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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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