: + We been a-watchin' your career sence you could write your name-- + But way you writ it _first_, I'll say, was jest a burnin' shame!-- + Your "J. C." in the copybook, and "Ridpath"--mercy-sakes!-- + Quiled up and tide in dubble bows, lookt like a nest o' snakes!-- + But _you_ could read it, I _suppose_, and kindo' gloted on + A-bein' "_J. C. Ridpath_" when _we_ only called you "_John_." + + But you'd work 's well as fool, and what you had to do was _done_: + We've watched you at the woodpile--not the _woodshed_--wasent none,-- + And snow and sleet, and haulin', too, and lookin' after stock, + And milkin', nights, and feedin' pigs,--then turnin' back the clock, + So's you could set up studyin' your 'Rethmatic, and fool + Your Parents, whilse a-piratin' your way through winter school! + And I've heerd tell--from your own folks--you've set and baked your face + A-readin' Plutark Slives all night by that old fi-er-place.-- + Yit, 'bout them times, the blackboard, onc't, had on it, I _de_-clare, + "Yours truly, _J. Clark_ Ridpath."--And the teacher--left it thare! + + And they was other symptums, too, that pinted, plane as day, + To nothin' short of _College_!--and _one_ was the lovin' way + Your mother had of cheerin' you to efforts brave and strong, + And puttin' more faith in you, as you needed it along: + She'd pat you on the shoulder, er she'd grab you by the hands, + And _laugh_ sometimes, er _cry_ sometimes.--They's few that understands + Jest _what_ theyr mother's drivin' at when they act thataway;-- + But I'll say this fer _you_, John-Clark,--you answered, night and day, + To ev'ry trust and hope of hers--and half your College fame + Was battled fer and won fer her and glory of her name. + + The likes of _you_ at _College_! But you went thare. How you paid + Your way nobody's astin'--but you _worked_,--you hain't afraid,-- + Your _clothes_ was, more'n likely, kindo' out o' style, perhaps, + And not as snug and warm as some 'at hid the other chaps;-- + But when it come to _Intullect_--they tell me yourn was dressed + A _leetle_ mite _superber_-like than any of the rest! + And there you _stayed_--and thare you've made your rickord, fare and square-- + Tel _now_ its _Fame_ 'at writes your name, approvin', _ev'rywhare_-- + Not _jibblets_ of it, nuther,--but all John Clark Ridpath, set + Plum at the dashboard of the whole-endurin' Alfabet! + + + + +A TALE OF THE AIRLY DAYS + + + Oh! tell me a tale of the airly days-- + Of the times as they ust to be; + "Piller of Fi-er" and "Shakspeare's Plays" + Is a' most too deep fer me! + I want plane facts, and I want plane words, + Of the good old-fashiond ways, + When speech run free as the songs of birds + 'Way back in the airly days. + + Tell me a tale of the timber-lands-- + Of the old-time pioneers; + Somepin' a pore man understands + With his feelin's well as ears. + Tell of the old log house,--about + The loft, and the puncheon flore-- + The old fi-er-place, with the crane swung out, + And the latch-string thrugh the door. + + Tell of the things jest as they was-- + They don't need no excuse!-- + Don't tetch 'em up like the poets does, + Tel theyr all too fine fer use!-- + Say they was 'leven in the fambily-- + Two beds, and the chist, below, + And the trundle-beds that each helt three, + And the clock and the old bureau. + + Then blow the horn at the old back-door + Tel the echoes all halloo, + And the childern gethers home onc't more, + Jest as they ust to do: + Blow fer Pap tel he hears and comes, + With Tomps and Elias, too, + A-marchin' home, with the fife and drums + And the old Red White and Blue! + + Blow and blow tel the sound draps low + As the moan of the whipperwill, + And wake up Mother, and Ruth and Jo, + All sleepin' at Bethel Hill: + Blow and call tel the faces all + Shine out in the back-log's blaze, + And the shadders dance on the old hewed wall + As they did in the airly days. + + + + +"MYLO JONES'S WIFE" + + + "Mylo Jones's wife" was all + I heerd, mighty near, last Fall-- + Visitun relations down + T'other side of Morgantown! + Mylo Jones's wife she does + This and that, and "those" and "thus"!-- + Can't 'bide babies in her sight-- + Ner no childern, day and night, + Whoopin' round the premises-- + _Ner no nothin' else_, I guess! + + Mylo Jones's wife she 'lows + She's the boss of her own house!-- + Mylo--consequences is-- + Stays whare things seem _some_ like _his_,-- + Uses, mostly, with the stock-- + Coaxin' "Old Kate" not to balk, + Ner kick hoss-flies' branes out, ner + Act, I s'pose, so much like _her_! + Yit the wimmern-folks tells you + She's _perfection_.--Yes they do! + + Mylo's wife she says she's found + Home hain't home with _men-folks_ round + When they's work like _hern_ to do-- + Picklin' pears and _butchern_, too, + And a-rendern lard, and then + Cookin' fer a pack of men + To come trackin' up the flore + _She's_ scrubbed _tel_ she'll scrub no _more_!-- + Yit she'd keep things clean ef they + Made her scrub tel Jedgmunt Day! + + Mylo Jones's wife she sews + Carpet-rags and patches clothes + Jest year _in_ and _out_!--and yit + Whare's the livin' use of it? + She asts Mylo that.--And he + Gits back whare he'd ruther be, + With his team;--jest _plows_--and don't + Never sware--like some folks won't! + Think ef _he'd cut loose_, I gum! + 'D he'p his heavenly chances some! + + Mylo's wife don't see no use, + Ner no reason ner excuse + Fer his pore relations to + Hang round like they allus do! + Thare 'bout onc't a year--and _she_-- + She jest _ga'nts_ 'em, folks tells me, + On spiced pears!--Pass Mylo one, + He says "No, he don't chuse none!" + Workin' men like Mylo they + 'D ort to have _meat_ ev'ry day! + + Dad-burn Mylo Jones's wife! + Ruther rake a blame caseknife + 'Crost my wizzen than to see + Sich a womern rulin' _me_!-- + Ruther take and turn in and + Raise a fool mule-colt by hand! + _Mylo_, though--od-rot the man!-- + Jest keeps ca'm--like some folks _can_-- + And 'lows sich as her, I s'pose, + Is _Man's he'pmeet_!--Mercy knows! + + + + +ON A SPLENDUD MATCH + +[On the night of the marraige of the foregoin' couple, which shall be +nameless here, these lines was ca'mly dashed off in the albun of the +happy bride whilse the shivver-ree was goin' on outside the residence.] + + + He was warned against the _womern_-- + She was warned aginst the _man_.-- + And ef _that_ won't make a weddin', + W'y, they's nothin' else that can! + + + + +OLD JOHN CLEVENGER ON BUCKEYES + + + Old John Clevenger lets on, + Allus, like he's purty rough + Timber.--He's a grate old John!-- + "Rough?"--don't swaller no sich stuff! + Moved here, sence the war was through, + From Ohio--somers near + Old Bucyrus,--loyal, too, + As us "Hoosiers" is to _here_! + Git old John stirred up a bit + On his old home stompin'-ground-- + Talks same as he lived thare yit, + When some subject brings it round-- + Like, fer instunce, Sund'y last, + Fetched his wife, and et and stayed + All night with us.--Set and gassed + Tel plum midnight--'cause I made + Some remark 'bout "buckeyes" and + "What was buckeyes good fer?"--So, + Like I 'lowed, he waved his hand + And lit in and let me know:-- + "'What is Buckeyes good fer?'--What's + _Pineys_ and _fergitmenots_?-- + Honeysuckles, and sweet peas, + And sweet-williamsuz, and these + Johnny-jump-ups ev'rywhare, + Growin' round the roots o' trees + In Spring-weather?--what air _they_ + Good fer?--kin you tell me--_Hey?_ + 'Good to look at?' Well they air! + 'Specially when _Winter's_ gone, + Clean _dead-certin!_ and the wood's + Green again, and sun feels good's + June!--and shed your blame boots on + The back porch, and lit out to + Roam round like you ust to do, + Bare-foot, up and down the crick, + Whare the buckeyes growed so thick, + And witch-hazel and pop-paws, + And hackberries and black-haws-- + With wild pizen-vines jis knit + _Over_ and _en-nunder_ it, + And wove round it all, I jing! + Tel you couldn't hardly stick + A durn _caseknife_ through the thing! + Wriggle round through _that_; and then-- + All het-up, and scratched and tanned, + And muskeeter-bit and mean- + Feelin'--all at onc't again, + Come out suddent on a clean + Slopin' little hump o' green + Dry soft grass, as fine and grand + As a pollor-sofy!--And + Jis pile down thare!--and tell _me_ + _Anywhares_ you'd ruther be-- + 'Ceptin' _right thare_, with the wild- + Flowrs all round ye, and your eyes + Smilin' with 'em at the skies, + Happy as a little child! + Well!--right here, _I_ want to say, + Poets kin talk all they please + 'Bout 'wild-flowrs, in colors gay,' + And 'sweet blossoms flauntin' theyr + Beauteous fragrunce on the breeze'-- + But the sight o' _buckeyes_ jis + Sweet to me as _blossoms_ is! + + "I'm _Ohio-born_--right whare + People's _all_ called 'Buckeyes' _thare_-- + 'Cause, I s'pose, our buckeye crap's + Biggest in the world, perhaps!-- + Ner my head don't stretch my hat + Too much on account o' _that_!-- + 'Cause it's Natchur's ginerus hand + Sows 'em broadcast ore the land, + With eye-single fer man's good + And the gineral neghborhood! + So _buckeyes_ jis natchurly + 'Pears like _kith-and-kin_ to _me_! + 'Slike the good old sayin' wuz, + 'Purty _is_ as purty _does_!'-- + We can't eat 'em, cookd er raw-- + Yit, I mind, _tomattusuz_ + Wuz considerd pizenus + _Onc't_--and dasent eat 'em!--_Pshaw_-- + 'Twouldn't take _me_ by supprise, + Someday, ef we et _buckeyes_! + That, though, 's nuther here ner thare!-- + _Jis the Buckeye_ whare we air, + In the present times, is what + Ockuppies my lovin' care + And my most perfoundest thought! + ... Guess, this minute, what I got + In my pocket, 'at I've packed + Purt'-nigh forty year.--A dry, + Slick and shiny, warped and cracked, + Wilted, weazened old _buckeye_! + What's it _thare_ fer? What's my hart + In my _brest_ fer?--'Cause it's part + Of my _life_--and 'tends to biz-- + Like this _buckeye's_ bound to act-- + 'Cause _it_ 'tends to _Rhumatiz_! + + "... Ketched more _rhumatiz_ than _fish_, + Seinen', onc't--and pants froze on + My blame legs!--And ust to wish + I wuz well er _dead and gone_! + Doc give up the case, and shod + His old boss again and stayed + On good roads!--_And thare I laid!_ + Pap he tuck some bluegrass sod + Steeped in whisky, bilin'-hot, + And socked _that_ on! Then I got + Sorto' holt o' him, _somehow_-- + Kindo' crazy-like, they say-- + And I'd _killed_ him, like as not, + Ef I hadn't swooned away! + _Smell my scortcht pelt purt'-nigh now!_ + Well--to make a long tale short-- + I hung on the blame disease + Like a shavin'-hoss! and sort + O' wore it out by slow degrees-- + Tel my legs wuz straight enugh + To poke through my pants again + And kick all the doctor-stuff + In the fi-er-place! Then turned in + And tuck Daddy Craig's old cuore-- + _Jis a buckeye_--and that's _shore_.-- + Hain't no case o' rhumatiz + Kin subsist whare buckeyes is!" + + + + +THE HOSS + + + The hoss he is a splendud beast; + He is man's friend, as heaven desined, + And, search the world from west to east, + No honester you'll ever find! + + Some calls the hoss "a pore dumb brute," + And yit, like Him who died fer you, + I say, as I theyr charge refute, + "'Fergive; they know not what they do!'" + + No wiser animal makes tracks + Upon these earthly shores, and hence + Arose the axium, true as facts, + Extoled by all, as "Good hoss-sense!" + + The hoss is strong, and knows his stren'th,-- + You hitch him up a time er two + And lash him, and he'll go his len'th + And kick the dashboard out fer you! + + But, treat him allus good and kind, + And never strike him with a stick, + Ner aggervate him, and you'll find + He'll never do a hostile trick. + + A hoss whose master tends him right + And worters him with daily care, + Will do your biddin' with delight, + And act as docile as _you_ air. + + He'll paw and prance to hear your praise, + Because he's learn't to love you well; + And, though you can't tell what he says, + He'll nicker all he wants to tell. + + He knows you when you slam the gate + At early dawn, upon your way + Unto the barn, and snorts elate, + To git his corn, er oats, er hay. + + He knows you, as the orphant knows + The folks that loves her like theyr own, + And raises her and "finds" her clothes, + And "schools" her tel a womern-grown! + + I claim no hoss will harm a man, + Ner kick, ner run away, cavort, + Stump-suck, er balk, er "catamaran," + Ef you'll jest treat him as you ort. + + But when I see the beast abused, + And clubbed around as I've saw some, + I want to see his owner noosed, + And jest yanked up like Absolum! + + Of course they's differunce in stock,-- + A hoss that has a little yeer, + And slender build, and shaller hock, + Can beat his shadder, mighty near! + + Whilse one that's thick in neck and chist + And big in leg and full in flank, + That tries to race, I still insist + He'll have to take the second rank. + + And I have jest laid back and laughed, + And rolled and wallered in the grass + At fairs, to see some heavy-draft + Lead out at _first_, yit come in _last_! + + Each hoss has his appinted place,-- + The heavy hoss should plow the soil;-- + The blooded racer, he must race, + And win big wages fer his toil. + + I never bet--ner never wrought + Upon my feller-man to bet-- + And yit, at times, I've often thought + Of my convictions with regret. + + I bless the hoss from hoof to head-- + From head to hoof, and tale to mane!-- + I bless the hoss, as I have said, + From head to hoof, and back again! + + I love my God the first of all, + Then Him that perished on the cross, + And next, my wife,--and then I fall + Down on my knees and love the hoss. + + + + +EZRA HOUSE + +[These lines was writ, in ruther high sperits, jest at the close of +what's called the Anti Bellum Days, and more to be a-foolin' than +anything else,--though they is more er less facts in it. But some of +the boys, at the time we was all a-singin' it, fer Ezry's benefit, to +the old tune of "The Oak and the Ash and the Bonny Willer Tree," got it +struck off in the weekly, without leave er lisence of mine; and so +sence they's allus some of 'em left to rigg me about it yit, I might as +well claim the thing right here and now, so here goes. I give it jest +as it appeared, fixed up and grammatisized consider'ble, as the editer +told me he took the liburty of doin', in that sturling old home paper +THE ADVANCE--as sound a paper yit to-day and as stanch and abul as +you'll find in a hunderd.] + + + Come listen, good people, while a story I do tell, + Of the sad fate of one which I knew so passing well; + He enlisted at McCordsville, to battle in the South, + And protect his country's union; his name was Ezra House. + + He was a young school-teacher, and educated high + In regards to Ray's arithmetic, and also Algebra: + He give good satisfaction, but at his country's call + He dropped his position, his Algebra and all. + + "It's oh, I'm going to leave you, kind scholars," he said-- + For he wrote a composition the last day and read; + And it brought many tears in the eyes of the school, + To say nothing of his sweetheart he was going to leave so soon. + + "I have many recollections to take with me away, + Of the merry transpirations in the school-room so gay; + And of all that's past and gone I will never regret + I went to serve my country at the first of the outset!" + + He was a good penman, and the lines that he wrote + On that sad occasion was too fine for me to quote,-- + For I was there and heard it, and I ever will recall + It brought the happy tears to the eyes of us all. + + And when he left, his sweetheart she fainted away, + And said she could never forget the sad day + When her lover so noble, and gallant and gay, + Said "Fare you well, my true love!" and went marching away. + + But he hadn't been gone for more than two months, + When the sad news come--"he was in a skirmish once, + And a cruel Rebel ball had wounded him full sore + In the region of the chin, through the canteen he wore." + + But his health recruited up, and his wounds they got well, + But whilst he was in battle at Bull Run or Malvern Hill, + The news come again, so sorrowful to hear-- + "A sliver from a bombshell cut off his right ear." + + But he stuck to the boys, and it's often he would write, + That "he wasn't afraid for his country to fight." + But oh, had he returned on a furlough, I believe + He would not, to-day, have such cause to grieve. + + For in another battle--the name I never heard-- + He was guarding the wagons when an accident occurred,-- + A comrade who was under the influence of drink, + Shot him with a musket through the right cheek, I think. + + But his dear life was spared; but it hadn't been for long, + Till a cruel Rebel colonel come riding along, + And struck him with his sword, as many do suppose, + For his cap-rim was cut off, and also his nose. + + But Providence, who watches o'er the noble and the brave, + Snatched him once more from the jaws of the grave; + And just a little while before the close of the war, + He sent his picture home to his girl away so far. + + And she fell into decline, and she wrote in reply, + "She had seen his face again and was ready to die"; + And she wanted him to promise, when she was in her tomb, + He would only visit that by the light of the moon. + + But he never returned at the close of the war, + And the boys that got back said he hadn't the heart; + But he got a position in a powder-mill, and said + He hoped to meet the doom that his country denied. + + + + +A PEN-PICTUR' +OF A CERTIN FRIVVOLUS OLD MAN + + + Most ontimely old man yit! + 'Pear-like sometimes he jest _tries_ + His fool-self, and takes the bitt + In his teeth and jest de-fies + All perpryties!--Lay and swet + Doin' _nothin'_--only jest + Sorto' speckillatun on + Whare old summertimes is gone, + And 'bout things that he loved best + When a youngster! Heerd him say + _Springtimes_ made him thataway-- + Speshully on _Sund'ys_--when + Sun shines out and in again, + And the lonesome old hens they + Git off under the old kern- + Bushes, and in deep concern + _Talk-like to theyrselvs_, and scratch + Kindo' absunt-minded, jest + Like theyr thoughts was fur away + In some neghbor's gyarden-patch + Folks has tended keerfullest! + Heerd the old man dwell on these + Idys time and time again!-- + Heerd him claim that orchurd-trees + Bloomin', put the mischief in + His old hart sometimes that bad + And owdacious that he "_had_ + To break loose _some_way," says he, + "Ornry as I ust to be!" + + Heerd him say one time--when I + Was a sorto' standin' by, + And the air so still and clear, + Heerd the bell fer church clean here!-- + Said: "Ef I could climb and set + On the old three-cornerd rail + Old home-place, nigh Maryette', + Swop my soul off, hide and tale!" + And-sir! blame ef tear and laugh + Didn't ketch him half and half! + "Oh!" he says, "to wake and be + Bare-foot, in the airly dawn + In the pastur'!--thare," says he, + "Standin' whare the cow's slep' on + The cold, dewy grass that's got + _Print_ of her jest steamy hot + Fer to warm a feller's heels + In a while!--How good it feels! + Sund'y!--Country!--Morning!--Hear + Nothin' but the _silunce_--see + Nothin' but green woods and clear + Skies and unwrit poetry + By the acre!... Oh!" says he, + "What's this voice of mine?--to seek + To speak out, and yit _can't_ speak! + + "_Think!_--the lazyest of days"-- + Takin' his contrairyest leap, + He went on,--"git up, er sleep-- + Er whilse feedin', watch the haze + Dancin' 'crost the wheat,--and keep + My pipe goin' laisurely-- + Puff and whiff as pleases me,-- + Er I'll leave a trail of smoke + Through _the house_!--no one'll say + '_Throw that nasty thing away!_' + 'Pear-like nothin' sacerd's broke, + Goin' bare-foot ef I chuse!-- + I _have fiddled_;--and dug bait + And _went fishin'_;--pitched hoss-shoes-- + Whare they couldn't see us from + The main road.--And I've _beat_ some. + I've set round and had my joke + With the thrashers at the barn-- + And I've swopped 'em yarn fer yarn!-- + Er I've he'pped the childern poke + Fer hens'-nests--agged on a match + 'Twixt the boys, to watch 'em scratch + And paw round and rip and tare, + And bust buttons and pull hair + To theyr rompin' harts' content-- + And me jest a-settin' thare + Hatchin' out more devilment! + + "What you s'pose now ort to be + Done with sich a man?" says he-- + "Sich a fool-old-man as me!" + + + + +WET-WEATHER TALK + + + It hain't no use to grumble and complane; + 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 ginerly, to all intents-- + Although they're apt to grumble some-- + Puts most theyr 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 enugh to learn + They're not the boss of this concern. + + With _some_, of course, it's different-- + I've saw _young_ men that knowed it all, + And didn't like the way things went + On this terrestchul ball;-- + + But all the same, the rain, some way, + Rained jest as hard on picnic day; + Er, when they railly _wanted_ it, + It mayby wouldn't rain a bit! + + In this existunce, dry and wet + Will overtake the best of men-- + Some little skift o' clouds'll shet + The sun off now and then.-- + And mayby, whilse you're wundern who + You've fool-like lent your umbrell' to, + And _want_ it--out'll pop the sun, + And you'll be glad you hain't got none! + + It aggervates the farmers, too-- + They's too much wet, er too much sun, + Er work, er waitin' round to do + Before the plowin' 's done: + And mayby, 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 wallerd down + May elbow up again!-- + They hain't no sense, as I can see, + Fer mortuls, sich as us, to be + A-faultin' Natchur's wise intents, + And lockin' horns with Providence! + + It hain't no use to grumble and complane; + It's jest as cheap and easy to rejoice.-- + When God sorts out the weather and sends rain, + W'y, rain's my choice. + + + + +THOUGHTS ON A PORE JOKE + + + I like fun--and I like jokes + 'Bout as well as most o' folks!-- + Like my joke, and like my fun;-- + But a joke, I'll state right here, + 'S got some p'int--er I don't keer + Fer no joke that hain't got none.-- + I hain't got no use, I'll say, + Fer a _pore_ joke, anyway! + + F'rinstunce, now, when _some_ folks gits + To relyin' on theyr 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. + 'F I can't think up somepin' good, + I set still and chaw my cood! + 'F you _think_ nothin'--jest keep on, + But don't _say_ it--er you're gone! + + + + +A MORTUL PRAYER + + + Oh! Thou that vaileth from all eyes + The glory of Thy face, + And setteth throned behind the skies + In Thy abiding-place: + Though I but dimly recko'nize + Thy purposes of grace; + And though with weak and wavering + Deserts, and vexd with fears, + I lift the hands I can not wring + All dry of sorrow's tears, + Make puore my prayers that daily wing + Theyr way unto Thy ears! + + Oh! with the hand that tames the flood + And smooths the storm to rest, + Make ba'mmy dews of all the blood + That stormeth in my brest, + And so refresh my hart to bud + And bloom the loveliest. + Lull all the clammer of my soul + To silunce; bring release + Unto the brane still in controle + Of doubts; bid sin to cease, + And let the waves of pashun roll + And kiss the shores of peace. + + Make me to love my feller-man-- + Yea, though his bitterness + Doth bite as only adders can-- + Let _me_ the fault confess, + And go to him and clasp his hand + And love him none the less. + So keep me, Lord, ferever free + From vane concete er whim; + And he whose pius eyes can see + My faults, however dim,-- + Oh! let him pray the least fer me, + And me the most fer him. + + + + +THE FIRST BLUEBIRD + + + Jest rain and snow! and rain again! + And dribble! drip! and blow! + Then snow! and thaw! and slush! and then-- + Some more rain and snow! + + This morning I was 'most afeard + To _wake_ up--when, I jing! + I seen the sun shine out and heerd + The first bluebird of Spring!-- + Mother she'd raised the winder some;-- + And in acrost the orchurd come, + Soft as a angel's wing, + A breezy, treesy, beesy hum, + Too sweet fer anything! + + The winter's shroud was rent a-part-- + The sun bust forth in glee,-- + And when that _that bluebird_ sung, my hart + Hopped out o' bed with me! + + + + +EVAGENE BAKER--WHO WAS DYIN' OF DRED CONSUMTION +AS THESE LINES WAS PENNED BY A TRUE FRIEND + + + Pore afflicted Evagene! + Whilse the woods is fresh and green, + And the birds on ev'ry hand + Sings in rapture sweet and grand,-- + Thou, of all the joyus train, + Art bedridden, and in pain + Sich as only them can cherish + Who, like flowrs, is first to perish! + + When the neghbors brought the word + She was down, the folks inferred + It was jest a cold she'd caught, + Dressin' thinner than she'd ort + Fer the frolicks and the fun + Of the dancin' that she'd done + 'Fore the Spring was flush er ary + Blossom on the peach er cherry. + + But, last Sund'y, her request + Fer the Church's prayers was jest + Rail hart-renderin' to hear!-- + Many was the silunt tear + And the tremblin' sigh, to show + She was dear to us below + On this earth--and _dearer_, even, + When we thought of her a-leavin'! + + Sisters prayed, and coted from + Genesis to Kingdom-come + Provin' of her title clear + To the mansions.--"Even _her_," + _They_ claimed, "might be saved, _someway_, + Though she'd danced, and played crowkay, + And wrought on her folks to git her + Fancy shoes that never fit her!" + + _Us_ to pray fer _Evagene_!-- + With her hart as puore and clean + As a rose is after rain + When the sun comes out again!-- + What's the use to pray for _her_? + _She_ don't need no prayin' fer!-- + Needed, all her life, more _playin'_ + Than she ever needed prayin'! + + I jest thought of all she'd been + Sence her _mother_ died, and when + She turned in and done _her_ part-- + All _her_ cares on that child-hart!-- + Thought of years she'd slaved--and had + Saved the farm--danced and was glad.... + Mayby Him who marks the sporry + Will smooth down her wings tomorry! + + + + +ON ANY ORDENARY MAN IN A HIGH STATE +OF LAUGHTURE AND DELIGHT + + + As it's give' me to percieve, + I most certin'y believe + When a man's jest glad plum through, + God's pleased with him, same as you. + + + + +TOWN AND COUNTRY + + + They's a predjudice allus 'twixt country and town + Which I wisht in my hart wasent so. + You take _city_ people, jest square up and down, + And they're mighty good people to know: + And whare's better people a-livin', to-day, + Than us in the _country_?--Yit good + As both of us is, we're divorsed, you might say, + And won't compermise when we could! + + Now as nigh into town fer yer Pap, ef you please, + Is the what's called the sooburbs.--Fer thare + You'll at least ketch a whiff of the breeze and a sniff + Of the breth of wild-flowrs ev'rywhare. + They's room fer the childern to play, and grow, too-- + And to roll in the grass, er to climb + Up a tree and rob nests, like they _ortent_ to do, + But they'll do _any_how ev'ry time! + + My Son-in-law said, when he lived in the town, + He jest natchurly pined, night and day, + Fer a sight of the woods, er a acre of ground + Whare the trees wasent all cleared away! + + And he says to me onc't, whilse a-visitin' us + On the farm, "It's not strange, I declare, + That we can't coax you folks, without raisin' a fuss, + To come to town, visitin' thare!" + + And says I, "Then git back whare you sorto' _belong_-- + And _Madaline_, too,--and yer three + Little childern," says I, "that don't know a birdsong, + Ner a hawk from a chicky-dee-dee! + Git back," I-says-I, "to the blue of the sky + And the green of the fields, and the shine + Of the sun, with a laugh in yer voice and yer eye + As harty as Mother's and mine!" + + Well--long-and-short of it,--he's compermised _some_-- + He's moved in the sooburbs.--And now + They don't haf to coax, when they want us to come, + 'Cause we turn in and go _anyhow_! + Fer thare--well, they's room fer the songs and purfume + Of the grove and the old orchurd-ground, + And they's room fer the childern out thare, and they's room + Fer theyr Gran'pap to waller 'em round! + + + + +LINES FER ISAAC BRADWELL, OF INDANOPLIS, IND., +COUNTY-SEAT OF MARION + +[Writ on the flyleaf of a volume of the author's poems that come in one +of gittin' burnt up in the great Bowen-Merrill's fire of March 17, +1890.] + + + Through fire and flood this book has passed.-- + Fer what?--I hardly dare to ast-- + Less'n it's still to pamper me + With extry food fer vanity;-- + Fer, sence it's fell in hands as true + As _yourn_ is--and a _Hoosier_ too,-- + I'm prouder of the book, I jing! + Than 'fore they tried to burn the thing! + + + + +DECORATION DAY ON THE PLACE + + + It's lonesome--sorto' lonesome,--it's a _Sund'y-day_, to me, + It 'pears-like--more'n any day I nearly ever see!-- + Yit, with the Stars and Stripes above, a-flutterin' in the air, + On ev'ry Soldier's grave I'd love to lay a lilly thare. + + They say, though, Decoration Days is giner'ly observed + 'Most _ev'rywhares_--espeshally by soldier-boys that's served.-- + But me and Mother's never went--we seldom git away,-- + In p'int o' fact, we're _allus_ home on _Decoration Day_. + + They say the old boys marches through the streets in colum's grand, + A-follerin' the old war-tunes they're playin' on the band-- + And citizuns all jinin' in--and little childern, too-- + All marchin', under shelter of the old Red White and Blue.-- + + With roses! roses! roses!--everybody in the town!-- + And crowds o' little girls in white, jest fairly loaded down!-- + Oh! don't THE BOYS know it, from theyr camp acrost the hill?-- + Don't they see theyr com'ards comin' and the old flag wavin' still? + + Oh! can't they hear the bugul and the rattle of the drum?-- + Ain't they no way under heavens they can rickollect us some? + Ain't they no way we can coax 'em, through the roses, jest to say + They know that ev'ry day on earth's theyr Decoration Day? + + We've tried that--me and Mother,--whare Elias takes his rest, + In the orchurd--in his uniform, and hands acrost his brest, + And the flag he died fer, smilin' and a-ripplin' in the breeze + Above his grave--and over that,--_the robin in the trees_! + + And _yit_ it's lonesome--lonesome!--It's a _Sund'y-day_, to _me_, + It 'pears-like--more'n any day I nearly ever see!-- + Still, with the Stars and Stripes above, a-flutterin' in the air, + On ev'ry Soldier's grave I'd love to lay a lilly thare. + + + + +THE TREE-TOAD + + + "'S cur'ous-like," said the tree-toad, + "I've twittered fer rain all day; + And I got up soon, + And hollered tel noon-- + But the sun, hit blazed away, + Tell I jest clumb down in a crawfish-hole, + Weary at hart, and sick at soul! + + "Dozed away fer an hour, + And I tackled the thing agin: + And I sung, and sung, + Tel I knowed my lung + Was jest about give in; + And _then_, thinks I, ef hit don't rain _now_, + They's nothin' in singin', anyhow! + + "Onc't in a while some farmer + Would come a-drivin' past; + And he'd hear my cry, + And stop and sigh-- + Tel I jest laid back, at last, + And I hollered rain tel I thought my th'oat + Would bust wide 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, + A-sayin',--'_Ef you'll jest hush I'll rain!_'" + + + + +THE ROSSVILLE LECTUR' COURSE + +[Set down from the real facts of the case that come under notice of the +author whilse visitun far distunt relatives who wuz then residin' at +Rossville, Mich.] + + + Folks up here at Rossville got up a Lectur' Course:-- + All the leadin' citizens they wuz out in force; + Met and talked at Williamses', and 'greed to meet ag'in; + And helt another corkus when the next reports wuz in: + Met ag'in at Samuelses'; and met ag'in at Moore's, + And Johnts putt the shutters up and jest barr'd the door!-- + And yit, I'll jest be dagg-don'd! ef't didn't take a week + 'Fore we'd settled whare to write to git a man to speak! + + Found out whare the "_Bureau_" wuz; and then and thare agreed + To strike whilse the iron's hot and foller up the lead.-- + Simp wuz Secatary; so he tuk his pen in hand, + And ast 'em what they'd tax us fer the one on "Holy Land"-- + + "One of Colonel J. De-Koombs's Abelust and Best + Lectur's," the circ'lar stated, "Give East er West!" + Wanted fifty dollars and his kyar-fare to and from, + And Simp wuz hence instructed fer to write him not to come. + + Then we talked and jawed around another week er so, + And writ the "_Bureau_" 'bout the town a-bein' sorto' slow-- + Old-fogey-like, and pore as dirt, and lackin' interprise, + And ignornter'n any other, 'cordin' to its size: + Tel finully the "_Bureau_" said they'd send a cheaper man + Fer forty dollars, who would give "A Talk About Japan"-- + "A reg'lar Japanee hise'f," the pamphlet claimed; and so, + Nobody knowed his languige, and of course we let him go! + + Kindo' then let up a spell--but rallied onc't ag'in, + And writ to price a feller on what's called the "violin"-- + A Swede, er Pole, er somepin'--but no matter what he wuz, + Doc Cooper said he'd heerd him, and he wuzn't wuth a kuss! + And then we ast fer _Swingse's_ terms; and _Cook_, and _Ingersoll_-- + And blame! ef forty dollars looked like anything at all! + And then _Burdette_, we tried fer _him_; and Bob he writ to say + He wuz busy writin' ortographts and couldn't git away. + + At last--along in Aprile--we signed to take this-here + Bill Nye of Californy, 'at wuz posted to appear + "The Comicalest Funny Man 'at Ever Jammed a Hall!" + So we made big preperations, and swep' out the church and all! + And night he wuz to lectur', and the neghbors all wuz thare, + And strangers packed along the aisles 'at come from ev'rywhare, + Committee got a telegrapht the preacher read, 'at run-- + "Got off at Rossville, _Indiany_, 'stid of Michigun." + + + + +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 bare-foot 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' ag'in + In that kind of a lazy go-as-you-please + Old gait they bum roun' in; + When the groun's all bald whare 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-fethers o' Wintertime + Is all pulled out and gone! + And the sap it thaws and begins to climb, + And the swet it starts out on + A feller's forred, a-gittin' down + At the old spring on his knees-- + I kindo' like jest a-loaferin' roun' + When the green gits back in the trees-- + Jest a-potterin' roun' as I--durn--please-- + When the green, you know, gits back in the trees! + + + + +HOW IT HAPPENED + + + I got to _thinkin'_ of her--both her parunts dead and gone-- + And all her sisters married off, and none but her and John + A-livin' all alone thare in that lonesome sorto' way, + And him a blame old bachelor, confirmder ev'ry day! + I'd knowed 'em all, from childern, and theyr daddy from the time + He settled in the neghborhood, and hadn't ary a dime + Er dollar, when he married, fer to start housekeepin' on!-- + So I got to _thinkin'_ of her--both her parunts 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-- + A' old maid, with her hands, you might say, tied behind her back! + And _Mother_, too, afore she died,--_she_ ust to jest take on, + When none of 'em wuz left, you know, but Evaline and John, + And jest declare to goodness 'at the young men must be bline + To not see what a wife they'd git ef they got Evaline! + + I got to _thinkin'_ of her: In my great affliction she + Wuz sich a comfert to us, and so kind and neghborly,-- + She'd come, and leave her housework, fer to he'p out little Jane, + And talk of _her own_ mother 'at she'd never see again-- + They'd sometimes _cry_ together--though, fer the most part, she + Would have the child so rickonciled and happy-like 'at we + Felt lonesomer'n ever when she'd putt 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 parunts both a-bein' dead, and all her sisters gone + And married off, and her a-livin' thare alone with John-- + You might say jest a-toilin' and a-slavin' out her life + Fer a man 'at hadn't pride enugh 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_. + + + + +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 wuz none in the fambly stock; + But a nephew of mine, from Eelinoy, + That visitud us last year, + He kindo' convinct me differunt + Whilse he wuz a-stayin' here. + + From ev'ry-which-way that blues is from, + They'd pester him _ev'ry_-ways; + They'd come to him in the night, and come + On Sundys, and rainy days; + They'd tackle him in corn-plantin' time, + And in harvest, and airly Fall,-- + But a dos't o' blues in the _Winter_time, + He 'lowed, wuz the worst of all! + + Said "All diseases that ever _he_ had-- + The mumps, er the rhumatiz-- + Er ev'ry-other-day-aigger--bad + As ever the blame thing 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 woodpile'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 parunts a postal-kyard + He could stay tel Springtime come; + And Aprile--_first_, as I rickollect-- + Wuz the day we shipped him home! + Most o' his _relatives_, sence then, + Has eether give up, er quit, + Er jest died off; but I understand + _He's_ the same old color yit! + + + + +THE OLD HOME BY THE MILL + + + This is "The old Home by the Mill"--fer we still call it so, + Although the _old mill_, roof and sill, is all gone long ago. + The old home, though, and the old folks--the old spring, and a few + Old cattails, 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' _age_in', Marg'et is--"the _old_ process"--like me, + All ham-stringed up with rhumatiz, and on in seventy-three. + + Jest me and Marg'et lives alone here--like in long ago; + The childern all putt off and gone, and married, don't you know? + One's millin' 'way out West somewhare; 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--fer purt'-nigh thirty year! + And youngest one--was allus fer 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 jest 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 then t'other way! + I hain't so favor'ble 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 jest crawl in my grave and pull the green grass over me! + + + + +THE WAY IT WUZ + + + Las' July--and, I persume, + 'Bout as hot + As the old Gran'-Jury room + Whare they sot!-- + Fight 'twixt Mike and Dock McGreff.... + 'Pears to me jest like as ef + I'd a-dremp' the whole blame thing-- + Allus ha'nts me roun' the gizzard + When they's nightmares on the wing + And a feller's blood's jes' friz! + Seed the row from A to Izzard-- + 'Cause I wuz a-standin' as clos't to 'em + As me and you is! + + Tell you the way it wuz-- + And I don't _want_ to see, + Like _some_ fellers does, + When they's goern to be + Any kind o' fuss-- + On'y makes a rumpus wuss + Fer to _interfere_ + When theyr dander's riz-- + Might as lif to _cheer_! + But I wuz a-standin' as clos't to 'em + As me and you is! + + I wuz kindo' strayin' + Past the blame saloon-- + Heerd some fiddler playin' + That old "Hee-cup tune!" + I'd _stopped_-like, you know, + Fer a minit er so, + And wuz jest about + Settin' down, when--_Jeemses-whizz!_-- + Whole durn winder-sash fell out! + And thare laid Dock McGreff, and Mike + A-straddlin' him, all bloody-like, + And both a-gittin' down to biz!-- + And I wuz a-standin' as clos't to 'em + As me and you is! + + I wuz the on'y man aroun'-- + (Durn old-fogey town! + 'Peared more like, to me, + _Sund'y_ than _Saturd'y_!) + Dog come 'crost the road + And tuk a smell + And putt right back: + Mishler driv by 'ith a load + O' cantalo'pes he couldn't sell-- + Too mad, 'i jack! + To even ast + What wuz up, as he went past! + Weather most outrageous hot!-- + Fairly hear it sizz + Roun' Dock and Mike--tel Dock he shot,-- + And Mike he slacked that grip o' his + And fell, all spraddled out. Dock riz + 'Bout half up, a spittin' red, + And shuck his head.... + And I wuz a-standin' as clos't to 'em + As me and you is! + + And Dock he says, + A-whisperin'-like,-- + "It hain't no use + A-tryin'!--Mike + He's jest ripped my daylights loose!-- + Git that blame-don fiddler to + Let up, and come out here--You + Got some burryin' to do,-- + Mike makes _one_, and, I expects, + 'Bout ten seconds, I'll make _two_!" + And he drapped back, whare he'd riz, + 'Crost Mike's body, black and blue, + Like a great big letter X!-- + And I wuz a-standin' as clos't to 'em + As me and you is! + + + + +PAP'S OLD SAYIN' + + + Pap had one old-fashioned sayin' + That I'll never quite fergit-- + And they's seven growed-up childern + Of us rickollects it yit!-- + Settin' round the dinner-table, + Talkin' 'bout our friends, perhaps, + Er abusin' of our neghbors, + I kin hear them words o' Pap's-- + "Shet up, and eat yer vittels!" + + Pap he'd never argy with us, + Ner cut any subject short + Whilse we all kep' clear o' gossip, + And wuz actin' as we ort: + But ef we'd git out o' order-- + Like sometimes a fambly is,-- + Faultin' folks, er one another, + Then we'd hear that voice o' his-- + "Shet up, and eat yer vittels!" + + Wuz no hand hisse'f at talkin'-- + _Never_ hadn't _much_ to say,-- + Only, as I said, pervidin' + When we'd rile him thataway: + Then he'd allus lose his temper + Spite o' fate, and jerk his head + And slam down his caseknife vicious' + Whilse he glared around and said-- + "Shet up, and eat yer vittels!" + + Mind last time 'at Pap was ailin' + With a misery in his side, + And had hobbled in the kitchen-- + Jest the day before he died,-- + Laury Jane she ups and tells him, + "Pap, you're pale as pale kin be-- + Hain't ye 'feard them-air cowcumbers + Hain't good fer ye?" And says he, + "Shet up, and eat yer vittels!" + + Well! I've saw a-many a sorrow,-- + Forty year', through thick and thin; + I've got best,--and I've got _wors'ted_, + Time and time and time ag'in!-- + But I've met a-many a trouble + That I hain't run onto twice, + Haltin'-like and thinkin' over + Them-air words o' Pap's advice: + "Shet up, and eat yer vittels!" + + + + +ROMANCIN' + + + I' b'en a-kindo' "_musin'_," as the feller says, and I'm + About o' the conclusion that they hain't no better time, + When you come to cipher on it, than the times we ust to know + When we swore our first "_dog-gone-it_" sorto' solum-like and low! + + You git my idy, do you?--_Little_ tads, you understand-- + Jest a-wishin' thue and thue you that you on'y wuz a _man_.-- + Yit here I am, this minit, even sixty, to a day, + And fergettin' all that's in it, wishin' jest the other way! + + I hain't no hand to lectur' on the times, er _dim_onstrate + Whare 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 jest gee-haw the hosses, and onhook the swingle-tree, + Whare the hazel-bushes tosses down theyr shadders over me; + And I draw my plug o' navy, and I climb the fence, and set + Jest a-thinkin' here, i gravy! tel my eyes is wringin'-wet! + + Tho' I still kin see the trouble o' the _presunt_, I kin see-- + Kindo' like my sight wuz double--all the things that _ust_ 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 jest 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 sapsuck on the snag, + Seems ef they can't--od-rot 'em!--jest do nothin' else but brag! + + They's music in the twitter of the bluebird and the jay, + And that sassy little critter jest 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 ust to split the medder whare 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 theyr hick'ry-poles a-swishin' out behind 'em; and a few + Little "shiners" on our stringers, with theyr tails tip-toein' bloom, + As we dance 'em in our fingers all the happy jurney 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 o' 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 jest git in and row it like the miller ust to do. + + W'y, I git my fancy focussed on the past so mortul plane + I kin even smell the locus'-blossoms bloomin' in the lane; + And I hear the cow-bells clinkin' sweeter tunes 'n "Money-musk" + Fer the lightnin' bugs a-blinkin' and a-dancin' in the dusk. + + And when I've kep' on "musin'," as the feller says, tel 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,--I de-clare + I kin wake and say "dog-gone-it!" jest as soft as any prayer! + + + + +AN OLD SETTLER'S STORY + + + + +AN OLD SETTLER'S STORY + + +William Williams his name was--er 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, fer 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 congerssmen, and +I reckon got better wages; fer afore Ezry built, there wasn't a dust o' +meal er flour to be had short o' the White Water, better'n sixty mil'd +from here, the way we had to fetch it. And they used to come to Ezry's +fer their grindin' as fur as that; and one feller I knowed to come from +what used to be the old South Fork, over eighty mil'd from here, and in +the wettest, rainyest weather; and mud! _Law!_ + +Well, this-here Bills was a-workin' fer 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 fur back as Fifty-eight used to make his brags that he could cut and +putt 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 fur down his breast--awful +lookin'; and he never shaved, and there 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-and-out +ornry-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 fer, le' me see,--well, anyways, I rickon, over thirty year.--Steve +was a-drivin' the team at the time--I allus let Steve drive; 'peared +like Steve was made a-purpose fer hosses. The beatin'est hand with +hosses 'at ever you _did_ see and-I-know! W'y, a hoss, after he got +kindo' used to Steve a-handlin' of him, would do anything fer _him_! +And I've knowed that boy to swap fer hosses 'at couldn'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 fer some grindin' that day; and Steve +wanted to price some lumber fer 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 fer a +while. 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 fer each and all. + +We lived _then_ about eight mil'd from Ezry's, and it tuck about a day +to make the trip; so you kin kindo' git an idy 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, "Ben, I want +you to kindo' keep an eye out fer Ezry's new hand"--meanin' Bills. And +then I kindo' suspicioned somepin' o' nother was up betwixt 'em; and +shore enough there 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 neighberhood afore he'd be'n here two weeks. + +In the first place, he come in a suspicious sorto' way: Him and his +wife, and a little baby on'y 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, fer 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 lif settle there as anywheres; he was +huntin' a home, he said, and the outlook kindo' struck him, and his +woman railly needed rest, and wasn't strong enough to go much furder. +And old Ezry kindo' tuk pity on the feller; and havin' house-room 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 wouldn't a-knowed him! + +Well, I'd heerd o' this, and the facts is I'd made up my mind 'at Bills +was a bad stick, and the place wasn't none the better fer 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, fer 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 ornry name 'thout givin' him a _chance_ to take it +up. Steve was allus quiet-like, but ef you raised his dander onc'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 fer 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 or 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' fer dinner. Most of 'em brought ther +dinners--lived so fur away, you know. The two Smith boys lived on what +used to be the old Warrick farm, five er six mild, anyhow, from where +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:--There 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 fer +names.--Now, some folks'll hear a name and never fergit it, but I can't +boast of a good rickollection, 'specially o' names; and fer 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. W'y, my breeches was like stove-pipes when +I pulled 'em off. 'Ll, ef I didn't pay fer _that_ spree! Rheumatiz got +a holt o' me and helt me there flat o' my back fer eight weeks, and +couldn't move hand er foot 'thout a-hollerin' like a' Injun. And I'd +a-be'n there yit, I rickon, ef it hadn't a-be'n fer a' old hoss-doctor, +name o' Jones; and he gits a lot o' sod and steeps it in hot whiskey +and pops it on me,--and I'll be-switched-to-death ef it didn't cuore me +up, fer all I laughed and told him I'd better take the whiskey +in'ardly and let him keep the grass fer his doctor bill. But that's +nuther here ner there!--As I was a-sayin' 'bout the mill: As I went in, +the boys had stopped work and was a-gittin' down their dinners, and +Bills amongst 'em, and old Ezry a-chattin' away--great hand, he was, +fer 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 fer 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 tuk his +dram, you understand. You see, they made their own whiskey in them +days, and it wasn't nothin' like the bilin' stuff you git now. Old Ezry +had a little still, and allus made his own whiskey, enough fer 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 putt 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 didn'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 wouldn'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 rickon 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 couldn't well refuse, of course; so I says "Here's to us," and +drunk her down--mighty nigh a half pint, I rickon. Now, I railly didn'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, fer, to tell the fact about +it, I liked the taste o' liquor; and I do _yit_, on'y 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--fer 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' fer their liquor there--fer I'd +fetched a couple o' gallon home with me 'at I'd paid six bits fer, 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 fer half that price, and was a-goin' on a-braggin' about +his liquor--and it was a good article--fer new whiskey,--and jist then +Steve comes in, jist as Bills was a-sayin' 'at a man 'at wouldn't drink +_that_ whiskey 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 kindo' tuk 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 didn't let on like he noticed Bills +at all, and retch and shuk 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, kindo snarlin'-like, 'at "he'd knowed o' men +in his day 'at had be'n licked fer refusin' to drink when their betters +ast em"; and said furder 'at "a lickin' wasn't none too good fer +anybody 'at would refuse liquor like that o' Ezry's, and in his own +house too"--er _buildin'_, ruther. Ezry shuk his head at him, but I +seed 'at Bills was bound fer 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 fer _you_, and _die_ fer 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; yit Bills didn't seem to take warnin', but went on to +say 'at "he'd knowed boys 'at loved their 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,--for +Steve was a-comin' fer him dangerss. But they'd ketched Steve from +behind jist then; and Bills turned fer 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 +rickollect was a roarin' and a buzzin' in my ears, and when I kindo' +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 toe-nail, 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 th'oat, 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 kindo' give +him a side swipe o' some kind and knocked him--I don't know _how_ fur! +And jist then Carter and Morris come a-scufflin' back'ards right +amongst us, and Carter th'owed 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 tuk advantage of it:--As Wesley and Ben fell it pulled +Bills down in a kindo' twist, don't you understand, so's he couldn't +he'p hisse'f, yit still a-clinchin' Steve by the th'oat, 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 kindo' 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,--fer he had Steve's chunk as +nigh putt 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' a while fer 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 +warshed him, and drenched him with whiskey, 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 mil'd, I reckon, from the mill. Looked kindo' +cur'ous to see Steve a-he'ppin' pack the feller, after his nearly +chokin' him to death. Oh, it was a bloody fight, I tell you! W'y, they +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 fer a while she'd gone plum crazy, fer 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. + +Fer 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 fer Annie, as he called her. Zions said there was a +'brazure of the--some kind o' p'tuber'nce, 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 fer--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 they 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 fer Bills, 'cause he was a good hand, and when he +wasn't drinkin' they wasn't no peaceabler man in the Settlement. I +kindo' 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 kindo' humor him a little. "And you must kindo' be +on you 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 putt out fer +home. + +Mother tuk on awful about it. You see, she thought she'd be'n 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 fer 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 fer 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 fur as you and Steve's +concerned, Bills don't 'pear to bear you no ill feelin's, and says as +fur as he's concerned the thing's settled." "Well," says I, "Ezry, I +hope so; but I can't he'p but think they's somepin' at the bottom of +all this"; and says I, "I don't think it's in Bills to ever amount to +anything good"; and says I, "It's my opinion they'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 sorto' 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 pictur's fer the childern; +and how they all liked her better'n their 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' their 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 fer a while, and kiss all the childern and women-folks +about the place,--the greatest hand fer the childern, she was; tell 'em +all sorts o' little stories, you know, and sing fer 'em; said 'at she +could sing so sweet-like, 'at time and time agin she'd break clean down +in some song o' nother, 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 fer a-makin' some to-do over the +baby, and swore at her and tuk it away from her and whirped it fer +cryin', and _she_ cried and told him to whirp her and not little Annie, +and he said that was jist what he _was_ a-doin'. And the childern was +allus afeard to go there any more after that--'feard he'd come home and +whirp 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 neighbers begin to think he was all right after all, and railly +_some_ got to _likin'_ him. But fer _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 tuk 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' fer him; +and we all had _a glorious time_," says old Ezry; "and his woman was +there and jined, too, and prayed and shouted and tuk 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 fer 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 retch out one hand to Steve and one to me; and Steve shuk with +him kindo' 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 +shuk 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-tuk 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, fer 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, fer 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, fer 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 fer 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 they 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 they ever was one. I mind now when she was +tuk with her last spell and laid bedfast fer 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 fer 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 myster'ous 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 fer her--she used to sing +that'n so much, I rickollect as fur 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 o' evenings, 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 +kindo' tried to turn herse'f in bed, and smiled so weak and faint-like, +and looked at me, with her lips a-kindo' movin'; and I thought maybe +she wanted another dos't of her syrup 'at Ezry's woman had fixed up fer +her, and I kindo' stooped down over her and ast her ef she wanted +anything. "Yes," she says, and nodded, and her voice sounded so low and +solemn and so fur-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' away so +pale-like afore my eyes, and still a-smilin' up so lovin' and forgivin' +and so good 'at it made me think so fur 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 fer me 'at I never even thanked her fer; 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 fer 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 rickollection 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 maybe to kindo' 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 rickollect;--about Bills a-jinin' church. Well, +sir, they wasn't a better-actin' feller and more religious-like in all +the neighberhood. Spoke in meetin's, he did, and tuk 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. +They was a big excitement, and ever'body was a'tendin' from fur 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 +airnest, shore!--"jist flew off the handle," as I heerd a comical +feller git off onc't. And him and Bills was up and at it ever' +night--prayin' and shoutin' at the top o' their voice. Them railly did +seem like good times--when ever'body jined together, and prayed and +shouted hosanner, 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 kindo' +whole-souled-like and good, you understand. But law! I didn't hold +out--on'y fer a little while, and no wunder! + +Well, about them times Bills was tuk 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 onc'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, fer onc't he'd prayed fer a new +outpourin' of the Holy Sperit, and that very night they 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 fer 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 tuk the baby and went along with Ezry and his folks. + +I was at meetin' that night and rickollect 'em comin' in. Annie got a +seat jist behind me--Steve give her his'n and stood up; and I +rickollect 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 rickollect right, was "workin' out your own salvation"; and +when I listen to preachers nowadays in their big churches and their +fine pulpits, I allus think o' Daddy Barker, and kindo' 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 Hisse'f 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' fer the privilege, like it was a theatre. + +Ezry had his two little girls jine that night, and I rickollect the +preacher made sich a purty prayer about the Saviour a-cotin' from the +Bible 'bout "Suffer little childern to come unto Me"--and all; and +talked so purty 'bout the jedgment day, and mothers a-meetin' their +little ones there--and all; and went on tel they 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 south'ards 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 +putt out together fer it. Well, it was two mil'd 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 tuk 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 fer 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 fer--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 fer 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, fer a while anyhow. + +Bills said he seed the fire when it first started, and could a-putt 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 onriest +kind o' shanty, and so Ezry moved in with Bills. And Bills used to say +ef it hadn't a-be'n fer Ezry _he'd_ a-never a-had no house, ner nothin' +to putt 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 +fer 'em all, by a-buildin' a kindo' 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'tickler. + +Ezry was kindo' down fer 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 kindo' 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 they was that +winter; and 'fore _then_, I kin mind the time when they 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 rickollect one night in +p'tickler--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 their hats afore the candles, and +then onc'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--yes-sir! 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 where the stove was. Lots o' folks had their 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 they 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 kindo' jiggin' +along agin. Plenty to do there 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 fer 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' fer the childern; +said her two little girls had learnt to read, and didn't know their 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 putt together, 'bout books and cipherin' +and 'rethmetic, and the like; and John Wesley, the oldest of 'em, he +got to teachin' at last, when he growed up,--but, law! he couldn't +write his own name so's you could read it. I allus thought they was a +good 'eal of old Ezry in John Wesley. Liked to romance 'round with the +youngsters 'most too well.--Spiled him fer teachin', I allus thought; +fer 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 +fer the boys, you know, to go to school to _him_. Allus in fer +spellin'-matches and the like, and learnin' songs and sich. I +rickollect he give a' exhibition onc't, one winter, and I'll never +fergit it, I rickon. + +The school-house would on'y hold 'bout forty, comf'table, and that +night they was up'ards of a hunderd er more--jist crammed and jammed! +And the benches was piled back so's to make room fer the flatform +they'd built to make their speeches and dialogues on; and fellers +a-settin' up on them back seats, their heads was clean aginst the +j'ist. It was a low ceilin', anyhow, and o' course them 'at tuk 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 haf to stop and fool with 'em +awhile 'fore they could git 'em the balance o' the way acrost. Well, +finally, to'rds 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, +and where the string was stretched fer the curtain to slide on it +looked like the p'formers was strung on it. And when Lige Boyer's boy +was a-speakin'--kindo' mumbled it, you know, and you couldn't half +hear--it looked fer 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 fer 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 +they was done that night; but everybody said the teacher wrote it fer +her; and I wouldn't be su'prised much, fer they was married not long +afterwards. I expect he wrote it fer her.--Wouldn't putt 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 whiskey-bar'l tel it was strong enough to bear up a' egg. I kin +rickollect 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 rickon, ef the +fiddler hadn't a-give out. Wash Lowry was a-fiddlin' fer us; and along +to'rds three er four in the morning Wash was purty well fagged out. You +see, Wash could never play fer a dance er nothin' 'thout a-drinkin' +more or 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 their fun was gone ef they couldn'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' the plum facts. And they +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 new-fangled music--nothin' but +the old tunes, you understand, "The Forked 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 heerd him say, time and time agin, 'at a +five-dollar gold-piece wouldn't buy it, and I knowed him myse'f to +refuse a calf fer it onc't--yes-sir, 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' +'bout 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 a 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 fer 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' fer p'session, you understand. Well, Bob he made out it was a +mighty bad case when _John-Wes_ comes to consult him 'bout it, and +tells _him_ ef a little p'int o' law was left out he thought he could +git the land fer 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 fer him shore; and posts _him_ to sue fer change +of venue or 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 their money besides, and leaves +them to hold the bag! Well-sir, 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 beginnin' o' summer, things had got back to purty much +the old way. The boys round was a-gittin' devilish, and o' nights +'specially theyr 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 fer as to tell Ezry ef they didn't putt a stop +to it he'd quit the neighberhood and go somers 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 fer 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' ornry 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 they was one fight they 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 tuk +'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 +collogued 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, +fer 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 firin' of it. But I'll tell you he sobered up mighty +suddent when he seed what was a-goin' on, and heerd the neighbers +a-hollerin', and a-threatenin' and a-goin' on!--fer 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 haf to say good-bye to you, fer 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 the last anybody ever seed o' Ben +Carter! + +It must a-be'n about three o'clock in the morning by this time, and the +mill then was jist a-smoulderin' to ashes--fer 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 +tell another flood. Old Ezry, it was, as white as a corpse, and with +the blood a-streamin' out of a gash in his forred, 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 +whilse you're a-standin' here! And Bills done it! Bills done it!" he +hollered, as he headed the crowd and started back fer home. "Bills done +it! I caught him at it; and he would a-murdered me in cold blood ef it +hadn't a-be'n fer 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 fer 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! fer 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 kindo' 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_ fer I hain't got time to waste on you furder.' And jist then +his woman kindo' come to her senses ag'in and hollered fer 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 yer mother! ef +it hadn't a-be'n fer _her_ I' a-be'n all right. And dam you, too!' he +says to me.--'This'll pay you fer that lick you struck me; and fer 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 yer +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 off in the dark to'rds the river." + +This was about the tale 'at Ezry told us, as nigh as I can rickollect: +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 haf to cross it, and ef he done _that_ +he'd haf to use the boat 'at was down below the mill, er wade it at the +ford, a mil'd 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 fer 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 they wasn't +no boat there! Steve kindo' tuk the lead, and we all talked in +whispers. And Steve said to kindo' lay low and maybe we could hear +somepin'; and some feller said he thought he heerd somepin' +strange-like, but the wind was kindo' raisin' and kep' up sich a +moanin' through the trees along the bank 'at we couldn't make out +nothin'. "Listen!" says Steve, suddent-like, "_I_ hear somepin'!" We +was all still ag'in--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 knowed was Bills's say, "Dam ye! Keep still, or I'll +drownd ye!" And the wind kindo' moaned ag'in, and we could hear the +trees a-screetchin' together in the dark, and the leaves a-rustlin'; +and when it kindo' lulled ag'in, we heerd Bills make a kindo' splash +with the oars; and jist then Steve whispered fer to lay low and be +ready--he was a-goin' to riconn'itre; and he took his coat and shoes +off, and slid over the bank and down into the worter as slik as a' eel. +Then ever'thing was still ag'in, '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 sorto' miss-lick with the oar, I reckon, and must +a-splashed the baby, fer she set up a loud cryin'; and jist then old +Ezry, who was a-leanin' over the bank, kindo' lost his grip, some way +o' nother, 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 ag'in. And "Cuss you!" he says then, to the +baby--"ef it hadn't be'n fer _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 kindo +gurglin', and then Steve's voice a-hollerin', "Close in on him, boys; +I've got the baby!" And about a dozent 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 fer a minute we kindo' 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 rickon--twenty men +ag'in one!" "You'd better give yourse'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 ag'in, jist yit awhile," he says; "I see you +kindo' 'pear to go in fer baptism; 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 whilse you're +gone!" And jist then the boat give a suddent shove under him--some +feller'd div under and tilted it--and fer 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, tell finally they got to pilin' in a little too fast fer 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 fer 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 they was more su'prise +waitin' fer us yit,--fer lo-and-behold-ye, when we got ashore they +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 kindo' +fergot about her tel the thing was over, and he went to look fer 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 _that_ must a-be'n the way of it. But where +was _Steve_? W'y, we argied, he'd diskivvered she was gone, and had +putt out on track of her 'thout losin' time to stop and explain the +thing. The next question was, what did Bills want with her ag'in?--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 putt out fer the ford, fer that was the nighdest place Bills +could cross 'thout a boat, and ef it _was_ him tuk the child, he was +still on our side o' the river, o' course. So we struck out fer the +ford, a-leavin' a couple o' men to search _up_ the river. A drizzlin' +sorto' 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 ag'in. + +It was jist a-gittin' a little gray-like in the morning by the time we +reached the ford, but you couldn't hardly see two rods afore you fer +the mist and the fog 'at had settled along the river. We looked fer +tracks, but couldn't make out nothin'. 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 they hain't no doubt but it +is--what in the name o' all that's good and bad's the feller a-standin' +there fer!" And a-creepin' 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' fer?" + +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' fer 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 ag'in! 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 ye +air! Move another inch and I'll drownd this dam young-un afore yer +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 retch 'round and +set the baby in it, never a-takin' his eye off o' us, though, fer a +minute. "Now," says he, with a sorto' 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 fer findin' it out so late in the day, you hain't none +the worse fer losin' me so soon--fer 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'tickler friend o' mine, and he forgive me with his dyin' breath, and +told me to run whilse I could, and be a better man. But he'd spotted me +with a' ugly mark 'at made it kindo' 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 young-un here, I'll bid you all good-bye." And with that +he turned and clum in the boat--or ruther _fell_ in,--fer 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 t'other 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 mil'd er more +'thout knowin' of it. Bills had struck and stunt him as he clum in +whilse 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 tuk charge o' little Annie ag'in, 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 ag'in. 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-takin' 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 fer why:--They was own brother and +sister; and that brings me to _her_ part of the story, which you'll haf +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 rickollect--ner _she_ didn't want to tell his right name; +and we forgive her fer that. Her and "Williams" was own brother and +sister, and their parunts lived in Ohio some'ers. Their 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 ag'in, 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 fer him, tel finally, one night, +about three years after she was married, she got word some way that he +was in trouble ag'in, 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 tuk 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 quarrelled with her husband, and the officers was after him, and he +was obleeged to leave the country, and fer 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 ag'in 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 fer 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 fer his ungov'nable temper. But I couldn't he'p but +notice, when she was a-tellin' of her hist'ry, what a quiet sorto' look +o' satisfaction settled on the face o' Steve and the rest of 'em, don't +you understand. + +And now they 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 ag'in, not knowin', of course, +whether _they_ was dead er alive; fer time and time ag'in she said +somepin' told her she'd never see her husband ag'in 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' nother Steve was never +like hisse'f from that time on. + +And so things went fer 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 +inte_rest_ed--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 kindo' 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 her 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-p'intin' 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 their eyes met. "Annie! My wife!" he says; and Annie she +kindo' 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. + + + + +DIALECT IN LITERATURE + + + + +DIALECT IN LITERATURE + +"_And the common people heard him gladly._" + + +Of what shall be said herein of dialect, let it be understood the term +dialect referred to is of that general breadth of meaning given it +to-day, namely, any speech or vernacular outside the prescribed form of +good English in its present state. The present state of the English is, +of course, not any one of its prior states. So first let it be remarked +that it is highly probable that what may have been the best of English +once may now by some be counted as a weak, inconsequent _patois_, or +dialect. + +To be direct, it is the object of this article to show that dialect is +not a thing to be despised in any event--that its origin is oftentimes +of as royal caste as that of any speech. Listening back, from the +standpoint of to-day, even to the divine singing of that old classic +master to whom England's late laureate refers as + + "... the first warbler, whose sweet breath + Preluded those melodious bursts that fill + The spacious times of great Elizabeth + With sounds that echo still"; + +or to whom Longfellow alludes, in his matchless sonnet, as + + "... the poet of the dawn, who wrote + The Canterbury Tales, and his old age + Made beautiful with song";-- + +Chaucer's verse to us is _now_ as veritably dialect as to that old time +it _was_ the chastest English; and even then his materials were +essentially dialect when his song was at best pitch. Again, our present +dialect, of most plebeian ancestry, may none the less prove worthy. +Mark the recognition of its own personal merit in the great new +dictionary, where what was, in our own remembrance, the most outlandish +dialect, is now good, sound, official English. + + * * * * * + +Since Literature must embrace all naturally existing +materials--physical, mental, and spiritual--we have no occasion to urge +its acceptance of so-called dialect, for dialect _is_ in Literature, +and _has_ been there since the beginning of all written thought and +utterance. Strictly speaking, as well as paradoxically, all verbal +expression is more or less dialectic, however grammatical. While usage +establishes grammar, it no less establishes so-called dialect. +Therefore we may as rightfully refer to "so-called grammar." + +It is not really a question of Literature's position toward dialect +that we are called upon to consider, but rather how much of +Literature's valuable time shall be taken up by this dialectic country +cousin. This question Literature her gracious self most amiably answers +by hugging to her breast voluminous tomes, from Chaucer on to Dickens, +from Dickens on to Joel Chandler Harris. And this affectionate spirit +on the part of Literature, in the main, we all most feelingly indorse. + +Briefly summed, it would appear that dialect means something more than +mere rude form of speech and action--that it must, in some righteous +and substantial way, convey to us a positive force of soul, truth, +dignity, beauty, grace, purity and sweetness that may even touch us to +the tenderness of tears. Yes, dialect as certainly does all this as +that speech and act refined may do it, and for the same reason: it is +simply, purely natural and human. + +Yet the Lettered and the Unlettered powers are at swords' points; and +very old and bitter foemen, too, they are. As fairly as we can, then, +let us look over the field of these contending forces and note their +diverse positions: First, _the Lettered_--they who have the full +advantages of refined education, training, and association--are +undoubtedly as wholly out of order among _the Unlettered_ as the +Unlettered are out of order in the exalted presence of the Lettered. +Each faction may in like aversion ignore or snub the other; but a +long-suffering Providence must bear with the society of both. There may +be one vague virtue demonstrated by this feud: each division will be +found unwaveringly loyal to its kind, and mutually they desire no +interchange of sympathy whatever.--Neither element will accept from the +other any _patronizing_ treatment; and, perhaps, the more especially +does the _Unlettered_ faction reject anything in vaguest likeness of +this spirit. Of the two divisions, in graphic summary,--_one_ knows +the very core and centre of refined civilization, and this only; the +_other_ knows the outlying wilds and suburbs of civilization, and this +only. Whose, therefore, is the greater knowledge, and whose the just +right of any whit of self-glorification? + +A curious thing, indeed, is this factional pride, as made equally +manifest in both forces; in one, for instance, of the Unlettered +forces: The average farmer, or countryman, knows, in reality, a far +better and wider range of diction than he permits himself to use. He +restricts and abridges the vocabulary of his speech, fundamentally, for +the reason that he fears offending his rural _neighbors_, to whom a +choicer speech might suggest, on his part, an assumption--a spirit of +conscious superiority, and therewith an implied reflection on _their_ +lack of intelligence and general worthiness. If there is any one text +universally known and nurtured of the Unlettered masses of our common +country, it is that which reads, "All men are created equal." Therefore +it is a becoming thing when true gentility prefers to overlook some +variations of the class who, more from lack of cultivation than out of +rude intent, sometimes almost compel a positive doubt of the nice +veracity of the declaration, or at least a grief at the munificent +liberality of the so-be-quoted statement. The somewhat bewildering +position of these conflicting forces leaves us nothing further to +consider, but how to make the most and best of the situation so far as +Literature may be hurt or helped thereby. + +Equally with the perfect English, then, dialect should have full +justice done it. Then always it is worthy, and in Literature is thus +welcome. The writer of dialect should as reverently venture in its use +as in his chastest English. His effort in the _scholarly_ and _elegant_ +direction suffers no neglect--he is _schooled_ in that, perhaps, he may +explain. Then let him be _schooled_ in _dialect_ before he sets up as +an expounder of it--a teacher, forsooth a master! The real master must +not only know each varying light and shade of dialect expression, but +he must as minutely know the inner character of the people whose native +tongue it is, else his product is simply a pretence--a wilful forgery, +a rank abomination. Dialect has been and is thus insulted, vilified, +and degraded, now and continually; and through this outrage solely, +thousands of generous-minded readers have been turned against dialect +who otherwise would have loved and blessed it in its real form of crude +purity and unstrained sweetness-- + + "Honey dripping from the comb!" + +Let no impious faddist, then, assume its just interpretation. He may +know everything else in the world, but not dialect, nor dialectic +people, for both of which he has supreme contempt, which same, be sure, +is heartily returned. Such a "superior" personage may even go among +these simple country people and abide indefinitely in the midst of +them, yet their more righteous contempt never for one instant permits +them to be their real selves in his presence. In consequence, his most +conscientious report of them, their ways, lives, and interests, is +absolutely of no importance or value in the world. He never knew them, +nor will he ever know them. They are not his kind of people, any more +than he is their kind of man; and _their_ disappointment grieves us +more than his. + +The master in Literature, as in any art, is that "divinely gifted man" +who does just obeisance to all living creatures, "both man and beast +and bird." It is this master only who, as he writes, can sweep himself +aside and leave his humble characters to do the thinking and the +talking. This man it is who celebrates his performance--not himself. +His work he celebrates because it is not his only, but because he feels +it the conscientious reproduction of the life itself--as he has seen +and known and felt it;--a representation it is of God's own script, +translated and transcribed by the worshipful mind and heart and hand of +genius. This virtue in all art is impartially demanded, and genius only +can fully answer the demand in any art for which we claim perfection. +The painter has his expression of it, with no slighting of the +dialectic element; so, too, the sculptor, the musician, and the list +entire. In the line of Literature and literary material, an +illustration of the nice meaning and distinction of dialectic art will +be found in Charles Dudley Warner's comment of George Cable's work, as +far back as 1883, referring to the author's own rendition of it from +the platform. Mr. Warner says: + + While the author was unfolding to his audience a life and + society unfamiliar to them and entrancing them with + pictures, the reality of which none doubted and the spell + of which none cared to escape, it occurred to me that here + was the solution of all the pother we have recently got into + about the realistic and the ideal schools in fiction. In + "Posson Jone," an awkward camp-meeting country preacher is + the victim of a vulgar confidence game; the scenes are the + street, a drinking-place, a gambling-saloon, a bull-ring, + and a calaboose; there is not a "respectable" character in + it. Where shall we look for a more faithful picture of low + life? Where shall we find another so vividly set forth in + all its sordid details? And yet see how art steps in, with + the wand of genius, to make literature! Over the whole the + author has cast an ideal light; over a picture that, in the + hands of a bungling realist, would have been repellant he + has thrown the idealizing grace that makes it one of the + most charming sketches in the world. Here is nature, as + nature only ought to be in literature, elevated but never + departed from. + +So we find dialect, as a branch of Literature, worthy of the high +attention and employment of the greatest master in letters--not the +merest mountebank. Turn to Dickens, in innumerable passages of pathos: +the death of poor Jo, or that of the "Cheap John's" little daughter in +her father's arms, on the foot-board of his peddling cart before the +jeering of the vulgar mob; smile moistly, too, at Mr. Sleary's odd +philosophies; or at the trials of Sissy Jupe; or lift and tower with +indignation, giving ear to Stephen Blackpool and the stainless nobility +of his cloyed utterances. + +The crudeness or the homeliness of the dialectic element does not argue +its unfitness in any way. Some readers seem to think so; but they are +wrong, and very gravely wrong. Our own brief history as a nation, and +our finding and founding and maintaining of it, left our forefathers +little time indeed for the delicate cultivation of the arts and graces +of refined and scholarly attainments. And there is little wonder, and +great blamelessness on their part, if they lapsed in point of high +mental accomplishments, seeing their attention was so absorbed by +propositions looking toward the protection of their rude farm-homes, +their meagre harvests, and their half-stabled cattle from the dread +invasion of the Indian. Then, too, they had their mothers and their +wives and little ones to protect, to clothe, to feed, and to die for in +this awful line of duty, as hundreds upon hundreds did. These sad facts +are here accented and detailed not so much for the sake of being +tedious as to more clearly indicate why it was that many of the truly +heroic ancestry of "our best people" grew unquestionably dialect of +caste--not alone in speech, but in every mental trait and personal +address. It is a grievous fact for us to confront, but many of them +wore apparel of the commonest, talked loudly, and doubtless said +"thisaway" and "thataway," and "Watch y' doin' of?" and "Whur y' goin' +at?"--using dialect even in their prayers to Him who, in His gentle +mercy, listened and was pleased; and who listens verily unto this hour +to all like prayers, and yet pleased; yea, haply listens even to the +refined rhetorical petitions of those who are _not_ pleased. + +There is something more at fault than the language when we turn from or +flinch at it; and, as has been intimated, the wretched fault may be +skulkingly hidden away in the ambush of _ostensible_ dialect--that type +of dialect so copiously produced by its sole manufacturers, who, +utterly stark and bare of the vaguest idea of country life or country +people, at once assume that all their "gifted pens" have to do is to +stupidly misspell every word; vulgarly mistreat and besloven every +theme, however sacred; maim, cripple, and disfigure language never in +the vocabulary of the countryman--then smuggle these monstrosities of +either rhyme or prose somehow into the public print that is to +innocently smear them broadcast all over the face of the country they +insult. + +How different the mind and method of the true interpreter. As this +phrase goes down the man himself arises--the type perfect--Colonel +Richard Malcolm Johnston, who wrote "The Dukesborough Tales"--an +accomplished classic scholar and teacher, yet no less an accomplished +master and lover of his native dialect of middle Georgia. He, like +Dickens, permits his rustic characters to think, talk, act, and live, +just as nature designed them. He does not make the pitiable error of +either patronizing or making fun of them. He knows them and he loves +them; and they know and love him in return. Recalling Colonel +Johnston's dialectic sketches, with his own presentation of them from +the platform, the writer notes a fact that seems singularly to obtain +among all true dialect-writers, namely, that they are also endowed with +native histrionic capabilities: _Hear_, as well as read, Twain, Cable, +Johnston, Page, Smith, and all the list, with barely an exception. + +Did space permit, no better illustration of true dialect sketch and +characterization might here be offered than Colonel Johnston's simple +story of "Mr. Absalom Billingslea," or the short and simple annals of +his like quaint contemporaries, "Mr. Bill Williams" and "Mr. Jonas +Lively." The scene is the country and the very little country town, +with landscape, atmosphere, simplicity, circumstance--all surroundings +and conditions--_veritable_--everything rural and dialectic, no less +than the simple, primitive, common, wholesome-hearted men and women who +so naturally live and have their blessed being in his stories, just as +in the life itself. This is the manifest work of the true dialect +writer and expounder. In every detail, the most minute, such work +reveals the master-hand and heart of the humanitarian as well as +artist--the two are indissolubly fused--and the result of such just +treatment of whatever lowly themes or characters we can but love and +loyally approve with all our human hearts. Such masters necessarily are +rare, and such ripe perfecting as is here attained may be in part the +mellowing result of age and long observation, though it can but be +based upon the wisest, purest spirit of the man as well as artist. + +In no less excellence should the work of Joel Chandler Harris be +regarded: His touch alike is ever reverential. He has gathered up the +bruised and broken voices and the legends of the slave, and from his +child-heart he has affectionately yielded them to us in all their eerie +beauty and wild loveliness. Through them we are made to glorify the +helpless and the weak and to revel in their victories. But, better, we +are taught that even in barbaric breasts there dwells inherently the +sense of right above wrong--equity above law--and the One Unerring +Righteousness Eternal. With equal truth and strength, too, Mr. Harris +has treated the dialectic elements of the interior Georgia country--the +wilds and fastnesses of the "moonshiners." His tale of "Teague Poteet," +of some years ago, was contemporaneous with the list of striking +mountain stories from that strong and highly gifted Tennesseean, Miss +Murfree, or "Charles Egbert Craddock." In the dialectic spirit her +stories charm and hold us. Always there is strangely mingled, but most +naturally, the gentle nature cropping out amid the most desperate and +stoical: the night scene in the isolated mountain cabin, guarded ever +without and within from any chance down-swooping of the minions of the +red-eyed law; the great man-group of gentle giants, with rifles never +out of arm's-reach, in tender rivalry ranged admiringly around the +crowing, wakeful little boy-baby; the return, at last, of the belated +mistress of the house--the sister, to whom all do great, awkward +reverence. Jealously snatching up the babe and kissing it, she +querulously demands why he has not long ago been put to bed. "He 'lowed +he wouldn't go," is the reply. + +Thomas Nelson Page, of Virginia, who wrote "Meh Lady"--a positive +classic in the Negro dialect: his work is veritable--strong and pure +and sweet; and as an oral reader of it the doubly gifted author, in +voice and cadence, natural utterance, every possible effect of speech +and tone, is doubtless without rival anywhere. + +Many more, indeed, than may be mentioned now there are of these real +benefactors and preservers of the wayside characters, times, and +customs of our ever-shifting history. Needless is it to speak here of +the earlier of our workers in the dialectic line--of James Russell +Lowell's New England "Hosea Biglow," Dr. Eggleston's "Hoosier +School-Master," or the very rare and quaint, bright prattle of "Helen's +Babies." In connection with this last let us very seriously inquire +what this _real_ child has done that Literature should so persistently +refuse to give him an abiding welcome? Since for ages this question +seems to have been left unasked, it may be timely now to propound it. +Why not the real child in Literature? The real child is good enough (we +all know he is bad enough) to command our admiring attention and most +lively interest in real life, and just as we find him "in the raw." +Then why do we deny him any righteous place of recognition in our +Literature? From the immemorial advent of our dear old Mother Goose, +Literature has been especially catering to the juvenile needs and +desires, and yet steadfastly overlooking, all the time, the very +principles upon which Nature herself founds and presents this lawless +little brood of hers--the children. It is not the children who are out +of order; it is Literature. And not only is Literature out of order, +but she is presumptuous; she is impudent. She takes Nature's children +and revises and corrects them till "their own mother doesn't know +them." This is literal fact. So, very many of us are coming to inquire, +as we've a right, why is the real child excluded from a just hearing in +the world of letters as he has in the world of fact? For instance, what +has the lovely little ragamuffin ever done of sufficient guilt to +eternally consign him to the monstrous penalty of speaking most +accurate grammar all the literary hours of the days of the years of his +otherwise natural life?-- + + "Oh, mother, may I go to school + With brother Charles to-day? + The air is very fine and cool; + Oh, mother, say I may!" + +--Is this a real boy that would make such a request, and is it the real +language he would use? No, we are glad to say that it is not. Simply it +is a libel, in every particular, on any boy, however fondly and +exactingly trained by parents however zealous for his overdecorous +future. Better, indeed, the dubious sentiment of the most trivial +nursery jingle, since the latter at least maintains the lawless though +wholesome spirit of the child-genuine.-- + + "Hink! Minx! The old witch winks-- + The fat begins to fry; + There's nobody home but Jumping Joan, + Father and mother and I." + +Though even here the impious poet leaves the scar of grammatical +knowledge upon childhood's native diction; and so the helpless little +fellow is again misrepresented, and his character, to all intents and +purposes, is assaulted and maligned outrageously thereby. + +Now, in all seriousness, this situation ought not to be permitted to +exist, though to change it seems an almost insurmountable task. The +general public, very probably, is not aware of the real gravity of the +position of the case as even unto this day it exists. Let the public +try, then, to contribute the real child to the so-called Child +Literature of its country, and have its real child returned as promptly +as it dare show its little tousled head in the presence of that +scholarly and dignified institution. Then ask why your real child has +been spanked back home again, and the wise mentors there will virtually +tell you that Child Literature wants no real children in it, that the +real child's example of defective grammar and lack of elegant +deportment would furnish to its little patrician patrons suggestions +very hurtful indeed to their higher morals, tendencies, and ambitions. +Then, although the general public couldn't for the life of it see why +or how, and might even be reminded that _it_ was just such a rowdying +child itself, and that its _father_--the Father of his Country--was +just such a child; that Abraham Lincoln was just such a lovable, +lawless child, and yet was blessed and chosen in the end for the +highest service man may ever render unto man,--all--all this argument +would avail not in the least, since the elegantly minded purveyors of +Child Literature can not possibly tolerate the presence of any but the +refined children--the very proper children--the studiously thoughtful, +poetic children;--and these must be kept safe from the contaminating +touch of our rough-and-tumble little fellows in "hodden gray," with +frowzly heads, begrimed but laughing faces, and such awful, awful +vulgarities of naturalness, and crimes of simplicity, and brazen faith +and trust, and love of life and everybody in it. All other real people +are getting into Literature; and without some real children along will +they not soon be getting lonesome, too? + + * * * * * + + +Books By +James Whitcomb Riley + + +NEGHBORLY POEMS + +SKETCHES IN PROSE, WITH INTERLUDING VERSES + +AFTERWHILES + +PIPES O' PAN (Prose and Verse) + +RHYMES OF CHILDHOOD + +FLYING ISLANDS OF THE NIGHT + +GREEN FIELDS AND RUNNING BROOKS + +ARMAZINDY + +A CHILD-WORLD + +HOME-FOLKS + +OLD-FASHIONED ROSES +(English Edition) + +THE GOLDEN YEAR +(English Edition) + +POEMS HERE AT HOME + +RUBAIYAT OF DOC SIFERS + +CHILD-RHYMES, WITH HOOSIER PICTURES + +RILEY LOVE-LYRICS +(Pictures by Dyer) + + + * * * * * + + +Transcriber's Notes + + +Moved List of Books by James Whitcomb Riley to end of book. + +Page 204: Corrected typo genious to genius + (and genious only can fully answer the demand in any art). + +Made minor punctuation corrections. + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Neghborly Poems and Dialect Sketches, by +James Whitcomb Riley + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NEGHBORLY POEMS, DIALECT SKETCHES *** + +***** This file should be named 37074.txt or 37074.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/7/0/7/37074/ + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Diane Monico, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + +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. 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