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diff --git a/37074-h/37074-h.htm b/37074-h/37074-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c9c9ce5 --- /dev/null +++ b/37074-h/37074-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,5529 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<!-- $Id: header.txt 236 2009-12-07 18:57:00Z vlsimpson $ --> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of Neghborly Poems and Dialect Sketches, by James Whitcomb Riley. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + + h1,h2,h3 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} + +p { + margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; +} + + p.title { text-align: center; text-indent: 0; + font-weight: bold; + line-height: 1.4; margin-bottom: 3em; } + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; +} + +table { + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; +} + +.pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; +} + +.blockquot { + margin-left: 5%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + +.i4 {display: block; margin-left: 2.5em; + padding-left: 2.5em; text-indent: -2.5em;} + +.i6 {display: block; margin-left: 3.5em; + padding-left: 3.5em; text-indent: -3.5em;} + +.author {text-align: right; margin-right: 5%; font-variant: small-caps;} + +.center {text-align: center;} + +.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + +.u {text-decoration: underline;} + +.poem { + margin-left:10%; + margin-right:10%; + text-align: left; +} + +.poem br {display: none;} + +.poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + +.poem span.i0 { + display: block; + margin-left: 0em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + +.poem span.i2 { + display: block; + margin-left: 2em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + +.poem span.i3 { + display: block; + margin-left: 3em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + +.poem span.i4 { + display: block; + margin-left: 4em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + +.poem span.i5 { + display: block; + margin-left: 5em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + +.poem span.i6 { + display: block; + margin-left: 6em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + + + + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +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 + + + + + + +</pre> + + + + + + + +<h1>NEGHBORLY POEMS<br /> + +<small>AND</small><br /> + +<small>DIALECT SKETCHES</small><br /><br /></h1> + +<p class="title">JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY<br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p class="title"><small>INDIANAPOLIS</small><br /> +<small>THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY</small><br /> +<small>PUBLISHERS</small> +</p> +<hr style="width: 35%;" /> + +<p class="center"> +<small>Copyright 1883, 1891 and 1897</small><br /> +<br /> +<small>By <span class="smcap">James Whitcomb Riley</span></small><br /> +<br /> +<small>PRESS OF</small><br /> +<small>BRAUNWORTH & CO.</small><br /> +<small>BOOKBINDERS AND PRINTERS</small><br /> +<small>BROOKLYN, N. Y.</small><br /> +</p> +<hr style="width: 35%;" /> + +<p class="title"> +TO MY BROTHER<br /> +HUMBOLDT RILEY<br /> +</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 35%;" /> +<h2><a name="PREFACE" id="PREFACE"></a>PREFACE</h2> + + +<p>As far back into boyhood as the writer's memory may +intelligently go, the "country poet" is most pleasantly +recalled. He was, and is, as common as the "country +fiddler," and as full of good old-fashioned music. Not +a master of melody, indeed, but a poet, certainly—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">"Who, through long days of labor,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And nights devoid of ease,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Still heard in his soul the music<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Of wonderful melodies."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>And it is simply the purpose of this series of dialectic +studies to reflect the real worth of this homely child of +nature, and to echo faithfully, if possible, the faltering +music of his song.</p> + +<p>In adding to this series, as the writer has, for many +years, been urged to do, and answering as steadfast a +demand of Benj. F. Johnson's first and oldest friends, it +has been decided that this further work of his be introduced +to the reader of the volume as was the old man's +first work to the reader of the newspaper of nearly ten +years ago.</p> + +<p>Directly, then, referring to the Indianapolis "Daily +Journal,"—under whose management the writer had for +some time been employed,—from issue of date June 17, +1882, under editorial caption of "A Boone County Pastoral," +this article is herewith quoted:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Benj. F. Johnson, of Boone county, who considers the Journal +a "very valubul" newspaper, writes to enclose us an original +poem, desiring that we kindly accept it for publication, as +"many neghbors and friends is astin' him to have the same +struck off."</p> + +<p>Mr. Johnson thoughtfully informs us that he is "no edjucated +man," but that he has, "from childhood up tel old enough to +vote, allus wrote more er less poetry, as many of an albun in +the neghborhood can testify." Again, he says that he writes +"from the hart out"; and there is a touch of genuine pathos in +the frank avowal, "Thare is times when I write the tears rolls +down my cheeks."</p> + +<p>In all sincerity, Mr. Johnson, we are glad to publish the poem +you send, and just as you have written it. That is its greatest +charm. Its very defects compose its excellence. You need no +better education than the one from which emanates "The Old +Swimmin'-Hole." It is real poetry, and all the more tender and +lovable for the unquestionable evidence it bears of having been +written "from the hart out." The only thing we find to—but +hold! Let us first lay the poem before the reader:</p></div> + +<p>Here followed the poem, "The Old Swimmin'-Hole," +entire—the editorial comment ending as follows:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>The only thing now, Mr. Johnson—as we were about to observe—the +only thing we find to criticise, at all relative to the +poem, is your closing statement to the effect that "It was +wrote to go to the tune of 'The Captin with his Whiskers!'" +You should not have told us that, O Rare Ben. Johnson!</p></div> + +<p>A week later, in the "Journal" of date June 24th, +followed this additional mention of "Benj. F. Johnson, +of Boone":</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>It is a pleasure for us to note that the publication of the +poem of "The Old Swimmin'-Hole," to which the Journal, with +just pride, referred last week, has proved almost as great a pleasure +to its author as to the hosts of delighted readers who have +written in its praise, or called to personally indorse our high +opinion of its poetic value. We have just received a letter from +Mr. Johnson, the author, inclosing us another lyrical performance, +which in many features even surpasses the originality and +spirit of the former effort. Certainly the least that can be said +of it is that it stands a thorough proof of our first assertion, that +the author, though by no means a man of learning and profound +literary attainments, is none the less a true poet and an artist. +The letter, accompanying this later amaranth of blooming wildwood +verse, we publish in its entirety, assured that Mr. Johnson's +many admirers will be charmed, as we have been, at the +delicious glimpse he gives us of his inspiration, modes of study, +home-life, and surroundings:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"To the Editer of the Indanoplus Jurnal:</p> + +<p>"Respected Sir—The paper is here, markin' the old swimmin'-hole, +my poetry which you seem to like so well. I joy to +see it in print, and I thank you, hart and voice, fer speakin' of +its merrits in the way in which you do. I am glad you thought +it was real poetry, as you said in your artikle. But I make +bold to ast you what was your idy in sayin' I had ortent of told +you it went to the tune I spoke of in my last. I felt highly +flatered tel I got that fur. Was it because you don't know the +tune refered to in the letter? Er wasent some words spelt +right er not? Still ef you hadent of said somepin' aginst it Ide +of thought you was makin' fun. As I said before I well know +my own unedjucation, but I don't think that is any reason the +feelin's of the soul is stunted in theyr growth however. 'Juge +not less ye be juged,' says The Good Book, and so say I, ef I +thought you was makin' fun of the lines that I wrote and which +you done me the onner to have printed off in sich fine style that +I have read it over and over again in the paper you sent, and I +would like to have about three more ef you can spare the same +and state by mail what they will come at. All nature was in +tune day before yisterday when your paper come to hand. It +had ben a-raining hard fer some days, but that morning opened +up as clear as a whissel. No clouds was in the sky, and the air +was bammy with the warm sunshine and the wet smell of the +earth and the locus blossoms and the flowrs and pennyroil and +boneset. I got up, the first one about the place, and went forth +to the plesant fields. I fed the stock with lavish hand and +wortered them in merry glee, they was no bird in all the land +no happier than me. I have jest wrote a verse of poetry in this +letter; see ef you can find it. I also send you a whole poem +which was wrote off the very day your paper come. I started it +in the morning I have so feebly tride to pictur' to you and +wound her up by suppertime, besides doin' a fare day's work +around the place.</p> + +<p>"Ef you print this one I think you will like it better than the +other. This ain't a sad poem like the other was, but you will +find it full of careful thought. I pride myself on that. I also +send you 30 cents in stamps fer you to take your pay out of fer +the other papers I said, and also fer three more with this in it ef +you have it printed and oblige. Ef you don't print this poem, +keep the stamps and send me three more papers with <i>the other +one</i> in—makin' the sum totul of six (6) papers altogether in full. +Ever your true friend,</p> + +<p class="author">Benj. F. Johnson.</p> + +<p>"N. B.—The tune of this one is 'The Bold Privateer.'"</p></div></div> + +<p>Here followed the poem, "Thoughts Fer The Discuraged +Farmer";—and here, too, fittingly ends any +comment but that which would appear trivial and +gratuitous.</p> + +<p>Simply, in briefest conclusion, the hale, sound, artless, +lovable character of Benj. F. Johnson remains, in the +writer's mind, as from the first, far less a fiction than a +living, breathing, vigorous reality.—So strong, indeed, +has his personality been made manifest, that many times, +in visionary argument with the sturdy old myth over certain +changes from the original forms of his productions, +he has so incontinently beaten down all suggestions as to +a less incongruous association of thoughts and words, +together with protests against his many violations of +poetic method, harmony, and grace, that nothing was +left the writer but to submit to what has always seemed—and +in truth still seems—a superior wisdom of dictation.</p> + +<p class="author">J. W. R.</p> + +<p class="i4"><i>Indianapolis, July, 1891.</i></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="SALUTATION" id="SALUTATION"></a>SALUTATION<br /> + +TO BENJ. F. JOHNSON<br /><br /> + + +<i>THE OLD MAN</i></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Lo! steadfast and serene</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>In patient pause between</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>The seen and the unseen</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>What gentle zephyrs fan</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Your silken silver hair</i>,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>And what diviner air</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Breathes round you like a prayer</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i4"><i>Old Man</i>?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><i> +<span class="i0">Can you, in nearer view<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Glory, pierce the blue<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of happy Heaven through;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And, listening mutely, can<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your senses, dull to us,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hear Angel-voices thus,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In chorus glorious—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Old Man?<br /></span></i> +</div><div class="stanza"><i> +<span class="i0">In your reposeful gaze<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The dusk of Autumn days<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is blent with April haze,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As when of old began<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The bursting of the bud<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of rosy babyhood—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When all the world was good,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Old Man.<br /></span></i> +</div><div class="stanza"><i> +<span class="i0">And yet I find a sly<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Little twinkle in your eye;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And your whisperingly shy<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Little laugh is simply an<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Internal shout of glee<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That betrays the fallacy<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You'd perpetrate on me,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Old Man!<br /></span></i> +</div><div class="stanza"><i> +<span class="i0">So just put up the frown<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That your brows are pulling down!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Why, the fleetest boy in town,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As he bared his feet and ran,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Could read with half a glance—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And of keen rebuke, perchance—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your secret countenance,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Old Man!<br /></span></i> +</div><div class="stanza"><i> +<span class="i0">Now, honestly, confess:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is an old man any less<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than the little child we bless<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And caress when we can?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Isn't age but just a place<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where you mask the childish face<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To preserve its inner grace,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Old Man?<br /></span></i> +</div><div class="stanza"><i> +<span class="i0">Hasn't age a truant day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Just as that you went astray<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the wayward, restless way,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When, brown with dust and tan,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your roguish face essayed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In solemn masquerade,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To hide the smile it made<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Old Man?<br /></span></i> +</div><div class="stanza"><i> +<span class="i0">Now, fair, and square, and true,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Don't your old soul tremble through,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As in youth it used to do<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When it brimmed and overran<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With the strange, enchanted sights,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the splendors and delights<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the old "Arabian Nights,"<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Old Man?<br /></span></i> +</div><div class="stanza"><i> +<span class="i0">When, haply, you have fared<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where glad Aladdin shared<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His lamp with you, and dared<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The Afrite and his clan;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, with him, clambered through<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The trees where jewels grew—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And filled your pockets, too,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Old Man?<br /></span></i> +</div><div class="stanza"><i> +<span class="i0">Or, with Sinbad, at sea—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And in veracity<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who has sinned as bad as he,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or would, or will, or can?—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Have you listened to his lies,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With open mouth and eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And learned his art likewise,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Old Man?<br /></span></i> +</div><div class="stanza"><i> +<span class="i0">And you need not deny<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That your eyes were wet as dry,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Reading novels on the sly!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And review them, if you can,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the same warm tears will fall—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Only faster, that is all—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Over Little Nell and Paul,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Old Man!<br /></span></i> +</div><div class="stanza"><i> +<span class="i0">O, you were a lucky lad—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Just as good as you were bad!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the host of friends you had—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Charley, Tom, and Dick, and Dan;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the old School-Teacher, too,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though he often censured you;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the girls in pink and blue,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Old Man.<br /></span></i> +</div><div class="stanza"><i> +<span class="i0">And—as often you have leant,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In boyish sentiment,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To kiss the letter sent<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By Nelly, Belle, or Nan—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wherein the rose's hue<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was red, the violet blue—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sugar sweet—and you,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Old Man,—<br /></span></i> +</div><div class="stanza"><i> +<span class="i0">So, to-day, as lives the bloom,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the sweetness, and perfume<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the blossoms, I assume,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">On the same mysterious plan<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The master's love assures,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That the self-same boy endures<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In that hale old heart of yours,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Old Man.<br /></span></i> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CONTENTS" id="CONTENTS"></a>CONTENTS</h2> + + + +<div class="center"> +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="toc"> +<tr><td align="left">THE OLD SWIMMIN'-HOLE, AND 'LEVEN MORE POEMS</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="i4"><i>The Delights of our Childhood is soon Passed Away</i></span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_2">2</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="i4 smcap">The Old Swimmin'-Hole</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_3">3</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="i4 smcap">Thoughts fer The Discuraged Farmer</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_6">6</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="i4 smcap">A Summer's Day</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_9">9</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="i4 smcap">A Hymb of Faith</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_13">13</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="i4 smcap">Wortermelon Time</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_16">16</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="i4 smcap">My Philosofy</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_20">20</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="i4 smcap">When the Frost is on the Punkin</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_23">23</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="i4 smcap">On the Death of Little Mahala Ashcraft</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_26">26</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="i4 smcap">The Mulberry Tree</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_29">29</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="i4 smcap">To my Old Friend, William Leachman</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_31">31</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="i4 smcap">My Fiddle</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_36">36</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="i4 smcap">The Clover</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_39">39</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">NEGHBORLY POEMS<br /><span class="i6 smcap">On Friendship, Grief and Farm-Life</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="i4"><i>Us Farmers in the Country, as the Seasons go and Come</i></span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_42">42</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="i4 smcap">Erasmus Wilson</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_43">43</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="i4 smcap">My Ruthers</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_48">48</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="i4 smcap">On a Dead Babe</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_51">51</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="i4 smcap">A Old Played-out Song</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_52">52</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="i4 smcap">"Coon-dog Wess"</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_55">55</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="i4 smcap">Perfesser John Clark Ridpath</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_62">62</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="i4 smcap">A Tale of the Airly Days</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_66">66</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="i4 smcap">"Mylo Jones's Wife"</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_68">68</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="i4 smcap">On a Splendud Match</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_71">71</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="i4 smcap">Old John Clevenger on Buckeyes</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_72">72</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="i4 smcap">The Hoss</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_78">78</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="i4 smcap">Ezra House</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_82">82</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="i4 smcap">A Pen-Pictur'</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_86">86</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="i4 smcap">Wet-weather Talk</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_90">90</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="i4 smcap">Thoughts on a Pore Joke</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_93">93</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="i4 smcap">A Mortul Prayer</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_94">94</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="i4 smcap">The First Bluebird</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_96">96</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="i4 smcap">Evagene Baker</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_97">97</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="i4 smcap">On any Ordenary Man</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_100">100</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="i4 smcap">Town and Country</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_101">101</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="i4 smcap">Lines Writ fer Isaac Bradwell</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_103">103</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="i4 smcap">Decoration Day on the Place</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_104">104</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="i4 smcap">The Tree-Toad</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_107">107</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="i4 smcap">The Rossville Lectur' Course</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_109">109</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="i4 smcap">When the Green Gits Back in the Trees</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_112">112</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="i4 smcap">How it Happened</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_114">114</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="i4 smcap">A Dos't o' Blues</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_117">117</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="i4 smcap">The Old Home by the Mill</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_119">119</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="i4 smcap">The Way it Wuz</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_121">121</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="i4 smcap">Pap's Old Sayin'</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_125">125</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="i4 smcap">Romancin'</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_128">128</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">AN OLD SETTLER'S STORY</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_133">133</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">DIALECT IN LITERATURE</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_195">195</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="i4">Originally contributed to <span class="smcap">The Forum</span>—reprinted here by permission.</span></td></tr> +</table></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="THE_OLD_SWIMMIN-HOLE_AND" id="THE_OLD_SWIMMIN-HOLE_AND"></a>"THE OLD SWIMMIN'-HOLE"<br /> + +<small>AND</small><br /> + +'LEVEN MORE POEMS<br /><br /> + +<small>BY</small><br /> + +BENJ. F. JOHNSON, OF BOONE</h2> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span></p> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><i> +<span class="i0">The delights of our childhood is soon passed away,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And our gloryus youth it departs,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And yit, dead and burried, they's blossoms of May<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ore theyr medderland graves in our harts.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So, friends of my bare-footed days on the farm,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whether truant in city er not,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">God prosper you same as He's prosperin' me,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whilse your past haint despised er fergot.<br /></span></i> +</div><div class="stanza"><i> +<span class="i0">Oh! they's nothin', at morn, that's as grand unto me<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As the glorys of Nachur so fare,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With the Spring in the breeze, and the bloom in the trees,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the hum of the bees ev'rywhare!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The green in the woods, and the birds in the boughs,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the dew spangled over the fields;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the bah of the sheep and the bawl of the cows<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the call from the house to your meals!<br /></span></i> +</div><div class="stanza"><i> +<span class="i0">Then ho! fer your brekfast! and ho! fer the toil<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That waiteth alike man and beast!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh! its soon with my team I'll be turnin' up soil,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whilse the sun shoulders up in the East<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ore the tops of the ellums and beeches and oaks,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To smile his godspeed on the plow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the furry and seed, and the Man in his need,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the joy of the swet of his brow!<br /></span></i> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="THE_OLD_SWIMMIN-HOLE" id="THE_OLD_SWIMMIN-HOLE"></a>THE OLD SWIMMIN'-HOLE</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh! the old swimmin'-hole! whare the crick so still and deep<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Looked like a baby-river that was laying half asleep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the gurgle of the worter round the drift jest below<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sounded like the laugh of something we onc't ust to know<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Before we could remember anything but the eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the angels lookin' out as we left Paradise;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But the merry days of youth is beyond our controle,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And it's hard to part ferever with the old swimmin'-hole.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh! the old swimmin'-hole! In the happy days of yore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When I ust to lean above it on the old sickamore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh! it showed me a face in its warm sunny tide<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That gazed back at me so gay and glorified,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It made me love myself, as I leaped to caress<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My shadder smilin' up at me with sich tenderness.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span> +<span class="i0">But them days is past and gone, and old Time's tuck his toll<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From the old man come back to the old swimmin'-hole.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh! the old swimmin'-hole! In the long, lazy days<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the hum-drum of school made so many run-a-ways,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How plesant was the jurney down the old dusty lane,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whare the tracks of our bare feet was all printed so plane<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You could tell by the dent of the heel and the sole<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They was lots o' fun on hands at the old swimmin'-hole.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But the lost joys is past! Let your tears in sorrow roll<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like the rain that ust to dapple up the old swimmin'-hole.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Thare the bullrushes growed, and the cattails so tall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the sunshine and shadder fell over it all;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And it mottled the worter with amber and gold<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tel the glad lillies rocked in the ripples that rolled;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the snake-feeder's four gauzy wings fluttered by<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like the ghost of a daisy dropped out of the sky,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or a wownded apple-blossom in the breeze's controle<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As it cut acrost some orchurd to'rds the old swimmin'-hole.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh! the old swimmin'-hole! When I last saw the place,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The scenes was all changed, like the change in my face;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The bridge of the railroad now crosses the spot<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whare the old divin'-log lays sunk and fergot.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I stray down the banks whare the trees ust to be—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But never again will theyr shade shelter me!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I wish in my sorrow I could strip to the soul,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And dive off in my grave like the old swimmin'-hole.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="THOUGHTS_FER_THE_DISCURAGED_FARMER" id="THOUGHTS_FER_THE_DISCURAGED_FARMER"></a>THOUGHTS FER THE DISCURAGED FARMER</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The summer winds is sniffin' round the bloomin' locus' trees;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the clover in the pastur is a big day fer the bees,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And they been a-swiggin' honey, above board and on the sly,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tel they stutter in theyr buzzin' and stagger as they fly.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The flicker on the fence-rail 'pears to jest spit on his wings<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And roll up his feathers, by the sassy way he sings;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the hoss-fly is a-whettin'-up his forelegs fer biz,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the off-mare is a-switchin' all of her tale they is.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">You can hear the blackbirds jawin' as they foller up the plow—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, theyr bound to git theyr brekfast, and theyr not a-carin' how;<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span> +<span class="i0">So they quarrel in the furries, and they quarrel on the wing—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But theyr peaceabler in pot-pies than any other thing:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And it's when I git my shotgun drawed up in stiddy rest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She's as full of tribbelation as a yeller-jacket's nest;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And a few shots before dinner, when the sun's a-shinin' right,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Seems to kindo'-sorto' sharpen up a feller's appetite!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They's been a heap o' rain, but the sun's out to-day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the clouds of the wet spell is all cleared away,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the woods is all the greener, and the grass is greener still;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It may rain again to-morry, but I don't think it will.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some says the crops is ruined, and the corn's drownded out,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And propha-sy the wheat will be a failure, without doubt;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But the kind Providence that has never failed us yet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Will be on hands onc't more at the 'leventh hour, I bet!<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Does the medder-lark complane, as he swims high and dry<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through the waves of the wind and the blue of the sky?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Does the quail set up and whissel in a disappinted way,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Er hang his head in silunce, and sorrow all the day?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is the chipmuck's health a-failin'?—Does he walk, er does he run?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Don't the buzzards ooze around up thare jest like they've allus done?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is they anything the matter with the rooster's lungs er voice?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ort a mortul be complanin' when dumb animals rejoice?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then let us, one and all, be contentud with our lot;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The June is here this mornin', and the sun is shining hot.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh! let us fill our harts up with the glory of the day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Any banish ev'ry doubt and care and sorrow fur away!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whatever be our station, with Providence fer guide,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sich fine circumstances ort to make us satisfied;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fer the world is full of roses, and the roses full of dew,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the dew is full of heavenly love that drips fer me and you.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="A_SUMMERS_DAY" id="A_SUMMERS_DAY"></a>A SUMMER'S DAY</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The Summer's put the idy in<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My head that I'm a boy again;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And all around's so bright and gay<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I want to put my team away,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And jest git out whare I can lay<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And soak my hide full of the day!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But work is work, and must be done—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yit, as I work, I have my fun,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Jest fancyin' these furries here<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is childhood's paths onc't more so dear:—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And as I walk through medder-lands,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And country lanes, and swampy trails<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whare long bullrushes bresh my hands;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And, tilted on the ridered rails<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Of deadnin' fences, "Old Bob White"<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Whissels his name in high delight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And whirrs away. I wunder still,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whichever way a boy's feet will—<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Whare trees has fell, with tangled tops<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whare dead leaves shakes, I stop fer breth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Heerin' the acorn as it drops—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">H'istin' my chin up still as deth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And watchin' clos't, with upturned eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The tree where Mr. Squirrel tries<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To hide hisse'f above the limb,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But lets his own tale tell on him.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I wunder on in deeper glooms—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Git hungry, hearin' female cries<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From old farm-houses, whare perfumes<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of harvest dinners seems to rise<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And ta'nt a feller, hart and brane,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With memories he can't explane.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I wunder through the underbresh,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whare pig-tracks, pintin' to'rds the crick,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is picked and printed in the fresh<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Black bottom-lands, like wimmern pick<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Theyr pie-crusts with a fork, some way,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When bakin' fer camp-meetin' day.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span> +<span class="i0">I wunder on and on and on,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tel my gray hair and beard is gone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And ev'ry wrinkle on my brow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is rubbed clean out and shaddered now<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With curls as brown and fare and fine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As tenderls of the wild grape-vine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That ust to climb the highest tree<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To keep the ripest ones fer me.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I wunder still, and here I am<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wadin' the ford below the dam—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The worter chucklin' round my knee<br /></span> +<span class="i2">At hornet-welt and bramble-scratch,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And me a-slippin' 'crost to see<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ef Tyner's plums is ripe, and size<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The old man's wortermelon-patch,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With juicy mouth and drouthy eyes.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then, after sich a day of mirth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And happiness as worlds is wurth—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So tired that heaven seems nigh about,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sweetest tiredness on earth<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is to git home and flatten out—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So tired you can't lay flat enugh,<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span> +<span class="i0">And sorto' wish that you could spred<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Out like molasses on the bed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And jest drip off the aidges in<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The dreams that never comes again.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="A_HYMB_OF_FAITH" id="A_HYMB_OF_FAITH"></a>A HYMB OF FAITH</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O, Thou that doth all things devise<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And fashon fer the best,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He'p us who sees with mortul eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To overlook the rest.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They's times, of course, we grope in doubt,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And in afflictions sore;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So knock the louder, Lord, without,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And we'll unlock the door.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Make us to feel, when times looks bad<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And tears in pitty melts,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou wast the only he'p we had<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When they was nothin' else.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Death comes alike to ev'ry man<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That ever was borned on earth;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then let us do the best we can<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To live fer all life's wurth.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Ef storms and tempusts dred to see<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Makes black the heavens ore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They done the same in Galilee<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Two thousand years before.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But after all, the golden sun<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Poured out its floods on them<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That watched and waited fer the One<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Then borned in Bethlyham.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Also, the star of holy writ<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Made noonday of the night,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whilse other stars that looked at it<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Was envious with delight.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The sages then in wurship bowed,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From ev'ry clime so fare;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O, sinner, think of that glad crowd<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That congergated thare!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They was content to fall in ranks<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With One that knowed the way<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From good old Jurden's stormy banks<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Clean up to Jedgmunt Day.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">No matter, then, how all is mixed<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In our near-sighted eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All things is fer the best, and fixed<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Out straight in Paradise.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then take things as God sends 'em here,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And, ef we live er die,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Be more and more contenteder,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Without a-astin' why.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O, Thou that doth all things devise<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And fashon fer the best,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He'p us who sees with mortul eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To overlook the rest.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="WORTERMELON_TIME" id="WORTERMELON_TIME"></a>WORTERMELON TIME</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Old wortermelon time is a-comin' round again,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And they ain't no man a-livin' any tickleder'n me,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fer the way I hanker after wortermelons is a sin—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which is the why and wharefore, as you can plainly see.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh! it's in the sandy soil wortermelons does the best,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And it's thare they'll lay and waller in the sunshine and the dew<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tel they wear all the green streaks clean off of theyr breast;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And you bet I ain't a-findin' any fault with them; air you?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They ain't no better thing in the vegetable line;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And they don't need much 'tendin', as ev'ry farmer knows;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And when theyr ripe and ready fer to pluck from the vine,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I want to say to you theyr the best fruit that grows.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">It's some likes the yeller-core, and some likes the red.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And it's some says "The Little Californy" is the best;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But the sweetest slice of all I ever wedged in my head,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is the old "Edingburg Mounting-sprout," of the west.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">You don't want no punkins nigh your wortermelon vines—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Cause, some-way-another, they'll spile your melons, shore;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I've seed 'em taste like punkins, from the core to the rines,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which may be a fact you have heerd of before.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But your melons that's raised right and 'tended to with care,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">You can walk around amongst 'em with a parent's pride and joy,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And thump 'em on the heads with as fatherly a air<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As ef each one of them was your little girl er boy.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I joy in my hart jest to hear that rippin' sound<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When you split one down the back and jolt the halves in two,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the friends you love the best is gethered all around—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And you says unto your sweethart, "Oh, here's the core fer you!"<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And I like to slice 'em up in big pieces fer 'em all,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Espeshally the childern, and watch theyr high delight<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As one by one the rines with theyr pink notches falls,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And they holler fer some more, with unquenched appetite.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Boys takes to it natchurl, and I like to see 'em eat—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A slice of wortermelon's like a frenchharp in theyr hands,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And when they "saw" it through theyr mouth sich music can't be beat—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Cause it's music both the sperit and the stummick understands.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh, they's more in wortermelons than the purty-colored meat,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the overflowin' sweetness of the worter squshed betwixt<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The up'ard and the down'ard motions of a feller's teeth,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And it's the taste of ripe old age and juicy childhood mixed.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Fer I never taste a melon but my thoughts flies away<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To the summertime of youth; and again I see the dawn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the fadin' afternoon of the long summer day,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the dusk and dew a-fallin', and the night a'comin' on.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And thare's the corn around us, and the lispin' leaves and trees,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the stars a-peekin' down on us as still as silver mice,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And us boys in the wortermelons on our hands and knees,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the new-moon hangin' ore us like a yeller-cored slice.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh! it's wortermelon time is a-comin' round again,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And they ain't no man a-livin' any tickleder'n me,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fer the way I hanker after wortermelons is a sin—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which is the why and wharefore, as you can plainly see.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="MY_PHILOSOFY" id="MY_PHILOSOFY"></a>MY PHILOSOFY</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I ain't, ner don't p'tend to be,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Much posted on philosofy;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But thare is times, when all alone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I work out idees of my own.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And of these same thare is a few<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I'd like to jest refer to you—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pervidin' that you don't object<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To listen clos't and rickollect.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I allus argy that a man<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who does about the best he can<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is plenty good enugh to suit<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This lower mundane institute—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No matter ef his daily walk<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is subject fer his neghbor's talk,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And critic-minds of ev'ry whim<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Jest all git up and go fer him!<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I knowed a feller onc't that had<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The yeller-janders mighty bad,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And each and ev'ry friend he'd meet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Would stop and give him some receet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fer cuorin' of 'em. But he'd say<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He kindo' thought they'd go away<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Without no medicin', and boast<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That he'd git well without one doste.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He kep' a-yellerin' on—and they<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Perdictin' that he'd die some day<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Before he knowed it! Tuck his bed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The feller did, and lost his head,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And wundered in his mind a spell—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then rallied, and, at last, got well;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But ev'ry friend that said he'd die<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Went back on him eternally!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Its natchurl enugh, I guess,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When some gits more and some gits less,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fer them-uns on the slimmest side<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To claim it ain't a fare divide;<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span> +<span class="i0">And I've knowed some to lay and wait,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And git up soon, and set up late,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To ketch some feller they could hate<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fer goin' at a faster gait.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The signs is bad when folks commence<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A-findin' fault with Providence,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And balkin' 'cause the earth don't shake<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At ev'ry prancin' step they take.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No man is grate tel he can see<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How less than little he would be<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ef stripped to self, and stark and bare<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He hung his sign out anywhare.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">My doctern is to lay aside<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Contensions, and be satisfied:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Jest do your best, and praise er blame<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That follers that, counts jest the same.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I've allus noticed grate success<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is mixed with troubles, more or less,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And it's the man who does the best<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That gits more kicks than all the rest.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="WHEN_THE_FROST_IS_ON_THE_PUNKIN" id="WHEN_THE_FROST_IS_ON_THE_PUNKIN"></a>WHEN THE FROST IS ON THE PUNKIN</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And you hear the kyouck and gobble of the struttin' turkey-cock,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the clackin' of the guineys, and the cluckin' of the hens,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the rooster's hallylooyer as he tiptoes on the fence;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O, its then's the times a feller is a-feelin' at his best,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With the risin' sun to greet him from a night of peaceful rest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As he leaves the house, bare-headed, and goes out to feed the stock,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They's something kindo' harty-like about the atmusfere<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the heat of summer's over and the coolin' fall is here—<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Of course we miss the flowers, and the blossums on the trees,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the mumble of the hummin'-birds and buzzin' of the bees;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But the air's so appetizin'; and the landscape through the haze<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of a crisp and sunny morning of the airly autumn days<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is a pictur' that no painter has the colorin' to mock—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The husky, rusty russel of the tossels of the corn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the raspin' of the tangled leaves, as golden as the morn;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The stubble in the furries—kindo' lonesome-like, but still<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A-preachin' sermuns to us of the barns they growed to fill;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The strawstack in the medder, and the reaper in the shed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The hosses in theyr stalls below—the clover overhead!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O, it sets my hart a-clickin' like the tickin' of a clock,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock!<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then your apples all is getherd, and the ones a feller keeps<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is poured around the celler-floor in red and yeller heaps;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And your cider-makin' 's over, and your wimmern-folks is through<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With their mince and apple-butter, and theyr souse and saussage, too!...<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I don't know how to tell it—but ef sich a thing could be<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As the Angels wantin' boardin', and they'd call around on <i>me</i>—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I'd want to 'commodate 'em—all the whole-indurin' flock—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="ON_THE_DEATH_OF_LITTLE_MAHALA_ASHCRAFT" id="ON_THE_DEATH_OF_LITTLE_MAHALA_ASHCRAFT"></a>ON THE DEATH OF LITTLE MAHALA ASHCRAFT</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Little Haly! Little Haly!" cheeps the robin in the tree;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Little Haly!" sighs the clover, "Little Haly!" moans the bee;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Little Haly! Little Haly!" calls the kill-deer at twilight;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the katydids and crickets hollers "Haly!" all the night.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The sunflowers and the hollyhawks droops over the garden fence;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The old path down the gardenwalks still holds her footprints' dents;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the well-sweep's swingin' bucket seems to wait fer her to come<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And start it on its wortery errant down the old bee-gum.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The bee-hives all is quiet; and the little Jersey steer,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When any one comes nigh it, acts so lonesome-like and queer;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the little Banty chickens kindo' cutters faint and low,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like the hand that now was feedin' 'em was one they didn't know.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They's sorrow in the wavin' leaves of all the apple-trees;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sorrow in the harvest-sheaves, and sorrow in the breeze;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sorrow in the twitter of the swallers 'round the shed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all the song her red-bird sings is "Little Haly's dead!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The medder 'pears to miss her, and the pathway through the grass,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whare the dewdrops ust to kiss her little bare feet as she passed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the old pin in the gate-post seems to kindo'-sorto' doubt<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That Haly's little sunburnt hands'll ever pull it out.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Did her father er her mother ever love her more'n me,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Er her sisters er her brother prize her love more tendurly?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I question—and what answer?—only tears, and tears alone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And ev'ry neghbor's eyes is full o' tear-drops as my own.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Little Haly! Little Haly!" cheeps the robin in the tree;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Little Haly!" sighs the clover, "Little Haly!" moans the bee;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Little Haly! Little Haly!" calls the kill-deer at twilight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the katydids and crickets hollers "Haly!" all the night.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="THE_MULBERRY_TREE" id="THE_MULBERRY_TREE"></a>THE MULBERRY TREE</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O, it's many's the scenes which is dear to my mind<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As I think of my childhood so long left behind;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The home of my birth, with its old puncheon-floor,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the bright morning-glorys that growed round the door;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The warped clab-board roof whare the rain it run off<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Into streams of sweet dreams as I laid in the loft,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Countin' all of the joys that was dearest to me,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And a-thinkin' the most of the mulberry tree.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And to-day as I dream, with both eyes wide-awake,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I can see the old tree, and its limbs as they shake,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the long purple berries that rained on the ground<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whare the pastur' was bald whare we trommpt it around.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And again, peekin' up through the thick leafy shade,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I can see the glad smiles of the friends when I strayed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With my little bare feet from my own mother's knee<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To foller them off to the mulberry tree.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Leanin' up in the forks, I can see the old rail,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the boy climbin' up it, claw, tooth, and toe-nail,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And in fancy can hear, as he spits on his hands,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The ring of his laugh and the rip of his pants.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But that rail led to glory, as certin and shore<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As I'll never climb thare by that rout' any more—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What was all the green lauruls of Fame unto me,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With my brows in the boughs of the mulberry tree!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then its who can fergit the old mulberry tree<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That he knowed in the days when his thoughts was as free<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As the flutterin' wings of the birds that flew out<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the tall wavin' tops as the boys come about?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O, a crowd of my memories, laughin' and gay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is a-climbin' the fence of that pastur' to-day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And a-pantin' with joy, as us boys ust to be,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They go racin' acrost fer the mulberry tree.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="TO_MY_OLD_FRIEND_WILLIAM_LEACHMAN" id="TO_MY_OLD_FRIEND_WILLIAM_LEACHMAN"></a>TO MY OLD FRIEND, WILLIAM LEACHMAN</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Fer forty year and better you have been a friend to me,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through days of sore afflictions and dire adversity,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You allus had a kind word of counsul to impart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which was like a healin' 'intment to the sorrow of my hart.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When I burried my first womern, William Leachman, it was you<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had the only consolation that I could listen to—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fer I knowed you had gone through it and had rallied from the blow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And when you said I'd do the same, I knowed you'd ort to know.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But that time I'll long remember; how I wundered here and thare—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through the settin'-room and kitchen, and out in the open air—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the snowflakes whirlin', whirlin', and the fields a frozen glare,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the neghbors' sleds and wagons congergatin' ev'rywhare.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I turned my eyes to'rds heaven, but the sun was hid away;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I turned my eyes to'rds earth again, but all was cold and gray;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the clock, like ice a-crackin', clickt the icy hours in two—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And my eyes'd never thawed out ef it hadn't been fer you!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We set thare by the smoke-house—me and you out thare alone—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Me a-thinkin'—you a-talkin' in a soothin' undertone—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You a-talkin'—me a-thinkin' of the summers long ago,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And a-writin' "Marthy—Marthy" with my finger in the snow!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">William Leachman, I can see you jest as plane as I could then;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And your hand is on my shoulder, and you rouse me up again;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I see the tears a-drippin' from your own eyes, as you say:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Be rickonciled and bear it—we but linger fer a day!"<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">At the last Old Settlers' Meetin' we went j'intly, you and me—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your hosses and my wagon, as you wanted it to be;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sence I can remember, from the time we've neghbored here,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In all sich friendly actions you have double-done your sheer.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">It was better than the meetin', too, that 9-mile talk we had<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the times when we first settled here and travel was so bad;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When we had to go on hoss-back, and sometimes on "Shanks's mare,"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And "blaze" a road fer them behind that had to travel thare.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And now we was a-trottin' 'long a level gravel pike,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In a big two-hoss road-wagon, jest as easy as you like—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Two of us on the front seat, and our wimmern-folks behind,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A-settin' in theyr Winsor-cheers in perfect peace of mind!<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And we pinted out old landmarks, nearly faded out of sight:—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thare they ust to rob the stage-coach; thare Gash Morgan had the fight<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With the old stag-deer that pronged him—how he battled fer his life,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And lived to prove the story by the handle of his knife.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Thare the first griss-mill was put up in the Settlement, and we<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had tuck our grindin' to it in the Fall of Forty-three—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When we tuck our rifles with us, techin' elbows all the way,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And a-stickin' right together ev'ry minute, night and day.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Thare ust to stand the tavern that they called the "Travelers' Rest,"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And thare, beyent the covered bridge, "The Counterfitters' Nest"—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whare they claimed the house was ha'nted—that a man was murdered thare,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And burried underneath the floor, er 'round the place somewhare.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And the old Plank-road they laid along in Fifty-one er two—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You know we talked about the times when the old road was new:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How "Uncle Sam" put down that road and never taxed the State<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was a problem, don't you rickollect, we couldn't <i>dim</i>onstrate?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Ways was devius, William Leachman, that me and you has past;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But as I found you true at first, I find you true at last;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, now the time's a-comin' mighty nigh our jurney's end,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I want to throw wide open all my soul to you, my friend.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">With the stren'th of all my bein', and the heat of hart and brane,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And ev'ry livin' drop of blood in artery and vane,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I love you and respect you, and I venerate your name,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fer the name of William Leachman and True Manhood's jest the same!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="MY_FIDDLE" id="MY_FIDDLE"></a>MY FIDDLE</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">My fiddle?—Well, I kindo' keep her handy, don't you know!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though I ain't so much inclined to tromp the strings and switch the bow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As I was before the timber of my elbows got so dry,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And my fingers was more limber-like and caperish and spry;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Yit I can plonk and plunk and plink,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">And tune her up and play,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And jest lean back and laugh and wink<br /></span> +<span class="i6">At ev'ry rainy day!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">My playin' 's only middlin'—tunes I picked up when a boy—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The kindo'-sorto' fiddlin' that the folks calls "cordaroy";<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"The Old Fat Gal," and "Rye-straw," and "My Sailyor's on the Sea,"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is the old cowtillions <i>I</i> "saw" when the ch'ice is left to me;<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span> +<span class="i4">And so I plunk and plonk and plink,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">And rosum-up my bow<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And play the tunes that makes you think<br /></span> +<span class="i6">The devil's in your toe!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I was allus a romancin', do-less boy, to tell the truth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A-fiddlin' and a-dancin', and a-wastin' of my youth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And a-actin' and a-cuttin'-up all sorts o' silly pranks<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That wasn't worth a botton of anybody's thanks!<br /></span> +<span class="i4">But they tell me, when I ust to plink<br /></span> +<span class="i6">And plonk and plunk and play,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">My music seemed to have the kink<br /></span> +<span class="i6">O' drivin' cares away!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">That's how this here old fiddle's won my hart's indurin' love!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From the strings acrost her middle, to the schreechin' keys above—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From her "apern," over "bridge," and to the ribbon round her throat,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She's a wooin', cooin' pigeon, singin' "Love me" ev'ry note!<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span> +<span class="i4">And so I pat her neck, and plink<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Her strings with lovin' hands,—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And, list'nin' clos't, I sometimes think<br /></span> +<span class="i6">She kindo' understands!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="THE_CLOVER" id="THE_CLOVER"></a>THE CLOVER</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Some sings of the lilly, and daisy, and rose,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the pansies and pinks that the Summertime throws<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the green grassy lap of the medder that lays<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blinkin' up at the skyes through the sunshiney days;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But what is the lilly and all of the rest<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the flowers, to a man with a hart in his brest<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That was dipped brimmin' full of the honey and dew<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the sweet clover-blossoms his babyhood knew?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I never set eyes on a clover-field now,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Er fool round a stable, er climb in the mow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But my childhood comes back jest as clear and as plane<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As the smell of the clover I'm sniffin' again;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I wunder away in a bare-footed dream,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whare I tangle my toes in the blossoms that gleam<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With the dew of the dawn of the morning of love<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ere it wept ore the graves that I'm weepin' above.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And so I love clover—it seems like a part<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the sacerdest sorrows and joys of my hart;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And wharever it blossoms, oh, thare let me bow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And thank the good God as I'm thankin' Him now;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I pray to Him still fer the stren'th when I die,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To go out in the clover and tell it good-bye,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And lovin'ly nestle my face in its bloom<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While my soul slips away on a breth of purfume.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="NEGHBORLY_POEMS" id="NEGHBORLY_POEMS"></a>NEGHBORLY POEMS<br /> + +ON FRIENDSHIP, GRIEF AND FARM-LIFE<br /><br /> + +BY<br /> + +BENJ. F. JOHNSON, OF BOONE</h2> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span></p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><i> +<span class="i0">Us farmers in the country, as the seasons go and come,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is purty much like other folks,—we're apt to grumble some!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Spring's too back'ard fer us, er too for'ard—ary one—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We'll jaw about it anyhow, and have our way er none!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The thaw's set in too suddent; er the frost's stayed in the soil<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Too long to give the wheat a chance, and crops is bound to spoil!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The weather's eether most too mild, er too outrageous rough,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And altogether too much rain, er not half rain enugh!<br /></span></i> +</div><div class="stanza"><i> +<span class="i0">Now what I'd like and what you'd like is plane enugh to see:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It's jest to have old Providence drop round on you and me<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And ast us what our views is first, regardin' shine er rain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And post 'em when to shet her off, er let her on again!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And yit I'd ruther, after all—considern other chores<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I' got on hands, a-tendin' both to my affares and yours—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I'd ruther miss the blame I'd git, a-rulin' things up thare,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And spend my extry time in praise and gratitude and prayer.<br /></span></i> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="ERASMUS_WILSON" id="ERASMUS_WILSON"></a>ERASMUS WILSON</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Ras Wilson, I respect you, 'cause<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You're common, like you allus was<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Afore you went to town and s'prised<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The world by gittin' "reckonized,"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And yit perservin', as I say,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your common hoss-sense ev'ryway!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And when that name o' yourn occurs<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On hand-bills, er in newspapers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Er letters writ by friends 'at ast<br /></span> +<span class="i0">About you, same as in the past,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And neghbors and relations 'low<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You're out o' the tall timber now,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And "gittin' thare" about as spry's<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The next!—as <i>I say</i>, when my eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Er ears, lights on your name, I mind<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The first time 'at I come to find<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You—and my Rickollection yells,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Jest jubilunt as old sleigh-bells—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"'Ras Wilson! Say! Hold up! and shake<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A paw, fer old acquaintance sake!"<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> +<span class="i0">My <i>Rickollection</i>, more'n like,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hain't overly too apt to strike<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The what's-called "cultchurd public eye"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As wisdom of the deepest dye,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And yit my <i>Rickollection</i> makes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So blame lots fewer bad mistakes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Regardin' human-natchur' and<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The fellers 'at I've shook theyr hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than my <i>best jedgemunt's</i> done, the day<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I've met 'em—'fore I got away,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'At—Well, 'Ras Wilson, let me grip<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Your</i> hand in warmest pardnership!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Dad-burn ye!—Like to jest haul back<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A' old flat-hander, jest che-whack!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And take you 'twixt the shoulders, say,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sometime you're lookin' t'other way!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Er, maybe whilse you're speakin' to<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A whole blame Courthouse-full o' 'thu-<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Syastic friends, I'd like to jest<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Come in-like and break up the nest<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Afore you hatched anuther cheer,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And say: "'Ras, <i>I</i> can't stand hitched here<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span> +<span class="i0">All night—ner wouldn't ef I could!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But Little Bethel Neghborhood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You ust to live at, 's sent some word<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fer you, ef ary chance occurred<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To git it to ye,—so ef you<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Kin</i> stop, I'm waitin' fer ye to!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">You're common, as I said afore—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You're common, yit oncommon <i>more</i>.—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You allus kindo' 'pear, to me,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What all mankind had ort to be—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Jest <i>natchurl</i>, and the more hurraws<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You git, the less you know the cause—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like as ef God Hisse'f stood by<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where best on earth hain't half knee-high,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And <i>seein'</i> like, and knowin' <i>He</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0">'S the Only Grate Man really,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You're jest content to size your hight<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With any feller-man's in sight.—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And even then they's scrubs, like me,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Feels stuck-up, in your company!<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Like now:—I want to go with you<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Plum out o' town a mile er two<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Clean past the Fair-ground whare's some hint<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O' pennyrile er peppermint,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And bottom-lands, and timber thick<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Enugh to sorto' shade the crick!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I want to <i>see</i> you—want to set<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Down somers, whare the grass hain't wet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And kindo' <i>breathe</i> you, like puore air—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And taste o' your tobacker thare,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And talk and chaw! Talk o' the birds<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We've knocked with cross-bows.—Afterwards<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Drop, mayby, into some dispute<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Bout "pomgrannies," er cal'mus-root—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And how <i>they</i> growed, and <i>whare</i>?—on tree<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Er vine?—Who's best boy-memory!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And wasn't it <i>gingsang</i>, insted<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O' cal'mus-root, growed like you said?—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Er how to tell a coon-track from<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A mussrat's;—er how milksick come—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Er ef <i>cows</i> brung it?—Er why now<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We never see no "muley"-cow—<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Ner "frizzly"-chicken—ner no "clay-<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bank" mare—ner nothin' thataway!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And what's come o' the <i>yellow</i>-core<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Old wortermelons?—hain't no more.—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tomattusus, the same—all <i>red</i>-<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Uns nowadays—All past joys fled—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Each and all jest gone k-whizz!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like our days o' childhood is!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Dag-gone it, 'Ras! they hain't no friend,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It 'pears-like, left to comperhend<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sich things as these but you, and see<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How dratted sweet they air to me!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But you, 'at's loved 'em allus, and<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Kin sort 'em out and understand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Em, same as the fine books you've read,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all fine thoughts you've writ, er said,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Er worked out, through long nights o' rain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And doubts and fears, and hopes, again,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As bright as morning when she broke,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You know a teardrop from a joke!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And so, 'Ras Wilson, stop and shake<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A paw, fer old acquaintance sake!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="MY_RUTHERS" id="MY_RUTHERS"></a>MY RUTHERS</h2> + +<p>[Writ durin' State Fair at Indanoplis, whilse visitin' a Sonin-law +then residin' thare, who has sence got back to the country +whare he says a man that's raised thare ort to a-stayed in the +first place.]</p> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I tell you what I'd ruther do—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ef I only had my ruthers,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I'd ruther work when I wanted to<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Than be bossed round by others;—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">I'd ruther kindo' git the swing<br /></span> +<span class="i4">O' what was <i>needed</i>, first, I jing!<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Afore I <i>swet</i> at anything!—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ef I only had my ruthers;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In fact I'd aim to be the same<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With all men as my brothers;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And they'd all be the same with <i>me</i>—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ef I only had my ruthers.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I wouldn't likely know it all—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ef I only had my ruthers;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I'd know <i>some</i> sense, and some base-ball—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Some <i>old</i> jokes, and—some others:<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span> +<span class="i4">I'd know <i>some politics</i>, and 'low<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Some tarif-speeches same as now,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Then go hear Nye on "Branes and How<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To Detect Theyr Presence." <i>T'others</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That stayed away, I'd <i>let</i> 'em stay—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">All my dissentin' brothers<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Could chuse as shore a kill er cuore,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ef I only had my ruthers.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The pore 'ud git theyr dues <i>some</i>times—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ef I only had my ruthers,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And be paid <i>dollars</i> 'stid o' <i>dimes</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Fer childern, wives and mothers:<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Theyr boy that slaves; theyr girl that sews—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Fer <i>others</i>—not herself, God knows!—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The grave's <i>her</i> only change of clothes!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">... Ef I only had my ruthers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They'd all have "stuff" and time enugh<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To answer one-another's<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Appealin' prayer fer "lovin' care"—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ef I only had my ruthers.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They'd be few folks 'ud ast fer trust,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ef I only had my ruthers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And blame few business-men to bu'st<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Theyrselves, er harts of others:<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Big Guns that come here durin' Fair-<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Week could put up jest anywhare,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And find a full-and-plenty thare,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ef I only had my ruthers:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The rich and great 'ud 'sociate<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With all theyr lowly brothers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Feelin' <i>we</i> done the honorun—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ef I only had my ruthers.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="ON_A_DEAD_BABE" id="ON_A_DEAD_BABE"></a>ON A DEAD BABE</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Fly away! thou heavenly one!—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I do hail thee on thy flight!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sorrow? thou hath tasted none—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Perfect joy is yourn by right.<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Fly away! and bear our love<br /></span> +<span class="i4">To thy kith and kin above!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I can tetch thy finger-tips<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ca'mly, and bresh back the hair<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From thy forr'ed with my lips,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And not leave a teardrop thare.—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Weep fer <i>Tomps and Ruth</i>—and <i>me</i>—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">But I can not weep fer <i>thee</i>.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="A_OLD_PLAYED-OUT_SONG" id="A_OLD_PLAYED-OUT_SONG"></a>A OLD PLAYED-OUT SONG</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">It's the curiousest thing in creation,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whenever I hear that old song<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Do They Miss Me at Home," I'm so bothered,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My life seems as short as it's long!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fer ev'rything 'pears like adzackly<br /></span> +<span class="i2">It 'peared in the years past and gone,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When I started out sparkin', at twenty,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And had my first neckercher on!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Though I'm wrinkelder, older and grayer<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Right now than my parents was then,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You strike up that song "Do They Miss Me,"<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And I'm jest a youngster again!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I'm a-standin' back thare in the furries<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A-wishin' fer evening to come,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And a-whisperin' over and over<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Them words "Do They Miss Me at Home?"<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">You see, <i>Marthy Ellen she</i> sung it<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The first time I heerd it; and so,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As she was my very first sweethart,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">It reminds me of her, don't you know;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How her face ust to look, in the twilight,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As I tuck her to Spellin'; and she<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Kep' a-hummin' that song tel I ast her,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Pine-blank, ef she ever missed <i>me</i>!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I can shet my eyes now, as you sing it,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And hear her low answerin' words;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And then the glad chirp of the crickets,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As clear as the twitter of birds;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the dust in the road is like velvet,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the ragweed and fennel and grass<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is as sweet as the scent of the lillies<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of Eden of old, as we pass.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"<i>Do They Miss Me at Home?</i>" Sing it lower—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And softer—and sweet as the breeze<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That powdered our path with the snowy<br /></span> +<span class="i2">White bloom of the old locus'-trees!<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Let the whipperwills he'p you to sing it,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the echoes 'way over the hill,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tel the moon boolges out, in a chorus<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of stars, and our voices is still.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But oh! "They's a chord in the music<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That's missed when <i>her</i> voice is away!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though I listen from midnight tel morning,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And dawn tel the dusk of the day!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I grope through the dark, lookin' up'ards<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And on through the heavenly dome,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With my longin' soul singin' and sobbin'<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The words "Do They Miss Me at Home?"<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="COON-DOG_WESS" id="COON-DOG_WESS"></a>"COON-DOG WESS"</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Coon-dog Wess"—he allus went<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Mongst us here by that-air name.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Moved in this-here Settlement<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From next county—he laid claim,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lived down in the bottoms—whare<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Ust</i> to be some coons in thare!—<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In nigh Clayton's, next the crick,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Mind old Billy ust to say<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Coons in thare was jest that thick,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He'p him corn-plant any day!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, in rostneer-time, be then<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Aggin' him to plant again!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Well,—In Spring o' '67,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">This-here "Coon-dog Wess" he come—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fetchin' 'long 'bout forty-'leven<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ornriest-lookin' hounds, I gum!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ever mortul-man laid eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On sence dawn o' Christian skies!<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Wife come traipsin' at the rag-<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Tag-and-bobtail of the crowd,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dogs and childern, with a bag<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Corn-meal and some side-meat,—<i>Proud</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And as <i>independunt</i>—<i>My!</i>—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yit a mild look in her eye.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Well—this "Coon-dog Wess" he jest<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Moved in that-air little pen<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of a pole-shed, aidgin' west<br /></span> +<span class="i2">On "The Slues o' Death," called then.—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Otter- and mink-hunters ust<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To camp thare 'fore game vam-moosd.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Abul-bodied man,—and lots<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Call fer <i>choppers</i>—and fer hands<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To git <i>cross-ties</i> out.—But what's<br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>Work</i> to sich as understands<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ways appinted and is hence<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Under special providence?—<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Coon-dog Wess's" holts was <i>hounds</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2">And <i>coon-huntin'</i>; and he knowed<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>His</i> own range, and stayed in bounds<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And left work for them 'at showed<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Talents</i> fer it—same as his<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gifts regardin' coon-dogs is.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Hounds of ev'ry mungerl breed<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ever whelped on earth!—Had these<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Yeller</i> kind, with punkin-seed<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Marks above theyr eyes—and fleas<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Both to sell and keep!—Also<br /></span> +<span class="i0">These-here <i>lop-yeerd</i> hounds, you know.—<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Yes-and <i>brindle</i> hounds—and long,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ga'nt hounds, with them eyes they' got<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So blame <i>sorry</i>, it seems wrong,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Most, to kick 'em as to not!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Man, though, wouldn't dast, I guess,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Kick a hound fer "Coon-dog Wess"!<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Tended to his own affairs<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Stric'ly;—made no brags,—and yit<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You could see 'at them hounds' cares<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Peared like <i>his</i>,—and he'd a-fit<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fer 'em, same as wife er child!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Them facts made folks rickonciled,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Sorto', fer to let him be<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And not pester him. And then<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Word begin to spread 'at he<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Had brung in as high as ten<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Coon-pelts in one night—and yit<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Didn't 'pear to boast of it!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Neghborhood made some complaints<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Bout them plague-gone hounds at night<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Howlin' fit to wake the saints,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Clean from dusk tel plum day-light!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But to "Coon-dog Wess" them-thare<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Howls was "music in the air"!<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Fetched his pelts to Gilson's Store—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Newt he shipped fer him, and said,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sence <i>he'd</i> cooned thare, he'd shipped more<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Than three hunderd pelts!—"By Ned!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Git shet of my <i>store</i>," Newt says,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"I'd go in with 'Coon-dog Wess'!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And the feller 'peared to be<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Makin' best and most he could<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of his rale prospairity:—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Bought some household things—and <i>good</i>,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Likewise, wagon-load onc't come<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From wharever he'd moved from.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But pore feller's huntin'-days,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Bout them times, was glidin' past!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Goes out onc't one night and <i>stays!</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2">... Neghbors they turned out, at last,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Headed by his wife and one<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Half-starved hound—and search begun.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Boys said, that blame hound, he led<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Searchin' party, 'bout a half<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mile ahead, and bellerin', said,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Worse'n ary yearlin' calf!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tel, at last, come fur-off sounds<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like the howl of other hounds.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And-sir, shore enugh, them signs<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Fetched 'em—in a' hour er two—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whare the <i>pack</i> was;—and they finds<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"Coon-dog Wess" <i>right thare</i>;—And you<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Would admitted he was right<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Stayin'</i>, as he had, <i>all night!</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Facts is, cuttin' down a tree,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The blame thing had sorto' fell<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In a twist-like—<i>mercy me!</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2">And had ketched him.—Couldn't tell,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wess said, <i>how</i> he'd managed—yit<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He'd got both legs under it!<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Fainted and come to, I s'pose,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Bout a dozen times whilse they<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Chopped him out!—And wife she froze<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To him!—bresh his hair away<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And smile cheerful'—only when<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He'd faint.—Cry and kiss him <i>then</i>.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Had <i>his</i> nerve!—And nussed him through,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Neghbors he'pped her—all she'd stand.—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had a loom, and she could do<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Carpet-weavin' railly grand!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"'Sides," she ust to laugh and say,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"She'd have Wess, now, <i>night</i> and day!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">As fer <i>him</i>, he'd say, says-ee,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"I'm resigned to bein' lame:—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They was four coons up that tree,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And hounds got 'em, jest the same!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Peared like, one er two legs less<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Never worried "Coon-dog Wess"!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span></p> +<h2> +LINES TO<br /> +PERFESSER JOHN CLARK RIDPATH<br /> +A. M., LL. D. T-Y-TY!<br /> +</h2> + +<p>[Cumposed by A Old Friend of the Fambily sence 'way back +in the Forties, when they Settled nigh Fillmore, Putnam County, +this State, whare John was borned and growed up, you might +say, like the wayside flower.]</p> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Your neghbors in the country, whare you come from, hain't fergot!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We knowed you even better than your own-self, like as not.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We profissied your runnin'-geers 'ud stand a soggy load<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And pull her, purty stiddy, up a mighty rocky road:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We been a-watchin' your career sence you could write your name—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But way you writ it <i>first</i>, I'll say, was jest a burnin' shame!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your "J. C." in the copybook, and "Ridpath"—mercy-sakes!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Quiled up and tide in dubble bows, lookt like a nest o' snakes!—<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span> +<span class="i2">But <i>you</i> could read it, I <i>suppose</i>, and kindo' gloted on<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A-bein' "<i>J. C. Ridpath</i>" when <i>we</i> only called you "<i>John</i>."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But you'd work 's well as fool, and what you had to do was <i>done</i>:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We've watched you at the woodpile—not the <i>woodshed</i>—wasent none,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And snow and sleet, and haulin', too, and lookin' after stock,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And milkin', nights, and feedin' pigs,—then turnin' back the clock,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So's you could set up studyin' your 'Rethmatic, and fool<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your Parents, whilse a-piratin' your way through winter school!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I've heerd tell—from your own folks—you've set and baked your face<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A-readin' Plutark Slives all night by that old fi-er-place.—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yit, 'bout them times, the blackboard, onc't, had on it, I <i>de</i>-clare,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"Yours truly, <i>J. Clark</i> Ridpath."—And the teacher—left it thare!<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And they was other symptums, too, that pinted, plane as day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To nothin' short of <i>College</i>!—and <i>one</i> was the lovin' way<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your mother had of cheerin' you to efforts brave and strong,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And puttin' more faith in you, as you needed it along:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She'd pat you on the shoulder, er she'd grab you by the hands,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And <i>laugh</i> sometimes, er <i>cry</i> sometimes.—They's few that understands<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Jest <i>what</i> theyr mother's drivin' at when they act thataway;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But I'll say this fer <i>you</i>, John-Clark,—you answered, night and day,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To ev'ry trust and hope of hers—and half your College fame<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Was battled fer and won fer her and glory of her name.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The likes of <i>you</i> at <i>College</i>! But you went thare. How you paid<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your way nobody's astin'—but you <i>worked</i>,—you hain't afraid,—<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Your <i>clothes</i> was, more'n likely, kindo' out o' style, perhaps,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And not as snug and warm as some 'at hid the other chaps;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But when it come to <i>Intullect</i>—they tell me yourn was dressed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A <i>leetle</i> mite <i>superber</i>-like than any of the rest!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And there you <i>stayed</i>—and thare you've made your rickord, fare and square—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tel <i>now</i> its <i>Fame</i> 'at writes your name, approvin', <i>ev'rywhare</i>—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Not <i>jibblets</i> of it, nuther,—but all John Clark Ridpath, set<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Plum at the dashboard of the whole-endurin' Alfabet!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="A_TALE_OF_THE_AIRLY_DAYS" id="A_TALE_OF_THE_AIRLY_DAYS"></a>A TALE OF THE AIRLY DAYS</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh! tell me a tale of the airly days—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of the times as they ust to be;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Piller of Fi-er" and "Shakspeare's Plays"<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is a' most too deep fer me!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I want plane facts, and I want plane words,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of the good old-fashiond ways,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When speech run free as the songs of birds<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Way back in the airly days.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Tell me a tale of the timber-lands—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of the old-time pioneers;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Somepin' a pore man understands<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With his feelin's well as ears.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tell of the old log house,—about<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The loft, and the puncheon flore—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The old fi-er-place, with the crane swung out,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the latch-string thrugh the door.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Tell of the things jest as they was—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They don't need no excuse!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Don't tetch 'em up like the poets does,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Tel theyr all too fine fer use!—<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Say they was 'leven in the fambily—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Two beds, and the chist, below,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the trundle-beds that each helt three,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the clock and the old bureau.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then blow the horn at the old back-door<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Tel the echoes all halloo,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the childern gethers home onc't more,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Jest as they ust to do:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blow fer Pap tel he hears and comes,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With Tomps and Elias, too,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A-marchin' home, with the fife and drums<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the old Red White and Blue!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Blow and blow tel the sound draps low<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As the moan of the whipperwill,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And wake up Mother, and Ruth and Jo,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">All sleepin' at Bethel Hill:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blow and call tel the faces all<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Shine out in the back-log's blaze,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the shadders dance on the old hewed wall<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As they did in the airly days.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="MYLO_JONESS_WIFE" id="MYLO_JONESS_WIFE"></a>"MYLO JONES'S WIFE"</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Mylo Jones's wife" was all<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I heerd, mighty near, last Fall—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Visitun relations down<br /></span> +<span class="i0">T'other side of Morgantown!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mylo Jones's wife she does<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This and that, and "those" and "thus"!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Can't 'bide babies in her sight—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ner no childern, day and night,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whoopin' round the premises—<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Ner no nothin' else</i>, I guess!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Mylo Jones's wife she 'lows<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She's the boss of her own house!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mylo—consequences is—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stays whare things seem <i>some</i> like <i>his</i>,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Uses, mostly, with the stock—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Coaxin' "Old Kate" not to balk,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ner kick hoss-flies' branes out, ner<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Act, I s'pose, so much like <i>her</i>!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yit the wimmern-folks tells you<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She's <i>perfection</i>.—Yes they do!<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Mylo's wife she says she's found<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Home hain't home with <i>men-folks</i> round<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When they's work like <i>hern</i> to do—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Picklin' pears and <i>butchern</i>, too,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And a-rendern lard, and then<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cookin' fer a pack of men<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To come trackin' up the flore<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>She's</i> scrubbed <i>tel</i> she'll scrub no <i>more</i>!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yit she'd keep things clean ef they<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Made her scrub tel Jedgmunt Day!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Mylo Jones's wife she sews<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Carpet-rags and patches clothes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Jest year <i>in</i> and <i>out</i>!—and yit<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whare's the livin' use of it?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She asts Mylo that.—And he<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gits back whare he'd ruther be,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With his team;—jest <i>plows</i>—and don't<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Never sware—like some folks won't!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Think ef <i>he'd cut loose</i>, I gum!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'D he'p his heavenly chances some!<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Mylo's wife don't see no use,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ner no reason ner excuse<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fer his pore relations to<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hang round like they allus do!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thare 'bout onc't a year—and <i>she</i>—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She jest <i>ga'nts</i> 'em, folks tells me,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On spiced pears!—Pass Mylo one,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He says "No, he don't chuse none!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Workin' men like Mylo they<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'D ort to have <i>meat</i> ev'ry day!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Dad-burn Mylo Jones's wife!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ruther rake a blame caseknife<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Crost my wizzen than to see<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sich a womern rulin' <i>me</i>!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ruther take and turn in and<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Raise a fool mule-colt by hand!<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Mylo</i>, though—od-rot the man!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Jest keeps ca'm—like some folks <i>can</i>—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And 'lows sich as her, I s'pose,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is <i>Man's he'pmeet</i>!—Mercy knows!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="ON_A_SPLENDUD_MATCH" id="ON_A_SPLENDUD_MATCH"></a>ON A SPLENDUD MATCH</h2> + +<p>[On the night of the marraige of the foregoin' couple, which +shall be nameless here, these lines was ca'mly dashed off in the +albun of the happy bride whilse the shivver-ree was goin' on +outside the residence.]</p> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He was warned against the <i>womern</i>—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">She was warned aginst the <i>man</i>.—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And ef <i>that</i> won't make a weddin',<br /></span> +<span class="i2">W'y, they's nothin' else that can!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="OLD_JOHN_CLEVENGER_ON_BUCKEYES" id="OLD_JOHN_CLEVENGER_ON_BUCKEYES"></a>OLD JOHN CLEVENGER ON BUCKEYES</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Old John Clevenger lets on,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Allus, like he's purty rough<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Timber.—He's a grate old John!—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"Rough?"—don't swaller no sich stuff!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Moved here, sence the war was through,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From Ohio—somers near<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Old Bucyrus,—loyal, too,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As us "Hoosiers" is to <i>here</i>!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Git old John stirred up a bit<br /></span> +<span class="i2">On his old home stompin'-ground—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Talks same as he lived thare yit,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When some subject brings it round—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like, fer instunce, Sund'y last,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Fetched his wife, and et and stayed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All night with us.—Set and gassed<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Tel plum midnight—'cause I made<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some remark 'bout "buckeyes" and<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"What was buckeyes good fer?"—So,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like I 'lowed, he waved his hand<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And lit in and let me know:—<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span> +<span class="i0">"'What is Buckeyes good fer?'—What's<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Pineys</i> and <i>fergitmenots</i>?—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Honeysuckles, and sweet peas,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sweet-williamsuz, and these<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Johnny-jump-ups ev'rywhare,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Growin' round the roots o' trees<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In Spring-weather?—what air <i>they</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Good fer?—kin you tell me—<i>Hey?</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Good to look at?' Well they air!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Specially when <i>Winter's</i> gone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Clean <i>dead-certin!</i> and the wood's<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Green again, and sun feels good's<br /></span> +<span class="i0">June!—and shed your blame boots on<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The back porch, and lit out to<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Roam round like you ust to do,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bare-foot, up and down the crick,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whare the buckeyes growed so thick,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And witch-hazel and pop-paws,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And hackberries and black-haws—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With wild pizen-vines jis knit<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Over</i> and <i>en-nunder</i> it,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And wove round it all, I jing!<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Tel you couldn't hardly stick<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A durn <i>caseknife</i> through the thing!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wriggle round through <i>that</i>; and then—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All het-up, and scratched and tanned,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And muskeeter-bit and mean-<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Feelin'—all at onc't again,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Come out suddent on a clean<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Slopin' little hump o' green<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dry soft grass, as fine and grand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As a pollor-sofy!—And<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Jis pile down thare!—and tell <i>me</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Anywhares</i> you'd ruther be—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Ceptin' <i>right thare</i>, with the wild-<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Flowrs all round ye, and your eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Smilin' with 'em at the skies,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Happy as a little child!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Well!—right here, <i>I</i> want to say,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Poets kin talk all they please<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Bout 'wild-flowrs, in colors gay,'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And 'sweet blossoms flauntin' theyr<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beauteous fragrunce on the breeze'—<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span> +<span class="i0">But the sight o' <i>buckeyes</i> jis<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sweet to me as <i>blossoms</i> is!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"I'm <i>Ohio-born</i>—right whare<br /></span> +<span class="i0">People's <i>all</i> called 'Buckeyes' <i>thare</i>—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Cause, I s'pose, our buckeye crap's<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Biggest in the world, perhaps!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ner my head don't stretch my hat<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Too much on account o' <i>that</i>!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Cause it's Natchur's ginerus hand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sows 'em broadcast ore the land,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With eye-single fer man's good<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the gineral neghborhood!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So <i>buckeyes</i> jis natchurly<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Pears like <i>kith-and-kin</i> to <i>me</i>!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Slike the good old sayin' wuz,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Purty <i>is</i> as purty <i>does</i>!'—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We can't eat 'em, cookd er raw—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yit, I mind, <i>tomattusuz</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wuz considerd pizenus<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Onc't</i>—and dasent eat 'em!—<i>Pshaw</i>—<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span> +<span class="i0">'Twouldn't take <i>me</i> by supprise,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Someday, ef we et <i>buckeyes</i>!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That, though, 's nuther here ner thare!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Jis the Buckeye</i> whare we air,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the present times, is what<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ockuppies my lovin' care<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And my most perfoundest thought!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">... Guess, this minute, what I got<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In my pocket, 'at I've packed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Purt'-nigh forty year.—A dry,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Slick and shiny, warped and cracked,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wilted, weazened old <i>buckeye</i>!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What's it <i>thare</i> fer? What's my hart<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In my <i>brest</i> fer?—'Cause it's part<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of my <i>life</i>—and 'tends to biz—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like this <i>buckeye's</i> bound to act—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Cause <i>it</i> 'tends to <i>Rhumatiz</i>!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"... Ketched more <i>rhumatiz</i> than <i>fish</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Seinen', onc't—and pants froze on<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My blame legs!—And ust to wish<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I wuz well er <i>dead and gone</i>!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Doc give up the case, and shod<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span> +<span class="i0">His old boss again and stayed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On good roads!—<i>And thare I laid!</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pap he tuck some bluegrass sod<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Steeped in whisky, bilin'-hot,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And socked <i>that</i> on! Then I got<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sorto' holt o' him, <i>somehow</i>—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Kindo' crazy-like, they say—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I'd <i>killed</i> him, like as not,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ef I hadn't swooned away!<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Smell my scortcht pelt purt'-nigh now!</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Well—to make a long tale short—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I hung on the blame disease<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like a shavin'-hoss! and sort<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O' wore it out by slow degrees—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tel my legs wuz straight enugh<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To poke through my pants again<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And kick all the doctor-stuff<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the fi-er-place! Then turned in<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And tuck Daddy Craig's old cuore—<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Jis a buckeye</i>—and that's <i>shore</i>.—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hain't no case o' rhumatiz<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Kin subsist whare buckeyes is!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="THE_HOSS" id="THE_HOSS"></a>THE HOSS</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The hoss he is a splendud beast;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He is man's friend, as heaven desined,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, search the world from west to east,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">No honester you'll ever find!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Some calls the hoss "a pore dumb brute,"<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And yit, like Him who died fer you,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I say, as I theyr charge refute,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"'Fergive; they know not what they do!'"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">No wiser animal makes tracks<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Upon these earthly shores, and hence<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Arose the axium, true as facts,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Extoled by all, as "Good hoss-sense!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The hoss is strong, and knows his stren'th,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">You hitch him up a time er two<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And lash him, and he'll go his len'th<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And kick the dashboard out fer you!<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But, treat him allus good and kind,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And never strike him with a stick,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ner aggervate him, and you'll find<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He'll never do a hostile trick.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A hoss whose master tends him right<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And worters him with daily care,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Will do your biddin' with delight,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And act as docile as <i>you</i> air.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He'll paw and prance to hear your praise,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Because he's learn't to love you well;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, though you can't tell what he says,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He'll nicker all he wants to tell.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He knows you when you slam the gate<br /></span> +<span class="i2">At early dawn, upon your way<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unto the barn, and snorts elate,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To git his corn, er oats, er hay.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He knows you, as the orphant knows<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The folks that loves her like theyr own,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And raises her and "finds" her clothes,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And "schools" her tel a womern-grown!<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I claim no hoss will harm a man,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ner kick, ner run away, cavort,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stump-suck, er balk, er "catamaran,"<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ef you'll jest treat him as you ort.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But when I see the beast abused,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And clubbed around as I've saw some,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I want to see his owner noosed,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And jest yanked up like Absolum!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Of course they's differunce in stock,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A hoss that has a little yeer,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And slender build, and shaller hock,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Can beat his shadder, mighty near!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Whilse one that's thick in neck and chist<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And big in leg and full in flank,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That tries to race, I still insist<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He'll have to take the second rank.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And I have jest laid back and laughed,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And rolled and wallered in the grass<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At fairs, to see some heavy-draft<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Lead out at <i>first</i>, yit come in <i>last</i>!<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Each hoss has his appinted place,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The heavy hoss should plow the soil;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The blooded racer, he must race,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And win big wages fer his toil.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I never bet—ner never wrought<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Upon my feller-man to bet—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And yit, at times, I've often thought<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of my convictions with regret.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I bless the hoss from hoof to head—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From head to hoof, and tale to mane!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I bless the hoss, as I have said,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From head to hoof, and back again!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I love my God the first of all,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Then Him that perished on the cross,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And next, my wife,—and then I fall<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Down on my knees and love the hoss.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="EZRA_HOUSE" id="EZRA_HOUSE"></a>EZRA HOUSE</h2> + +<p>[These lines was writ, in ruther high sperits, jest at the close of +what's called the Anti Bellum Days, and more to be a-foolin' +than anything else,—though they is more er less facts in it. But +some of the boys, at the time we was all a-singin' it, fer Ezry's +benefit, to the old tune of "The Oak and the Ash and the Bonny +Willer Tree," got it struck off in the weekly, without leave er +lisence of mine; and so sence they's allus some of 'em left to +rigg me about it yit, I might as well claim the thing right here +and now, so here goes. I give it jest as it appeared, fixed up and +grammatisized consider'ble, as the editer told me he took the +liburty of doin', in that sturling old home paper <span class="smcap">The Advance</span>—as +sound a paper yit to-day and as stanch and abul as you'll +find in a hunderd.]</p> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Come listen, good people, while a story I do tell,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the sad fate of one which I knew so passing well;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He enlisted at McCordsville, to battle in the South,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And protect his country's union; his name was Ezra House.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He was a young school-teacher, and educated high<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In regards to Ray's arithmetic, and also Algebra:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He give good satisfaction, but at his country's call<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He dropped his position, his Algebra and all.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"It's oh, I'm going to leave you, kind scholars," he said—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For he wrote a composition the last day and read;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And it brought many tears in the eyes of the school,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To say nothing of his sweetheart he was going to leave so soon.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"I have many recollections to take with me away,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the merry transpirations in the school-room so gay;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And of all that's past and gone I will never regret<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I went to serve my country at the first of the outset!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He was a good penman, and the lines that he wrote<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On that sad occasion was too fine for me to quote,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For I was there and heard it, and I ever will recall<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It brought the happy tears to the eyes of us all.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And when he left, his sweetheart she fainted away,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And said she could never forget the sad day<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When her lover so noble, and gallant and gay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Said "Fare you well, my true love!" and went marching away.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But he hadn't been gone for more than two months,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the sad news come—"he was in a skirmish once,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And a cruel Rebel ball had wounded him full sore<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the region of the chin, through the canteen he wore."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But his health recruited up, and his wounds they got well,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But whilst he was in battle at Bull Run or Malvern Hill,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The news come again, so sorrowful to hear—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"A sliver from a bombshell cut off his right ear."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But he stuck to the boys, and it's often he would write,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That "he wasn't afraid for his country to fight."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But oh, had he returned on a furlough, I believe<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He would not, to-day, have such cause to grieve.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">For in another battle—the name I never heard—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He was guarding the wagons when an accident occurred,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A comrade who was under the influence of drink,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shot him with a musket through the right cheek, I think.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But his dear life was spared; but it hadn't been for long,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till a cruel Rebel colonel come riding along,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And struck him with his sword, as many do suppose,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For his cap-rim was cut off, and also his nose.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But Providence, who watches o'er the noble and the brave,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Snatched him once more from the jaws of the grave;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And just a little while before the close of the war,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He sent his picture home to his girl away so far.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And she fell into decline, and she wrote in reply,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"She had seen his face again and was ready to die";<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And she wanted him to promise, when she was in her tomb,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He would only visit that by the light of the moon.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But he never returned at the close of the war,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the boys that got back said he hadn't the heart;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But he got a position in a powder-mill, and said<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He hoped to meet the doom that his country denied.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span></p> +<h2> +A PEN-PICTUR'<br /> +OF A CERTIN FRIVVOLUS OLD MAN<br /> +</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Most ontimely old man yit!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Pear-like sometimes he jest <i>tries</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0">His fool-self, and takes the bitt<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In his teeth and jest de-fies<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All perpryties!—Lay and swet<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Doin' <i>nothin'</i>—only jest<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sorto' speckillatun on<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whare old summertimes is gone,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And 'bout things that he loved best<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When a youngster! Heerd him say<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Springtimes</i> made him thataway—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Speshully on <i>Sund'ys</i>—when<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sun shines out and in again,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the lonesome old hens they<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Git off under the old kern-<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Bushes, and in deep concern<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Talk-like to theyrselvs</i>, and scratch<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Kindo' absunt-minded, jest<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like theyr thoughts was fur away<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In some neghbor's gyarden-patch<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Folks has tended keerfullest!<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Heerd the old man dwell on these<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Idys time and time again!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Heerd him claim that orchurd-trees<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Bloomin', put the mischief in<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His old hart sometimes that bad<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And owdacious that he "<i>had</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2">To break loose <i>some</i>way," says he,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"Ornry as I ust to be!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Heerd him say one time—when I<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was a sorto' standin' by,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the air so still and clear,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Heerd the bell fer church clean here!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Said: "Ef I could climb and set<br /></span> +<span class="i2">On the old three-cornerd rail<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Old home-place, nigh Maryette',<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Swop my soul off, hide and tale!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And-sir! blame ef tear and laugh<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Didn't ketch him half and half!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"Oh!" he says, "to wake and be<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bare-foot, in the airly dawn<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In the pastur'!—thare," says he,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Standin' whare the cow's slep' on<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span> +<span class="i2">The cold, dewy grass that's got<br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>Print</i> of her jest steamy hot<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fer to warm a feller's heels<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In a while!—How good it feels!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sund'y!—Country!—Morning!—Hear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nothin' but the <i>silunce</i>—see<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nothin' but green woods and clear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Skies and unwrit poetry<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By the acre!... Oh!" says he,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"What's this voice of mine?—to seek<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To speak out, and yit <i>can't</i> speak!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"<i>Think!</i>—the lazyest of days"—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Takin' his contrairyest leap,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He went on,—"git up, er sleep—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Er whilse feedin', watch the haze<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Dancin' 'crost the wheat,—and keep<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My pipe goin' laisurely—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Puff and whiff as pleases me,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Er I'll leave a trail of smoke<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through <i>the house</i>!—no one'll say<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'<i>Throw that nasty thing away!</i>'<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span> +<span class="i2">'Pear-like nothin' sacerd's broke,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Goin' bare-foot ef I chuse!—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I <i>have fiddled</i>;—and dug bait<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And <i>went fishin'</i>;—pitched hoss-shoes—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whare they couldn't see us from<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The main road.—And I've <i>beat</i> some.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I've set round and had my joke<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With the thrashers at the barn—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I've swopped 'em yarn fer yarn!—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Er I've he'pped the childern poke<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fer hens'-nests—agged on a match<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Twixt the boys, to watch 'em scratch<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And paw round and rip and tare,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And bust buttons and pull hair<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To theyr rompin' harts' content—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And me jest a-settin' thare<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hatchin' out more devilment!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">"What you s'pose now ort to be<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Done with sich a man?" says he—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"Sich a fool-old-man as me!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="WET-WEATHER_TALK" id="WET-WEATHER_TALK"></a>WET-WEATHER TALK</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">It hain't no use to grumble and complane;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">It's jest as cheap and easy to rejoice.—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When God sorts out the weather and sends rain,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">W'y, rain's my choice.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Men ginerly, to all intents—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Although they're apt to grumble some—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Puts most theyr trust in Providence,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And takes things as they come—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">That is, the commonality<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Of men that's lived as long as me<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Has watched the world enugh to learn<br /></span> +<span class="i4">They're not the boss of this concern.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">With <i>some</i>, of course, it's different—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I've saw <i>young</i> men that knowed it all,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And didn't like the way things went<br /></span> +<span class="i2">On this terrestchul ball;—<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">But all the same, the rain, some way,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Rained jest as hard on picnic day;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Er, when they railly <i>wanted</i> it,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">It mayby wouldn't rain a bit!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In this existunce, dry and wet<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Will overtake the best of men—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some little skift o' clouds'll shet<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The sun off now and then.—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And mayby, whilse you're wundern who<br /></span> +<span class="i4">You've fool-like lent your umbrell' to,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And <i>want</i> it—out'll pop the sun,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And you'll be glad you hain't got none!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">It aggervates the farmers, too—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They's too much wet, er too much sun,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Er work, er waitin' round to do<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Before the plowin' 's done:<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And mayby, like as not, the wheat,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Jest as it's lookin' hard to beat,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Will ketch the storm—and jest about<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The time the corn's a-jintin' out.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">These-here <i>cy-clones</i> a-foolin' round—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And back'ard crops!—and wind and rain!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And yit the corn that's wallerd down<br /></span> +<span class="i2">May elbow up again!—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">They hain't no sense, as I can see,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Fer mortuls, sich as us, to be<br /></span> +<span class="i4">A-faultin' Natchur's wise intents,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And lockin' horns with Providence!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">It hain't no use to grumble and complane;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">It's jest as cheap and easy to rejoice.—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When God sorts out the weather and sends rain,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">W'y, rain's my choice.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="THOUGHTS_ON_A_PORE_JOKE" id="THOUGHTS_ON_A_PORE_JOKE"></a>THOUGHTS ON A PORE JOKE</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I like fun—and I like jokes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Bout as well as most o' folks!—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Like my joke, and like my fun;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But a joke, I'll state right here,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'S got some p'int—er I don't keer<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Fer no joke that hain't got none.—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I hain't got no use, I'll say,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fer a <i>pore</i> joke, anyway!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">F'rinstunce, now, when <i>some</i> folks gits<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To relyin' on theyr wits,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ten to one they git too smart<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And <i>spile</i> it all, right at the start!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Feller wants to jest go slow<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And do his <i>thinkin'</i> first, you know.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'F I can't think up somepin' good,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I set still and chaw my cood!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'F you <i>think</i> nothin'—jest keep on,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But don't <i>say</i> it—er you're gone!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="A_MORTUL_PRAYER" id="A_MORTUL_PRAYER"></a>A MORTUL PRAYER</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh! Thou that vaileth from all eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The glory of Thy face,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And setteth throned behind the skies<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In Thy abiding-place:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though I but dimly recko'nize<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thy purposes of grace;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And though with weak and wavering<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Deserts, and vexd with fears,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I lift the hands I can not wring<br /></span> +<span class="i2">All dry of sorrow's tears,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Make puore my prayers that daily wing<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Theyr way unto Thy ears!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh! with the hand that tames the flood<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And smooths the storm to rest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Make ba'mmy dews of all the blood<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That stormeth in my brest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And so refresh my hart to bud<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And bloom the loveliest.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Lull all the clammer of my soul<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To silunce; bring release<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unto the brane still in controle<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of doubts; bid sin to cease,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And let the waves of pashun roll<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And kiss the shores of peace.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Make me to love my feller-man—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yea, though his bitterness<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Doth bite as only adders can—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Let <i>me</i> the fault confess,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And go to him and clasp his hand<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And love him none the less.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So keep me, Lord, ferever free<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From vane concete er whim;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And he whose pius eyes can see<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My faults, however dim,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh! let him pray the least fer me,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And me the most fer him.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="THE_FIRST_BLUEBIRD" id="THE_FIRST_BLUEBIRD"></a>THE FIRST BLUEBIRD</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Jest rain and snow! and rain again!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And dribble! drip! and blow!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then snow! and thaw! and slush! and then—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Some more rain and snow!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">This morning I was 'most afeard<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To <i>wake</i> up—when, I jing!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I seen the sun shine out and heerd<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The first bluebird of Spring!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mother she'd raised the winder some;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And in acrost the orchurd come,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Soft as a angel's wing,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A breezy, treesy, beesy hum,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Too sweet fer anything!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The winter's shroud was rent a-part—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The sun bust forth in glee,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And when that <i>that bluebird</i> sung, my hart<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Hopped out o' bed with me!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span></p> +<h2> +EVAGENE BAKER—WHO WAS DYIN' OF DRED CONSUMTION<br /> +AS THESE LINES WAS PENNED BY A TRUE FRIEND<br /> +</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Pore afflicted Evagene!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whilse the woods is fresh and green,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the birds on ev'ry hand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sings in rapture sweet and grand,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou, of all the joyus train,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Art bedridden, and in pain<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sich as only them can cherish<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who, like flowrs, is first to perish!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When the neghbors brought the word<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She was down, the folks inferred<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It was jest a cold she'd caught,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dressin' thinner than she'd ort<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fer the frolicks and the fun<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the dancin' that she'd done<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Fore the Spring was flush er ary<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Blossom on the peach er cherry.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But, last Sund'y, her request<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fer the Church's prayers was jest<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rail hart-renderin' to hear!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Many was the silunt tear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the tremblin' sigh, to show<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She was dear to us below<br /></span> +<span class="i2">On this earth—and <i>dearer</i>, even,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When we thought of her a-leavin'!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Sisters prayed, and coted from<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Genesis to Kingdom-come<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Provin' of her title clear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To the mansions.—"Even <i>her</i>,"<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>They</i> claimed, "might be saved, <i>someway</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though she'd danced, and played crowkay,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And wrought on her folks to git her<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Fancy shoes that never fit her!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Us</i> to pray fer <i>Evagene</i>!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With her hart as puore and clean<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As a rose is after rain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the sun comes out again!—<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span> +<span class="i0">What's the use to pray for <i>her</i>?<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>She</i> don't need no prayin' fer!—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Needed, all her life, more <i>playin'</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Than she ever needed prayin'!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I jest thought of all she'd been<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sence her <i>mother</i> died, and when<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She turned in and done <i>her</i> part—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All <i>her</i> cares on that child-hart!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thought of years she'd slaved—and had<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Saved the farm—danced and was glad....<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Mayby Him who marks the sporry<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Will smooth down her wings tomorry!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span></p> +<h2> +ON ANY ORDENARY MAN IN A HIGH STATE<br /> +OF LAUGHTURE AND DELIGHT<br /> +</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">As it's give' me to percieve,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I most certin'y believe<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When a man's jest glad plum through,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">God's pleased with him, same as you.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="TOWN_AND_COUNTRY" id="TOWN_AND_COUNTRY"></a>TOWN AND COUNTRY</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They's a predjudice allus 'twixt country and town<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which I wisht in my hart wasent so.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You take <i>city</i> people, jest square up and down,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And they're mighty good people to know:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And whare's better people a-livin', to-day,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Than us in the <i>country</i>?—Yit good<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As both of us is, we're divorsed, you might say,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And won't compermise when we could!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Now as nigh into town fer yer Pap, ef you please,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is the what's called the sooburbs.—Fer thare<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You'll at least ketch a whiff of the breeze and a sniff<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of the breth of wild-flowrs ev'rywhare.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They's room fer the childern to play, and grow, too—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And to roll in the grass, er to climb<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Up a tree and rob nests, like they <i>ortent</i> to do,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But they'll do <i>any</i>how ev'ry time!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">My Son-in-law said, when he lived in the town,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He jest natchurly pined, night and day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fer a sight of the woods, er a acre of ground<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whare the trees wasent all cleared away!<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And he says to me onc't, whilse a-visitin' us<br /></span> +<span class="i2">On the farm, "It's not strange, I declare,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That we can't coax you folks, without raisin' a fuss,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To come to town, visitin' thare!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And says I, "Then git back whare you sorto' <i>belong</i>—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And <i>Madaline</i>, too,—and yer three<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Little childern," says I, "that don't know a birdsong,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ner a hawk from a chicky-dee-dee!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Git back," I-says-I, "to the blue of the sky<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the green of the fields, and the shine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the sun, with a laugh in yer voice and yer eye<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As harty as Mother's and mine!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Well—long-and-short of it,—he's compermised <i>some</i>—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He's moved in the sooburbs.—And now<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They don't haf to coax, when they want us to come,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Cause we turn in and go <i>anyhow</i>!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fer thare—well, they's room fer the songs and purfume<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of the grove and the old orchurd-ground,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And they's room fer the childern out thare, and they's room<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Fer theyr Gran'pap to waller 'em round!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span></p> +<h2> +LINES FER ISAAC BRADWELL, OF INDANOPLIS, IND.,<br /> +COUNTY-SEAT OF MARION<br /> +</h2> + +<p>[Writ on the flyleaf of a volume of the author's poems that +come in one of gittin' burnt up in the great Bowen-Merrill's fire +of March 17, 1890.]</p> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Through fire and flood this book has passed.—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fer what?—I hardly dare to ast—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Less'n it's still to pamper me<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With extry food fer vanity;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fer, sence it's fell in hands as true<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As <i>yourn</i> is—and a <i>Hoosier</i> too,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I'm prouder of the book, I jing!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than 'fore they tried to burn the thing!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="DECORATION_DAY_ON_THE_PLACE" id="DECORATION_DAY_ON_THE_PLACE"></a>DECORATION DAY ON THE PLACE</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">It's lonesome—sorto' lonesome,—it's a <i>Sund'y-day</i>, to me,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It 'pears-like—more'n any day I nearly ever see!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yit, with the Stars and Stripes above, a-flutterin' in the air,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On ev'ry Soldier's grave I'd love to lay a lilly thare.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They say, though, Decoration Days is giner'ly observed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Most <i>ev'rywhares</i>—espeshally by soldier-boys that's served.—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But me and Mother's never went—we seldom git away,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In p'int o' fact, we're <i>allus</i> home on <i>Decoration Day</i>.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They say the old boys marches through the streets in colum's grand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A-follerin' the old war-tunes they're playin' on the band—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And citizuns all jinin' in—and little childern, too—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All marchin', under shelter of the old Red White and Blue.—<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">With roses! roses! roses!—everybody in the town!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And crowds o' little girls in white, jest fairly loaded down!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh! don't <span class="smcap">The Boys</span> know it, from theyr camp acrost the hill?—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Don't they see theyr com'ards comin' and the old flag wavin' still?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh! can't they hear the bugul and the rattle of the drum?—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ain't they no way under heavens they can rickollect us some?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ain't they no way we can coax 'em, through the roses, jest to say<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They know that ev'ry day on earth's theyr Decoration Day?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We've tried that—me and Mother,—whare Elias takes his rest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the orchurd—in his uniform, and hands acrost his brest,<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span> +<span class="i0">And the flag he died fer, smilin' and a-ripplin' in the breeze<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Above his grave—and over that,—<i>the robin in the trees</i>!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And <i>yit</i> it's lonesome—lonesome!—It's a <i>Sund'y-day</i>, to <i>me</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It 'pears-like—more'n any day I nearly ever see!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Still, with the Stars and Stripes above, a-flutterin' in the air,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On ev'ry Soldier's grave I'd love to lay a lilly thare.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="THE_TREE-TOAD" id="THE_TREE-TOAD"></a>THE TREE-TOAD</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"'S cur'ous-like," said the tree-toad,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"I've twittered fer rain all day;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And I got up soon,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And hollered tel noon—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But the sun, hit blazed away,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Tell I jest clumb down in a crawfish-hole,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Weary at hart, and sick at soul!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Dozed away fer an hour,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And I tackled the thing agin:<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And I sung, and sung,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Tel I knowed my lung<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Was jest about give in;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And <i>then</i>, thinks I, ef hit don't rain <i>now</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">They's nothin' in singin', anyhow!<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Onc't in a while some farmer<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Would come a-drivin' past;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And he'd hear my cry,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And stop and sigh—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Tel I jest laid back, at last,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And I hollered rain tel I thought my th'oat<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Would bust wide open at ever' note!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"But I <i>fetched</i> her!—O <i>I fetched</i> her!—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Cause a little while ago,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">As I kindo' set,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">With one eye shet,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And a-singin' soft and low,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">A voice drapped down on my fevered brain,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">A-sayin',—'<i>Ef you'll jest hush I'll rain!</i>'"<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="THE_ROSSVILLE_LECTUR_COURSE" id="THE_ROSSVILLE_LECTUR_COURSE"></a>THE ROSSVILLE LECTUR' COURSE</h2> + +<p>[Set down from the real facts of the case that come under +notice of the author whilse visitun far distunt relatives who wuz +then residin' at Rossville, Mich.]</p> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Folks up here at Rossville got up a Lectur' Course:—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All the leadin' citizens they wuz out in force;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Met and talked at Williamses', and 'greed to meet ag'in;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And helt another corkus when the next reports wuz in:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Met ag'in at Samuelses'; and met ag'in at Moore's,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Johnts putt the shutters up and jest barr'd the door!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And yit, I'll jest be dagg-don'd! ef't didn't take a week<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Fore we'd settled whare to write to git a man to speak!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Found out whare the "<i>Bureau</i>" wuz; and then and thare agreed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To strike whilse the iron's hot and foller up the lead.—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Simp wuz Secatary; so he tuk his pen in hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And ast 'em what they'd tax us fer the one on "Holy Land"—<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"One of Colonel J. De-Koombs's Abelust and Best<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lectur's," the circ'lar stated, "Give East er West!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wanted fifty dollars and his kyar-fare to and from,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Simp wuz hence instructed fer to write him not to come.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then we talked and jawed around another week er so,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And writ the "<i>Bureau</i>" 'bout the town a-bein' sorto' slow—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Old-fogey-like, and pore as dirt, and lackin' interprise,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And ignornter'n any other, 'cordin' to its size:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tel finully the "<i>Bureau</i>" said they'd send a cheaper man<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fer forty dollars, who would give "A Talk About Japan"—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"A reg'lar Japanee hise'f," the pamphlet claimed; and so,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nobody knowed his languige, and of course we let him go!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Kindo' then let up a spell—but rallied onc't ag'in,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And writ to price a feller on what's called the "violin"—<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span> +<span class="i0">A Swede, er Pole, er somepin'—but no matter what he wuz,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Doc Cooper said he'd heerd him, and he wuzn't wuth a kuss!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And then we ast fer <i>Swingse's</i> terms; and <i>Cook</i>, and <i>Ingersoll</i>—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And blame! ef forty dollars looked like anything at all!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And then <i>Burdette</i>, we tried fer <i>him</i>; and Bob he writ to say<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He wuz busy writin' ortographts and couldn't git away.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">At last—along in Aprile—we signed to take this-here<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bill Nye of Californy, 'at wuz posted to appear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"The Comicalest Funny Man 'at Ever Jammed a Hall!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So we made big preperations, and swep' out the church and all!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And night he wuz to lectur', and the neghbors all wuz thare,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And strangers packed along the aisles 'at come from ev'rywhare,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Committee got a telegrapht the preacher read, 'at run—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Got off at Rossville, <i>Indiany</i>, 'stid of Michigun."<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="WHEN_THE_GREEN_GITS_BACK_IN_THE_TREES" id="WHEN_THE_GREEN_GITS_BACK_IN_THE_TREES"></a>WHEN THE GREEN GITS BACK IN THE TREES</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In Spring, when the green gits back in the trees,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the sun comes out and <i>stays</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And yer boots pulls on with a good tight squeeze,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And you think of yer bare-foot days;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When you <i>ort</i> to work and you want to <i>not</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And you and yer wife agrees<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It's time to spade up the garden-lot,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When the green gits back in the trees—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Well! work is the least o' <i>my</i> idees<br /></span> +<span class="i4">When the green, you know, gits back in the trees!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When the green gits back in the trees, and bees<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is a-buzzin' aroun' ag'in<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In that kind of a lazy go-as-you-please<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Old gait they bum roun' in;<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span> +<span class="i0">When the groun's all bald whare the hay-rick stood,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the crick's riz, and the breeze<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Coaxes the bloom in the old dogwood,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the green gits back in the trees,—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">I like, as I say, in sich scenes as these,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The time when the green gits back in the trees!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When the whole tail-fethers o' Wintertime<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is all pulled out and gone!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the sap it thaws and begins to climb,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the swet it starts out on<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A feller's forred, a-gittin' down<br /></span> +<span class="i2">At the old spring on his knees—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I kindo' like jest a-loaferin' roun'<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When the green gits back in the trees—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Jest a-potterin' roun' as I—durn—please—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">When the green, you know, gits back in the trees!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="HOW_IT_HAPPENED" id="HOW_IT_HAPPENED"></a>HOW IT HAPPENED</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I got to <i>thinkin'</i> of her—both her parunts dead and gone—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all her sisters married off, and none but her and John<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A-livin' all alone thare in that lonesome sorto' way,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And him a blame old bachelor, confirmder ev'ry day!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I'd knowed 'em all, from childern, and theyr daddy from the time<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He settled in the neghborhood, and hadn't ary a dime<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Er dollar, when he married, fer to start housekeepin' on!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So I got to <i>thinkin'</i> of her—both her parunts dead and gone!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I got to <i>thinkin'</i> of her; and a-wundern what <i>she</i> done<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That all <i>her sisters</i> kep' a-gittin' married, one by one,<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span> +<span class="i0">And her without <i>no</i> chances—and the best girl of the pack—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A' old maid, with her hands, you might say, tied behind her back!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And <i>Mother</i>, too, afore she died,—<i>she</i> ust to jest take on,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When none of 'em wuz left, you know, but Evaline and John,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And jest declare to goodness 'at the young men must be bline<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To not see what a wife they'd git ef they got Evaline!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I got to <i>thinkin'</i> of her: In my great affliction she<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wuz sich a comfert to us, and so kind and neghborly,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She'd come, and leave her housework, fer to he'p out little Jane,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And talk of <i>her own</i> mother 'at she'd never see again—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They'd sometimes <i>cry</i> together—though, fer the most part, she<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Would have the child so rickonciled and happy-like 'at we<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Felt lonesomer'n ever when she'd putt her bonnet on<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And say she'd railly <i>haf</i> to be a-gittin' back to John!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I got to <i>thinkin'</i> of her, as I say,—and more and more<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I'd think of her dependence, and the burdens 'at she bore,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her parunts both a-bein' dead, and all her sisters gone<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And married off, and her a-livin' thare alone with John—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You might say jest a-toilin' and a-slavin' out her life<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fer a man 'at hadn't pride enugh to git hisse'f a wife—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Less some one married <i>Evaline</i> and packed her off some day!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So I got to <i>thinkin'</i> of her—and—It happened <i>thataway</i>.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="A_DOST_O_BLUES" id="A_DOST_O_BLUES"></a>A DOS'T O' BLUES</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I' got no patience with blues at all!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And I ust to kindo' talk<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Aginst 'em, and claim, tel along last Fall,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They wuz none in the fambly stock;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But a nephew of mine, from Eelinoy,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That visitud us last year,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He kindo' convinct me differunt<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whilse he wuz a-stayin' here.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">From ev'ry-which-way that blues is from,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They'd pester him <i>ev'ry</i>-ways;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They'd come to him in the night, and come<br /></span> +<span class="i2">On Sundys, and rainy days;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They'd tackle him in corn-plantin' time,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And in harvest, and airly Fall,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But a dos't o' blues in the <i>Winter</i>time,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He 'lowed, wuz the worst of all!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Said "All diseases that ever <i>he</i> had—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The mumps, er the rhumatiz—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Er ev'ry-other-day-aigger—bad<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As ever the blame thing is!—<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Er a cyarbuncle, say, on the back of his neck,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Er a felon on his thumb,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But you keep <i>the blues</i> away from him,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And all o' the rest could come!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And he'd moan, "They's nary a leaf below!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ner a spear o' grass in sight!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the whole woodpile's clean under snow!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the days is dark as night!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You can't go out—ner you can't stay in—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Lay down—stand up—ner set!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And a tetch o' regular tyfoid-blues<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Would double him jest clean shet!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I writ his parunts a postal-kyard<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He could stay tel Springtime come;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Aprile—<i>first</i>, as I rickollect—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Wuz the day we shipped him home!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Most o' his <i>relatives</i>, sence then,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Has eether give up, er quit,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Er jest died off; but I understand<br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>He's</i> the same old color yit!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="THE_OLD_HOME_BY_THE_MILL" id="THE_OLD_HOME_BY_THE_MILL"></a>THE OLD HOME BY THE MILL</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">This is "The old Home by the Mill"—fer we still call it so,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Although the <i>old mill</i>, roof and sill, is all gone long ago.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The old home, though, and the old folks—the old spring, and a few<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Old cattails, weeds and hartychokes, is left to welcome you!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Here, Marg'et!—fetch the man a <i>tin</i> to drink out of! Our spring<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Keeps kindo'-sorto' cavin' in, but don't "<i>taste</i>" anything!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She's kindo' <i>age</i>in', Marg'et is—"the <i>old</i> process"—like me,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All ham-stringed up with rhumatiz, and on in seventy-three.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Jest me and Marg'et lives alone here—like in long ago;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The childern all putt off and gone, and married, don't you know?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One's millin' 'way out West somewhare; two other miller-boys<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In Minnyopolis they air; and one's in Illinoise.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span> +<span class="i0">The <i>oldest</i> gyrl—the first that went—married and died right here;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The next lives in Winn's Settlement—fer purt'-nigh thirty year!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And youngest one—was allus fer the old home here—but no!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her man turns in and he packs <i>her</i> 'way off to Idyho!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I don't miss them like <i>Marg'et</i> does—'cause I got <i>her</i>, you see;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And when she pines for them—that's 'cause <i>she's</i> only jest got <i>me</i>!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I laugh, and joke her 'bout it all.—But talkin' sense, I'll say,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When she was tuk so bad last Fall, I laughed then t'other way!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I hain't so favor'ble impressed 'bout <i>dyin'</i>; but ef I<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Found I was only second-best when <i>us two</i> come to die,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I'd 'dopt the "new process" in full, ef <i>Marg'et</i> died, you see,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I'd jest crawl in my grave and pull the green grass over me!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="THE_WAY_IT_WUZ" id="THE_WAY_IT_WUZ"></a>THE WAY IT WUZ</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Las' July—and, I persume,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Bout as hot<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As the old Gran'-Jury room<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whare they sot!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fight 'twixt Mike and Dock McGreff....<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Pears to me jest like as ef<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I'd a-dremp' the whole blame thing—<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Allus ha'nts me roun' the gizzard<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When they's nightmares on the wing<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And a feller's blood's jes' friz!<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Seed the row from A to Izzard—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Cause I wuz a-standin' as clos't to 'em<br /></span> +<span class="i4">As me and you is!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Tell you the way it wuz—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And I don't <i>want</i> to see,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like <i>some</i> fellers does,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When they's goern to be<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Any kind o' fuss—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On'y makes a rumpus wuss<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span> +<span class="i2">Fer to <i>interfere</i><br /></span> +<span class="i4">When theyr dander's riz—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Might as lif to <i>cheer</i>!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But I wuz a-standin' as clos't to 'em<br /></span> +<span class="i4">As me and you is!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I wuz kindo' strayin'<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Past the blame saloon—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Heerd some fiddler playin'<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That old "Hee-cup tune!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I'd <i>stopped</i>-like, you know,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fer a minit er so,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And wuz jest about<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Settin' down, when—<i>Jeemses-whizz!</i>—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whole durn winder-sash fell out!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And thare laid Dock McGreff, and Mike<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A-straddlin' him, all bloody-like,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And both a-gittin' down to biz!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I wuz a-standin' as clos't to 'em<br /></span> +<span class="i4">As me and you is!<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I wuz the on'y man aroun'—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(Durn old-fogey town!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Peared more like, to me,<br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>Sund'y</i> than <i>Saturd'y</i>!)<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Dog come 'crost the road<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And tuk a smell<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And putt right back:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Mishler driv by 'ith a load<br /></span> +<span class="i3">O' cantalo'pes he couldn't sell—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Too mad, 'i jack!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To even ast<br /></span> +<span class="i2">What wuz up, as he went past!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Weather most outrageous hot!—<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Fairly hear it sizz<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Roun' Dock and Mike—tel Dock he shot,—<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And Mike he slacked that grip o' his<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And fell, all spraddled out. Dock riz<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Bout half up, a spittin' red,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And shuck his head....<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I wuz a-standin' as clos't to 'em<br /></span> +<span class="i3">As me and you is!<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And Dock he says,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A-whisperin'-like,—<br /></span> +<span class="i3">"It hain't no use<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A-tryin'!—Mike<br /></span> +<span class="i3">He's jest ripped my daylights loose!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Git that blame-don fiddler to<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let up, and come out here—You<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Got some burryin' to do,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Mike makes <i>one</i>, and, I expects,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Bout ten seconds, I'll make <i>two</i>!"<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And he drapped back, whare he'd riz,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Crost Mike's body, black and blue,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Like a great big letter X!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I wuz a-standin' as clos't to 'em<br /></span> +<span class="i3">As me and you is!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="PAPS_OLD_SAYIN" id="PAPS_OLD_SAYIN"></a>PAP'S OLD SAYIN'</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Pap had one old-fashioned sayin'<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That I'll never quite fergit—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And they's seven growed-up childern<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of us rickollects it yit!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Settin' round the dinner-table,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Talkin' 'bout our friends, perhaps,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Er abusin' of our neghbors,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I kin hear them words o' Pap's—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">"Shet up, and eat yer vittels!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Pap he'd never argy with us,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ner cut any subject short<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whilse we all kep' clear o' gossip,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And wuz actin' as we ort:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But ef we'd git out o' order—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Like sometimes a fambly is,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Faultin' folks, er one another,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Then we'd hear that voice o' his—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">"Shet up, and eat yer vittels!"<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Wuz no hand hisse'f at talkin'—<br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>Never</i> hadn't <i>much</i> to say,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Only, as I said, pervidin'<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When we'd rile him thataway:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then he'd allus lose his temper<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Spite o' fate, and jerk his head<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And slam down his caseknife vicious'<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whilse he glared around and said—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">"Shet up, and eat yer vittels!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Mind last time 'at Pap was ailin'<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With a misery in his side,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And had hobbled in the kitchen—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Jest the day before he died,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Laury Jane she ups and tells him,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"Pap, you're pale as pale kin be—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hain't ye 'feard them-air cowcumbers<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Hain't good fer ye?" And says he,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">"Shet up, and eat yer vittels!"<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Well! I've saw a-many a sorrow,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Forty year', through thick and thin;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I've got best,—and I've got <i>wors'ted</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Time and time and time ag'in!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But I've met a-many a trouble<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That I hain't run onto twice,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Haltin'-like and thinkin' over<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Them-air words o' Pap's advice:<br /></span> +<span class="i4">"Shet up, and eat yer vittels!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="ROMANCIN" id="ROMANCIN"></a>ROMANCIN'</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I' b'en a-kindo' "<i>musin'</i>," as the feller says, and I'm<br /></span> +<span class="i0">About o' the conclusion that they hain't no better time,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When you come to cipher on it, than the times we ust to know<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When we swore our first "<i>dog-gone-it</i>" sorto' solum-like and low!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">You git my idy, do you?—<i>Little</i> tads, you understand—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Jest a-wishin' thue and thue you that you on'y wuz a <i>man</i>.—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yit here I am, this minit, even sixty, to a day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And fergettin' all that's in it, wishin' jest the other way!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I hain't no hand to lectur' on the times, er <i>dim</i>onstrate<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whare the trouble is, er hector and domineer with Fate,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But when I git so flurried, and so pestered-like and blue,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And so rail owdacious worried, let me tell you what I do!—<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I jest gee-haw the hosses, and onhook the swingle-tree,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whare the hazel-bushes tosses down theyr shadders over me;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I draw my plug o' navy, and I climb the fence, and set<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Jest a-thinkin' here, i gravy! tel my eyes is wringin'-wet!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Tho' I still kin see the trouble o' the <i>presunt</i>, I kin see—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Kindo' like my sight wuz double—all the things that <i>ust</i> to be;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the flutter o' the robin and the teeter o' the wren<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sets the willer-branches bobbin' "howdy-do" thum <i>Now</i> to <i>Then</i>!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The deadnin' and the thicket's jest a-bilin' full of June,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thum the rattle o' the cricket, to the yallar-hammer's tune;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the catbird in the bottom, and the sapsuck on the snag,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Seems ef they can't—od-rot 'em!—jest do nothin' else but brag!<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They's music in the twitter of the bluebird and the jay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And that sassy little critter jest a-<i>peckin'</i> all the day;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They's music in the "flicker," and they's music in the thrush,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And they's music in the snicker o' the chipmunk in the brush!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They's music <i>all around</i> me!—And I go back, in a dream<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sweeter yit than ever found me fast asleep,—and in the stream<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That ust to split the medder whare the dandylions growed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I stand knee-deep, and redder than the sunset down the road.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then's when I' b'en a-fishin'!—And they's other fellers, too,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With theyr hick'ry-poles a-swishin' out behind 'em; and a few<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Little "shiners" on our stringers, with theyr tails tip-toein' bloom,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As we dance 'em in our fingers all the happy jurney home.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I kin see us, true to Natur', thum the time we started out,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With a biscuit and a 'tater in our little "roundabout"!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I kin see our lines a-tanglin', and our elbows in a jam,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And our naked legs a-danglin' thum the apern o' the dam.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I kin see the honeysuckle climbin' up around the mill,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And kin hear the worter chuckle, and the wheel a-growlin' still;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And thum the bank below it I kin steal the old canoe,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And jest git in and row it like the miller ust to do.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">W'y, I git my fancy focussed on the past so mortul plane<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I kin even smell the locus'-blossoms bloomin' in the lane;<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span> +<span class="i0">And I hear the cow-bells clinkin' sweeter tunes 'n "Money-musk"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fer the lightnin' bugs a-blinkin' and a-dancin' in the dusk.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And when I've kep' on "musin'," as the feller says, tel I'm<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Firm-fixed in the conclusion that they hain't no better time,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When you come to cipher on it, than the <i>old</i> times,—I de-clare<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I kin wake and say "dog-gone-it!" jest as soft as any prayer!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="AN_OLD_SETTLERS_STORY" id="AN_OLD_SETTLERS_STORY"></a>AN OLD SETTLER'S STORY</h2> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span></p> +<h2>AN OLD SETTLER'S STORY</h2> + + +<p>William Williams his name was—er so he said;—Bill +Williams they called him, and them 'at knowed him +best called him Bill Bills.</p> + +<p>The first I seed o' Bills was about two weeks after he +got here. The Settlement wasn't nothin' but a baby in +them days, fer I mind 'at old Ezry Sturgiss had jist got +his saw and griss-mill a-goin', and Bills had come along +and claimed to know all about millin', and got a job +with him; and millers in them times was wanted +worse'n congerssmen, and I reckon got better wages; +fer afore Ezry built, there wasn't a dust o' meal er flour +to be had short o' the White Water, better'n sixty mil'd +from here, the way we had to fetch it. And they used +to come to Ezry's fer their grindin' as fur as that; and +one feller I knowed to come from what used to be the +old South Fork, over eighty mil'd from here, and in the +wettest, rainyest weather; and mud! <i>Law!</i></p> + +<p>Well, this-here Bills was a-workin' fer Ezry at the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span> +time—part the time a-grindin', and part the time +a-lookin' after the sawin', and gittin' out timber and the +like. Bills was a queer-lookin' feller, shore! About as +tall a build man as Tom Carter—but of course you +don't know nothin' o' Tom Carter. A great big hulk +of a feller, Tom was; and as fur back as Fifty-eight +used to make his brags that he could cut and putt up his +seven cord a day.</p> + +<p>Well, what give Bills this queer look, as I was a-goin' +on to say, was a great big ugly scar a-runnin' from the +corner o' one eye clean down his face and neck, and I +don't know how fur down his breast—awful lookin'; and +he never shaved, and there wasn't a hair a-growin' in that +scar, and it looked like a—some kind o' pizen snake er +somepin' a-crawlin' in the grass and weeds. I never +seed sich a' out-and-out ornry-lookin' chap, and I'll +never fergit the first time I set eyes on him.</p> + +<p>Steve and me—Steve was my youngest brother; +Steve's be'n in Californy now fer, le' me see,—well, +anyways, I rickon, over thirty year.—Steve was a-drivin' +the team at the time—I allus let Steve drive; 'peared +like Steve was made a-purpose fer hosses. The beatin'est<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span> +hand with hosses 'at ever you <i>did</i> see and-I-know! +W'y, a hoss, after he got kindo' used to Steve a-handlin' +of him, would do anything fer <i>him</i>! And I've +knowed that boy to swap fer hosses 'at couldn't hardly +make a shadder; and, afore you knowed it, Steve would +have 'em a-cavortin' around a-lookin' as peert and fat +and slick!</p> + +<p>Well, we'd come over to Ezry's fer some grindin' +that day; and Steve wanted to price some lumber fer a +house, intendin' to marry that Fall—and would a-married, +I reckon, ef the girl hadn't a-died jist as she'd got +her weddin' clothes done—and that set hard on Steve +fer a while. Yit he rallied, you know, as a youngster +will; but he never married, someway—never married. +Reckon he never found no other woman he could love +well enough—'less it was—well, no odds.—The Good +Bein's jedge o' what's best fer each and all.</p> + +<p>We lived <i>then</i> about eight mil'd from Ezry's, and it +tuck about a day to make the trip; so you kin kindo' +git an idy o' how the roads was in them days.</p> + +<p>Well, on the way over I noticed Steve was mighty +quiet-like, but I didn't think nothin' of it, tel at last he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span> +says, says he, "Ben, I want you to kindo' keep an eye +out fer Ezry's new hand"—meanin' Bills. And then +I kindo' suspicioned somepin' o' nother was up betwixt +'em; and shore enough there was, as I found out afore +the day was over.</p> + +<p>I knowed 'at Bills was a mean sort of a man, from +what I'd heerd. His name was all over the neighberhood +afore he'd be'n here two weeks.</p> + +<p>In the first place, he come in a suspicious sorto' way: +Him and his wife, and a little baby on'y a few months +old, come through in a kivvered wagon with a fambly +a-goin' som'ers in The Illinoy; and they stopped at the +mill, fer some meal er somepin', and Bills got to talkin' +with Ezry 'bout millin', and one thing o' nother, and +said he was expeerenced some 'bout a mill hisse'f, and +told Ezry ef he'd give him work he'd stop; said his +wife and baby wasn't strong enough to stand trav'lin', +and ef Ezry'd give him work he was ready to lick into +it then and there; said his woman could pay her board +by sewin' and the like, tel they got ahead a little; and +then, ef he liked the neighberhood, he said he'd as lif +settle there as anywheres; he was huntin' a home, he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span> +said, and the outlook kindo' struck him, and his woman +railly needed rest, and wasn't strong enough to go much +furder. And old Ezry kindo' tuk pity on the feller; +and havin' house-room to spare, and railly in need of a +good hand at the mill, he said all right; and so the feller +stopped and the wagon druv ahead and left 'em; +and they didn't have no things ner nothin'—not even a +cyarpet-satchel, ner a stitch o' clothes, on'y what they +had on their backs. And I think it was the third er +fourth day after Bills stopped 'at he whirped Tomps +Burk, the bully o' here them days, tel you wouldn't +a-knowed him!</p> + +<p>Well, I'd heerd o' this, and the facts is I'd made up +my mind 'at Bills was a bad stick, and the place wasn't +none the better fer his bein' here. But, as I was a-goin' +on to say,—as Steve and me driv up to the mill, I +ketched sight o' Bills the first thing, a-lookin' out o' +where some boards was knocked off, jist over the worter-wheel; +and he knowed Steve—I could see that by his +face; and he hollered somepin', too, but what it was I +couldn't jist make out, fer the noise o' the wheel; but +he looked to me as ef he'd hollered somepin' mean<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span> +a-purpose so's Steve <i>wouldn't</i> hear it, and <i>he'd</i> have the +consolation o' knowin' 'at he'd called Steve some ornry +name 'thout givin' him a <i>chance</i> to take it up. Steve +was allus quiet-like, but ef you raised his dander onc't—and +you could do that 'thout much trouble, callin' him +names er somepin', particular' anything 'bout his mother. +Steve loved his mother—allus loved his mother, and +would fight fer her at the drap o' the hat. And he was +her favo-<i>rite</i>—allus a-talkin' o' "her boy, Steven," as +she used to call him, and so proud of him, and so keerful +of him allus, when he'd be sick or anything; nuss +him like a baby, she would.</p> + +<p>So when Bills hollered, Steve didn't pay no attention; +and <i>I</i> said nothin', o' course, and didn't let on like I +noticed him. So we druv round to the south side and +hitched; and Steve 'lowed he'd better feed; so I left +him with the hosses and went into the mill.</p> + +<p>They was jist a-stoppin' fer dinner. Most of 'em +brought ther dinners—lived so fur away, you know. The +two Smith boys lived on what used to be the old Warrick +farm, five er six mild, anyhow, from where the mill +stood. Great stout fellers, they was; and little Jake,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span> +the father of 'em, wasn't no man at all—not much bigger'n +you, I rickon. Le' me see, now:—There was +Tomps Burk, Wade Elwood, and Joe and Ben Carter; +and Wesley Morris, John Coke—wiry little cuss, he +was, afore he got his leg sawed off;—and Ezry, and—Well, +I don't jist mind <i>all</i> the boys—'s a long time ago, +and I never was much of a hand fer names.—Now, +some folks'll hear a name and never fergit it, but I +can't boast of a good rickollection, 'specially o' names; +and fer the last thirty year my mem'ry's be'n a-failin' +me, ever sence a spell o' fever 'at I brought on onc't—fever +and rheumatiz together:—You see, I went a-sainin' +with a passel o' the boys, fool-like, and let my clothes +freeze on me a-comin' home. W'y, my breeches was +like stove-pipes when I pulled 'em off. 'Ll, ef I didn't +pay fer <i>that</i> spree! Rheumatiz got a holt o' me and +helt me there flat o' my back fer eight weeks, and +couldn't move hand er foot 'thout a-hollerin' like a' Injun. +And I'd a-be'n there yit, I rickon, ef it hadn't a-be'n fer +a' old hoss-doctor, name o' Jones; and he gits a lot o' +sod and steeps it in hot whiskey and pops it on me,—and +I'll be-switched-to-death ef it didn't cuore me up,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span> +fer all I laughed and told him I'd better take the whiskey +in'ardly and let him keep the grass fer his doctor +bill. But that's nuther here ner there!—As I was +a-sayin' 'bout the mill: As I went in, the boys had +stopped work and was a-gittin' down their dinners, and +Bills amongst 'em, and old Ezry a-chattin' away—great +hand, he was, fer his joke, and allus a-cuttin' up and +a-gittin' off his odd-come-shorts on the boys. And that +day he was in particular good humor. He'd brought +some liquor down fer the boys, and he'd be'n drinkin' a +little hisse'f, enough to feel it. He didn't drink much—that +is to say, he didn't git drunk adzactly; but he +tuk his dram, you understand. You see, they made +their own whiskey in them days, and it wasn't nothin' +like the bilin' stuff you git now. Old Ezry had a little +still, and allus made his own whiskey, enough fer fambly +use, and jist as puore as worter, and as harmless. +But now-a-days the liquor you git's rank pizen. They +say they putt tobacker in it, and strychnine, and the +Lord knows what; ner I never knowed why, 'less it +was to give it a richer-lookin' flavor, like. Well, Ezry +he'd brought up a jug, and the boys had be'n a-takin' it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span> +purty free; I seed that as quick as I went in. And old +Ezry called out to <i>me</i> to come and take some, the first +thing. Told him I didn't b'lieve I keered about it; but +nothin' would do but I must take a drink with the boys; +and I was tired anyhow and I thought a little wouldn't +hurt; so I takes a swig; and as I set the jug down +<i>Bills</i> spoke up and says, "You're a stranger to me, and +I'm a stranger to you, but I rickon we can drink to our +better acquaintance,"—er somepin' to that amount, and +poured out another snifter in a gourd he'd be'n a-drinkin' +coffee in, and handed it to me. Well, I couldn't well +refuse, of course; so I says "Here's to us," and drunk +her down—mighty nigh a half pint, I rickon. Now, I +railly didn't want it, but, as I tell you, I was obleeged to +take it, and I downed her at a swaller and never batted an +eye, fer, to tell the fact about it, I liked the taste o' +liquor; and I do <i>yit</i>, on'y I know when I' got enough. +Jist then I didn't want to drink on account o' Steve. +Steve couldn't abide liquor in no shape ner form—fer +medicine ner nothin', and I've allus thought it was his +mother's doin's.</p> + +<p>Now, a few months afore this I'd be'n to Vincennes,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span> +and I was jist a-tellin' Ezry what they was a-astin' fer +their liquor there—fer I'd fetched a couple o' gallon home +with me 'at I'd paid six bits fer, and pore liquor at that: +And I was a-tellin' about it, and old Ezry was a-sayin' +what an oudacious figger that was, and how he could +make money a-sellin' it fer half that price, and was +a-goin' on a-braggin' about his liquor—and it was a good +article—fer new whiskey,—and jist then Steve comes +in, jist as Bills was a-sayin' 'at a man 'at wouldn't +drink <i>that</i> whiskey wasn't no man at all! So, of +course, when they ast <i>Steve</i> to take some and he told +'em no, 'at he was much obleeged, Bills was kindo' tuk +down, you understand, and had to say somepin'; and +says he, "I reckon you ain't no better'n the rest of us, +and <i>we've</i> be'n a-drinkin' of it." But Steve didn't let +on like he noticed Bills at all, and retch and shuk hands +with the other boys and ast how they was all a-comin' on.</p> + +<p>I seed Bills was riled, and more'n likely wanted trouble; +and shore enough, he went on to say, kindo snarlin'-like, +'at "he'd knowed o' men in his day 'at had +be'n licked fer refusin' to drink when their betters ast +em"; and said furder 'at "a lickin' wasn't none too<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span> +good fer anybody 'at would refuse liquor like that o' +Ezry's, and in his own house too"—er <i>buildin'</i>, ruther. +Ezry shuk his head at him, but I seed 'at Bills was +bound fer a quarrel, and I winks at Steve, as much as to +say, "Don't you let him bully you; you'll find your +brother here to see you have fair play!" <i>I</i> was a-feelin' +my oats some about then, and Steve seed I was, and +looked so sorry-like, and like his mother, 'at I jist +thought, "I <i>kin</i> fight fer <i>you</i>, and <i>die</i> fer you, 'cause +you're wuth it!"—And I didn't someway feel like it +would amount to much ef I <i>did</i> die er git killed er +somepin' on <i>his</i> account. I seed Steve was mighty +white around the mouth, and his eyes was a-glitterin' +like a snake's; yit Bills didn't seem to take warnin', but +went on to say 'at "he'd knowed boys 'at loved their +mothers so well they couldn't drink nothin' stronger'n +milk."—And then you'd ort o' seed Steve's coat fly off, +jist like it wanted to git out of his way and give the boy +room accordin' to his stren'th. I seed Bills grab a +piece o' scantlin' jist in time to ketch his arm as he +struck at Steve,—for Steve was a-comin' fer him dangerss. +But they'd ketched Steve from behind jist then;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span> +and Bills turned fer me. I seed him draw back, and I +seed Steve a-scufflin' to ketch his arm; but he didn't +reach it quite in time to do me no good. It must +a-come awful suddent. The first I rickollect was a +roarin' and a buzzin' in my ears, and when I kindo' +come a little better to, and crawled up and peeked over +the saw-log I was a-layin' the other side of, I seed a +couple clinched and a-rollin' over and over and a-makin' +the chips and saw-dust fly, now I <i>tell</i> you! Bills and +Steve it was—head and tail, tooth and toe-nail, and +a-bleedin' like good fellers! I seed a gash o' some +kind in Bills's head, and Steve was purty well tuckered +and a-pantin' like a lizard; and I made a rush +in, and one o' the Carter boys grabbed me and told +me to jist keep cool—'at <i>Steve</i> didn't need no he'p, +and they might need me to keep Bills's friends off +ef <i>they</i> made a rush. By this time Steve had whirlt +Bills, and was a-jist a-gittin' in a fair way to finish him +up in good style, when Wesley Morris run in—I seed +him do it—run in, and afore we could ketch him he +struck Steve a deadener in the butt o' the ear and knocked +him as limber as a rag. And then Bills whirlt Steve<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span> +and got him by the th'oat, and Ben Carter and me and old +Ezry closed in.—Carter tackled Morris, and Ezry and me +grabs Bills—and as old Ezry grabbed him to pull him +off, Bills kindo' give him a side swipe o' some kind and +knocked him—I don't know <i>how</i> fur! And jist then Carter +and Morris come a-scufflin' back'ards right amongst +us, and Carter th'owed him right acrost Bills and Steve. +Well, it ain't fair, and I don't like to tell it, but I seed +it was the last chance and I tuk advantage of it:—As +Wesley and Ben fell it pulled Bills down in a kindo' +twist, don't you understand, so's he couldn't he'p hisse'f, +yit still a-clinchin' Steve by the th'oat, and him black in +the face.—Well, as they fell I grabbed up a little hick'ry +limb, not bigger'n my two thumbs, and I struck Bills a +little tap kindo' over the back of his head like, and, +blame me! ef he didn't keel over like a stuck pig—and +not any too soon, nuther,—fer he had Steve's chunk as +nigh putt out as you ever seed a man's, to come to agin. +But he was up th'reckly and ready to a-went at it ef Bills +could a-come to the scratch; but Mister Bills he wasn't +in no fix to try it over! After a-waitin' a while fer him +to come to, and him not a-comin' to, we concluded 'at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span> +we'd better he'p him, maybe. And we worked with him, +and warshed him, and drenched him with whiskey, but it +'peared like it wasn't no use.—He jist laid there with his +eyes about half shet, and a-breathin' like a hoss when he's +bad sceart; and I'll be dad-limbed ef I don't believe he'd +a-<i>died</i> on our hands ef it hadn't a-happened old Doc Zions +come a-ridin' past on his way home from the Murdock +neighberhood, where they was a-havin' sich a time with +the milk-sick. And he examined Bills, and had him laid +on a plank and carried down to the house—'bout a mil'd, +I reckon, from the mill. Looked kindo' cur'ous to see +Steve a-he'ppin' pack the feller, after his nearly chokin' +him to death. Oh, it was a bloody fight, I tell you! +W'y, they wasn't a man in the mill 'at didn't have a +black eye er somepin'; and old Ezry, where Bills hit him, +had his nose broke, and was as bloody as a butcher. And +you'd ort a-seed the women-folks when our p'session come +a-bringin' Bills in. I never seed anybody take on like +Bills's woman.—It was distressin'; it was, indeed.—Went +into hysterics, she did; and we thought fer a while +she'd gone plum crazy, fer she cried so pitiful over him, +and called him "Charley! Charley!" 'stid of his right<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span> +name, and went on, clean out of her head, tel she finally +jist fainted clean away.</p> + +<p>Fer three weeks Bills laid betwixt life and death, and +that woman set by him night and day, and tended him +as patient as a' angel—and she <i>was</i> a' angel, too; and +he'd a-never lived to bother nobody agin ef it hadn't +a-be'n fer Annie, as he called her. Zions said there was +a 'brazure of the—some kind o' p'tuber'nce, and ef he'd +a-be'n struck jist a quarter of a' inch below—jist a quarter +of a' inch—he'd a be'n a dead man. And I've +sence wished—not 'at I want the life of a human bein' +to account fer—on'y,—well, no odds—I've sence wished +'at I <i>had</i> a-hit him jist a quarter of a' inch below!</p> + +<p>Well, of course, them days they wasn't no law o' no +account, and nothin' was ever done about it. So Steve +and me got our grindin', and talked the matter over with +Ezry and the boys. Ezry said he was a-goin' to do all +he could fer Bills, 'cause he was a good hand, and when +he wasn't drinkin' they wasn't no peaceabler man in the +Settlement. I kindo' suspicioned what was up, but I +said nothin' then. And Ezry said furder, as we was +about drivin' off, that Bills was a despert feller, and it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span> +was best to kindo' humor him a little. "And you must +kindo' be on you guard," he says, "and I'll watch him, +and ef anything happens 'at I git wind of I'll let you +know," he says; and so we putt out fer home.</p> + +<p>Mother tuk on awful about it. You see, she thought +she'd be'n the whole blame of it, 'cause the Sunday +afore that her and Steve had went to meetin', and they +got there late, and the house was crowded, and Steve +had ast Bills to give up his seat to Mother, and he +wouldn't do it, and said somepin' 'at disturbed the +prayin', and the preacher prayed 'at the feller 'at was +a-makin' the disturbance might be forgive'; and that +riled Bills so he got up and left, and hung around till it +broke up, so's he could git a chance at Steve to pick a +fight. And he did <i>try</i> it, and dared Steve and double-dared +him fer a fight, but Mother begged so hard 'at she +kep' him out of it. Steve said 'at he'd a-told me all +about it on the way to Ezry's on'y he'd promised +Mother, you know, not to say nothin' to me.</p> + +<hr style="width: 35%;" /> + +<p>Ezry was over at our house about six weeks after the +fight, appearantly as happy as you please. We ast him<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span> +how him and Bills was a-makin' it, and he said firstrate; +said 'at Bills was jist a-doin' splendid; said he'd got +moved in his new house 'at he'd fixed up fer him, and +ever'thing was a-goin' on as smooth as could be; and +Bills and the boys was on better terms'n ever; and says +he, "As fur as you and Steve's concerned, Bills don't +'pear to bear you no ill feelin's, and says as fur as he's +concerned the thing's settled." "Well," says I, "Ezry, +I hope so; but I can't he'p but think they's somepin' +at the bottom of all this"; and says I, "I don't +think it's in Bills to ever amount to anything good"; +and says I, "It's my opinion they's a dog in the well, +and now you mark it!"</p> + +<p>Well, he said he <i>wasn't</i> jist easy, but maybe he'd +come out all right; said he couldn't turn the feller off—he +hadn't the heart to do that, with that-air pore, dilicate +woman o' his, and the baby. And then he went +on to tell what a smart sorto' woman Bills's wife was,—one +of the nicest little women he'd ever laid eyes on, +said she was; said she was the kindest thing, and the +sweetest-tempered, and all—and the handiest woman +'bout the house, and 'bout sewin', and cookin', and the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span> +like, and all kinds o' housework; and so good to the +childern, and all; and how they all got along so well; +and how proud she was of her baby, and allus a-goin' +on about it and a-cryin' over it and a-carryin' on, and +wouldn't leave it out of her sight a minute. And Ezry +said 'at she could write so purty, and made sich purty +pictur's fer the childern; and how they all liked her +better'n their own mother. And, sence she'd moved, +he said it seemed so lonesome-like 'thout <i>her</i> about the +house—like they'd lost one o' their own fambly; said +they didn't git to see her much now, on'y sometimes, +when her man would be at work, she'd run over fer a +while, and kiss all the childern and women-folks about +the place,—the greatest hand fer the childern, she was; +tell 'em all sorts o' little stories, you know, and sing fer +'em; said 'at she could sing so sweet-like, 'at time and +time agin she'd break clean down in some song o' +nother, and her voice would trimble so mournful-like 'at +you'd find yourse'f a-cryin' afore you knowed it. And +she used to coax Ezry's woman to let her take the childern +home with her; and they used to allus want to go, +tel Bills come onc't while they was there, and they said<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span> +he got to jawin' her fer a-makin' some to-do over the +baby, and swore at her and tuk it away from her and +whirped it fer cryin', and <i>she</i> cried and told him to +whirp her and not little Annie, and he said that was jist +what he <i>was</i> a-doin'. And the childern was allus afeard +to go there any more after that—'feard he'd come home +and whirp little Annie agin. Ezry said he jist done +that to skeer 'em away—'cause he didn't want a passel +o' childern a-whoopin' and a-howlin' and a-trackin' +round the house all the time.</p> + +<p>But, shore enough, Bills, after the fight, 'peared like +he'd settled down, and went 'bout his business so stiddy-like, +and worked so well, the neighbers begin to think +he was all right after all, and railly <i>some</i> got to <i>likin'</i> +him. But fer <i>me</i>,—well, I was a leetle slow to argy 'at +the feller wasn't "a-possumin'." But the next time I +went over to the mill—and Steve went with me—old +Ezry come and met us, and said 'at Bills didn't have no +hard feelin's ef <i>we</i> didn't and 'at he wanted us to fergive +him; said 'at Bills wanted him to tell us 'at he was sorry +the way he'd acted, and wanted us to fergive him. Well, +I looked at Ezry, and we both looked at him, jist perfectly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span> +tuk back—the idee o' Bills a-wantin' anybody to <i>fergive +him</i>! And says I, "Ezry, what in the name o' common +sense do you mean?" And says he, "I mean jist what +I say; Bills jined meetin' last night and had 'em all +a-prayin' fer him; and we all had <i>a glorious time</i>," says +old Ezry; "and his woman was there and jined, too, and +prayed and shouted and tuk on to beat all; and Bills +got up and spoke and give in his experience, and said +he'd be'n a bad man, but, glory to God, them times was +past and gone; said 'at he wanted all of 'em to pray fer +him, and he wanted to prove faithful, and wanted all his +inemies to fergive him; and prayed 'at you and Steve +and your folks would fergive him, and ever'body 'at he +ever wronged anyway." And old Ezry was a-goin' on, +and his eyes a-sparklin', and a-rubbin' his hands, he was +so excited and tickled over it, 'at Steve and me we jist +stood there a-gawkin' like, tel Bills hisse'f come up and +retch out one hand to Steve and one to me; and Steve +shuk with him kindo' oneasy-like, and I—well, sir, I +never felt cur'oser in my born days than I did that minute. +The cold chills crep' over me, and I shuk as ef I +had the agur, and I folded my hands behind me and I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span> +looked that feller square in the eye, and I tried to speak +three or four times afore I could make it, and when I +did, my voice wasn't natchurl—sounded like a feller +a-whisperin' through a tin horn er somepin'.—And I says, +says I, "You're a liar," slow and delibert. That was all. +His eyes blazed a minute, and drapped; and he turned, +'thout a word, and walked off. And Ezry says, "He's +in airnest; I know he's in airnest, er he'd a-never a-tuk +that!" And so he went on, tel finally Steve jined in, +and betwixt 'em they p'suaded me 'at I was in the wrong +and the best thing to do was to make it all up, which I +finally did. And Bills said 'at he'd a-never a-felt jist +right 'thout <i>my</i> friendship, fer he'd wronged me, he said, +and he'd wronged Steve and Mother, too, and he wanted +a chance, he said, o' makin' things straight agin.</p> + +<p>Well, a-goin' home, I don't think Steve and me talked o' +nothin' else but Bills—how airnest the feller acted 'bout +it, and how, ef he <i>wasn't</i> in airnest, he'd a-never a-swallered +that "lie," you see. That's what walked my +log, fer he could a-jist as easy a-knocked me higher'n +Kilgore's kite as he could to walk away 'thout a-doin' +of it.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span></p> + +<p>Mother was awful tickled when she heerd about it, fer +she'd had an idee 'at we'd have trouble afore we got +back, and a-gitten home safe, and a-bringin' the news +'bout Bills a-jinin' church and all, tickled her so 'at she +mighty nigh shouted fer joy. You see, Mother was a' +old church-member all her life; and I don't think she +ever missed a sermont er a prayer-meetin' 'at she could +possibly git to—rain er shine, wet er dry. When they +was a meetin' of any kind a-goin' on, go she would, and +nothin' short o' sickness in the fambly, er knowin' nothin' +of it, would stop <i>her</i>! And clean up to her dyin' day +she was a God-fearin' and consistent Christian ef they +ever was one. I mind now when she was tuk with her +last spell and laid bedfast fer eighteen months, she used +to tell the preacher, when he'd come to see her and pray +and go on, 'at she could die happy ef she could on'y be +with 'em all agin in their love-feasts and revivals. She +was purty low then, and had be'n a-failin' fast fer a day er +two; and that day they'd be'n a-holdin' service at the +house. It was her request, you know, and the neighbers +had congergated and was a-prayin' and a-singin' her +favorite hymns—one in p'tickler, "God moves in a myster'ous<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span> +way his wunders to p'form," and 'bout his "Walkin' +on the sea and a-ridin' of the storm."—Well, anyway, +they'd be'n a-singin' that hymn fer her—she used to sing +that'n so much, I rickollect as fur back as I kin remember; +and I mind how it used to make me feel so lonesome-like +and solemn, don't you know,—when I'd be a-knockin' +round the place along o' evenings, and she'd be a-milkin', +and I'd hear her, at my feedin', way off by myse'f, and it +allus somehow made me feel like a feller'd ort 'o try and +live as nigh right as the law allows, and that's about my +doctern yit. Well, as I was a-goin' on to say, they'd jist +finished that old hymn, and Granny Lowry was jist a-goin' +to lead in prayer, when I noticed Mother kindo' tried to +turn herse'f in bed, and smiled so weak and faint-like, +and looked at me, with her lips a-kindo' movin'; and I +thought maybe she wanted another dos't of her syrup +'at Ezry's woman had fixed up fer her, and I kindo' +stooped down over her and ast her ef she wanted anything. +"Yes," she says, and nodded, and her voice +sounded so low and solemn and so fur-away-like 'at I +knowed she'd never take no more medicine on this airth. +And I tried to ast her what it was she wanted, but I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span> +couldn't say nothin'; my throat hurt me, and I felt the +warm tears a-boolgin' up, and her kind old face a-glimmerin' +away so pale-like afore my eyes, and still +a-smilin' up so lovin' and forgivin' and so good 'at it +made me think so fur back in the past I seemed to be a +little boy agin; and seemed like her thin gray hair was +brown and a-shinin' in the sun as it used to do when she +helt me on her shoulder in the open door, when Father +was a-livin' and we used to go to meet him at the bars; +seemed like her face was young agin, and a-smilin' +like it allus used to be, and her eyes as full o' hope and +happiness as afore they ever looked on grief er ever +shed a tear. And I thought of all the trouble they had +saw on my account, and of all the lovin' words her lips +had said, and of all the thousand things her pore old +hands had done fer me 'at I never even thanked her +fer; and how I loved her better'n all the world besides, +and would be so lonesome ef she went away.—Lord! +I can't tell you what I <i>didn't</i> think and feel +and see. And I knelt down by her, and she whispered +then fer Steven, and he come, and we kissed her—and +she died—a-smilin' like a child—jist like a child.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span></p> + +<p>Well—well! 'Pears like I'm allus a-runnin' into +somepin' else. I wisht I <i>could</i> tell a story 'thout driftin' +off in matters 'at hain't no livin' thing to do with +what I started out with. I try to keep from thinkin' of +afflictions and the like, 'cause sich is bound to come to +the best of us; but a feller's rickollection will bring 'em +up, and I reckon it'd ort'o be er it wouldn't be; and I've +thought, sometimes, it was done maybe to kindo' admonish +a feller, as the Good Book says, of how good a +world'd be 'thout no sorrow in it.</p> + +<p>Where was I? Oh, yes, I rickollect;—about Bills +a-jinin' church. Well, sir, they wasn't a better-actin' +feller and more religious-like in all the neighberhood. +Spoke in meetin's, he did, and tuk a' active part in all +religious doin's, and, in fact, was jist as square a man, +appearantly, as the preacher hisse'f. And about six er +eight weeks after he'd jined, they got up another revival, +and things run high. They was a big excitement, +and ever'body was a'tendin' from fur and near. Bills +and Ezry got the mill-hands to go, and didn't talk o' +nothin' <i>but</i> religion. People thought awhile 'at old +Ezry'd turn preacher, he got so interested 'bout church<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span> +matters. He was easy excited 'bout anything; and +when he went into a thing it was in dead airnest, +shore!—"jist flew off the handle," as I heerd a comical +feller git off onc't. And him and Bills was up and at +it ever' night—prayin' and shoutin' at the top o' their +voice. Them railly did seem like good times—when +ever'body jined together, and prayed and shouted hosanner, +and danced around together, and hugged each +other like they was so full o' glory they jist couldn't +he'p theirse'v's!—That's the reason <i>I</i> jined; it looked +so kindo' whole-souled-like and good, you understand. +But law! I didn't hold out—on'y fer a little while, and +no wunder!</p> + +<p>Well, about them times Bills was tuk down with the +agur; first got to chillin' ever'-other-day, then <i>ever'</i> day, +and harder and harder, tel sometimes he'd be obleeged +to stay away from meetin' on account of it. And onc't +I was at meetin' when he told about it, and how when +he couldn't be with 'em he allus prayed at home, and he +said 'at he believed his prayers was answered, fer onc't +he'd prayed fer a new outpourin' of the Holy Sperit, +and that very night they was three new jiners. And another<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span> +time he said 'at he'd prayed 'at Wesley Morris +would jine, and lo and behold you! he <i>did</i> jine, and the +very night 'at he <i>prayed</i> he would.</p> + +<p>Well, the night I'm a-speakin' of he'd had a chill the +day afore and couldn't go that night, and was in bed +when Ezry druv past fer him; said he'd like to go, but +had a high fever and couldn't. And then Ezry's woman +ast him ef he was too sick to spare Annie; and he said +no, they could take her and the baby: and told her to +fix his medicine so's he could reach it 'thout gittin' out +o' bed, and he'd git along 'thout her. And so she tuk +the baby and went along with Ezry and his folks.</p> + +<p>I was at meetin' that night and rickollect 'em comin' +in. Annie got a seat jist behind me—Steve give her +his'n and stood up; and I rickollect a-astin' her how +Bills was a-gittin' along with the agur; and little Annie, +the baby, kep' a-pullin' my hair and a-crowin' tel finally +she went to sleep; and Steve ast her mother to let +<i>him</i> hold her—cutest little thing you ever laid eyes on, +and the very pictur' <i>of</i> her mother.</p> + +<p>Old Daddy Barker preached that night, and a mighty +good sermont. His text, ef I rickollect right, was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span> +"workin' out your own salvation"; and when I listen to +preachers nowadays in their big churches and their fine +pulpits, I allus think o' Daddy Barker, and kindo' some +way wisht the old times could come agin, with the +old log meetin'-house with its puncheon-floor, and the +chinkin' in the walls, and old Daddy Barker in the pulpit. +He'd make you feel 'at the Lord could make Hisse'f +at home there, and find jist as abundant comfort in +the old log house as He could in any of your fine-furnished +churches 'at you can't set down in 'thout payin' +fer the privilege, like it was a theatre.</p> + +<p>Ezry had his two little girls jine that night, and I +rickollect the preacher made sich a purty prayer about +the Saviour a-cotin' from the Bible 'bout "Suffer little +childern to come unto Me"—and all; and talked so purty +'bout the jedgment day, and mothers a-meetin' their +little ones there—and all; and went on tel they wasn't +a dry eye in the house—And jist as he was a-windin' up, +Abe Riggers stuck his head in at the door and hollered +"Fire!" loud as he could yell. We all rushed out, +a-thinkin' it was the meetin'-house; but he hollered it +was the mill; and shore enough, away off to the south'ards<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span> +we could see the light acrost the woods, and see +the blaze a-lickin' up above the trees. I seed old Ezry +as he come a-scufflin' through the crowd; and we putt +out together fer it. Well, it was two mil'd to the mill, +but by the time we'd half-way got there, we could tell +it wasn't the mill a-burnin', 'at the fire was furder to +the left, and that was Ezry's house; and by the time we +got there it wasn't much use. We pitched into the +household goods, and got out the beddin', and the furnitur' +and cheers, and the like o' that; saved the clock +and a bedstid, and got the bureau purt' nigh out when +they hollered to us 'at the roof was a-cavin' in, and we +had to leave it; well, we'd tuk the drawers out, all but +the big one, and that was locked; and it and all in it +went with the buildin'; and that was a big loss: All +the money 'at Ezry was a-layin' by was in that-air +drawer, and a lot o' keepsakes and trinkets 'at Ezry's +woman said she wouldn't a-parted with fer the world +and all.</p> + +<p>I never seed a troubleder fambly than they was. It +jist 'peared like old Ezry give clean down, and the women +and childern a-cryin' and a-takin' on. It looked<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span> +jist awful—shore's you're born!—Losin' ever'thing +they'd worked so hard fer—and there it was, purt' nigh +midnight, and a fambly, jist a little while ago all so +happy, and now with no home to go to, ner nothin'!</p> + +<p>It was arranged fer Ezry's to move in with Bills—that +was about the on'y chance—on'y one room and a +loft; but Bills said they could manage <i>some</i> way, fer a +while anyhow.</p> + +<p>Bills said he seed the fire when it first started, and +could a-putt it out ef he'd on'y be'n strong enough to +git there; said he started twic't to go, but was too weak +and had to go back to bed agin; said it was a-blazin' +in the kitchen roof when he first seed it. So the gineral +conclusion 'at we all come to was—it must a-ketched +from the flue.</p> + +<hr style="width: 35%;" /> + +<p>It was too late in the fall then to think o' buildin' even +the onriest kind o' shanty, and so Ezry moved in with +Bills. And Bills used to say ef it hadn't a-be'n fer Ezry +<i>he'd</i> a-never a-had no house, ner nothin' to putt in it, +nuther! You see, all the household goods 'at Bills had +in the world he'd got of Ezry, and he 'lowed he'd be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span> +a triflin' whelp ef he didn't do all in <i>his</i> power to make +<i>Ezry</i> perfeckly at home's long as he wanted to stay +there. And together they managed to make room fer +'em all, by a-buildin' a kindo' shed-like to the main +house, intendin' to build when Spring come. And +ever'thing went along first-rate, I guess; never heerd +no complaints—that is, p'tickler.</p> + +<p>Ezry was kindo' down fer a long time, though; didn't +like to talk about his trouble much, and didn't 'tend +meetin' much, like he used to; said it made him think +'bout his house burnin', and he didn't feel safe to lose +sight o' the mill. And the meetin's kindo' broke up +altogether that winter. Almost broke up religious doin's, +it did. 'S long as I've lived here I never seed jist +sich a slack in religion as they was that winter; and 'fore +<i>then</i>, I kin mind the time when they wasn't a night the +whole endurin' winter when they didn't have preachin' +er prayer-meetin' o' some kind a-goin' on. W'y, I +rickollect one night in p'tickler—the <i>coldest</i> night, +<i>whooh</i>! And somebody had stold the meetin'-house +door, and they was obleeged to preach 'thout it. And +the wind blowed in so they had to hold their hats afore<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span> +the candles, and then onc't-in-a-while they'd git sluffed +out. And the snow drifted in so it was jist like settin' +out doors; and they had to stand up when they prayed—yes-sir! +stood up to pray. I noticed that night they +was a' oncommon lot o' jiners, and I believe to this +day 'at most of 'em jined jist to git up where the stove +was. Lots o' folks had their feet froze right in meetin'; +and Steve come home with his ears froze like they +was whittled out o' bone; and he said 'at Mary Madaline +Wells's feet was froze, and she had two pair o' +socks on over her shoes. Oh, it <i>was</i> cold, now I <i>tell</i> +you!</p> + +<p>They run the mill part o' that winter—part they +couldn't. And they didn't work to say stiddy tel along +in Aprile, and then they was snow on the ground yit—in +the shadders—and the ground froze, so you couldn't +hardly dig a grave. But at last they got to kindo' jiggin' +along agin. Plenty to do there was; and old Ezry +was mighty tickled, too; 'peared to recruit right up like. +Ezry was allus best tickled when things was a-stirrin', +and then he was a-gittin' ready fer buildin', you know,—wanted +a house of his own, he said.—And of course it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span> +wasn't adzackly like home, all cluttered up as they was +there at Bills's. They got along mighty well, though, +together; and the women-folks and childern got along +the best in the world. Ezry's woman used to say she +never laid eyes on jist sich another woman as Annie was. +Said it was jist as good as a winter's schoolin' fer the +childern; said her two little girls had learnt to read, and +didn't know their a-b abs afore Annie learnt 'em; well, +the oldest one, Mary Patience, she <i>did</i> know her <i>letters</i>, +I guess—fourteen year old, she was; but Mandy, the +youngest, had never seed inside a book afore that winter; +and the way she learnt was jist su'prisin'. She was +puny-like and frail-lookin' allus, but ever'body 'lowed she +was a heap smarter'n Mary Patience, and she <i>was</i>; and +in my opinion she railly had more sense'n all the rest o' +the childern putt together, 'bout books and cipherin' and +'rethmetic, and the like; and John Wesley, the oldest of +'em, he got to teachin' at last, when he growed up,—but, +law! he couldn't write his own name so's you could read +it. I allus thought they was a good 'eal of old Ezry in +John Wesley. Liked to romance 'round with the youngsters +'most too well.—Spiled him fer teachin', I allus<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span> +thought; fer instance, ef a scholard said somepin' funny +in school, John-Wes he'd jist have to have his laugh out +with the rest, and it was jist fun fer the boys, you know, +to go to school to <i>him</i>. Allus in fer spellin'-matches +and the like, and learnin' songs and sich. I rickollect +he give a' exhibition onc't, one winter, and I'll never +fergit it, I rickon.</p> + +<p>The school-house would on'y hold 'bout forty, comf'table, +and that night they was up'ards of a hunderd er +more—jist crammed and jammed! And the benches +was piled back so's to make room fer the flatform they'd +built to make their speeches and dialogues on; and fellers +a-settin' up on them back seats, their heads was clean +aginst the j'ist. It was a low ceilin', anyhow, and o' +course them 'at tuk a part in the doin's was way up, too. +Janey Thompson had to give up her part in a dialogue, +'cause she looked so tall she was afeard the congergation +would laugh at her; and they couldn't git her to come +out and sing in the openin' song 'thout lettin' her set +down first and git ready 'fore they pulled the curtain. +You see, they had sheets sewed together, and fixed on a +string some way, to slide back'ards and for'ards, don't<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span> +you know. But they was a big bother to 'em—couldn't +git 'em to work like. Ever' time they'd git 'em slid 'bout +half-way acrost, somepin' would ketch, and they'd haf +to stop and fool with 'em awhile 'fore they could git 'em +the balance o' the way acrost. Well, finally, to'rds the +last, they jist kep' 'em drawed back all the time. It +was a pore affair, and spiled purt' nigh ever' piece; but +the scholards all wanted it fixed thataway, the teacher +said, in a few appropert remarks he made when the +thing was over. Well, I was a-settin' in the back part +o' the house on them high benches, and my head was jist +even with them on the flatform, and the lights was pore, +and where the string was stretched fer the curtain to +slide on it looked like the p'formers was strung on it. +And when Lige Boyer's boy was a-speakin'—kindo' +mumbled it, you know, and you couldn't half hear—it +looked fer the world like he was a-chawin' on that-air +string; and some devilish feller 'lowed ef he'd chaw it +clean in two it'd be a good thing fer the balance. After +that they all sung a sleigh-ridin' song, and it was right +purty, the way they got it off. Had a passel o' sleigh-bells<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span> +they'd ring ever' onc't-in-a-while, and it sounded +purty—shore!</p> + +<p>Then Hunicut's girl, Marindy, read a letter 'bout +winter, and what fun the youngsters allus had in winter-time, +a-sleighin' and the like, and spellin'-matches, and +huskin'-bees, and all. Purty good, it was, and made a +feller think o' old times. Well, that was about the best +thing they was done that night; but everybody said the +teacher wrote it fer her; and I wouldn't be su'prised +much, fer they was married not long afterwards. I expect +he wrote it fer her.—Wouldn't putt it past Wes!</p> + +<p>They had a dialogue, too, 'at was purty good. Little +Bob Arnold was all fixed up—had on his pap's old bell-crowned +hat, the one he was married in. Well, I jist +thought die I would when I seed that old hat and called +to mind the night his pap was married, and we all got +him a little how-come-you-so on some left-handed cider +'at' had be'n a-layin' in a whiskey-bar'l tel it was strong +enough to bear up a' egg. I kin rickollect now jist how +he looked in that hat, when it was all new, you know, +and a-settin' on the back of his head, and his hair in his +eyes; and sich hair!—as red as git-out—and his little<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span> +black eyes a-shinin' like beads. Well-sir, you'd a-died +to a-seed him a-dancin'. We danced all night that +night, and would a-be'n a-dancin' yit, I rickon, ef the +fiddler hadn't a-give out. Wash Lowry was a-fiddlin' +fer us; and along to'rds three er four in the morning +Wash was purty well fagged out. You see, Wash +could never play fer a dance er nothin' 'thout a-drinkin' +more or less, and when he got to a certain pitch you +couldn't git nothin' out o' him but "Barbary Allan"; +so at last he struck up on that, and jist kep' it up, and +<i>kep'</i> it up, and nobody couldn't git nothin' else out of +him!</p> + +<p>Now, anybody 'at ever danced knows 'at "Barbary +Allan" hain't no tune to dance by, <i>no</i> way you can fix +it; and, o' course, the boys seed at onc't their fun was +gone ef they couldn't git him on another tune.—And +they'd coax and beg and plead with him, and maybe git +him started on "The Wind Blows over the Barley," +and 'bout the time they'd git to knockin' it down agin +purty lively, he'd go to sawin' away on "Barbary +Allan"—and I'll-be-switched-to-death ef that feller +didn't set there and play hisse'f sound asleep on "Barbary<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span> +Allan," and we had to wake him up afore he'd +quit! Now, that's jes' the plum facts. And they +wasn't a better fiddler nowheres than Wash Lowry, +when he was at hisse'f. I've heerd a good many fiddlers +in my day, and I never heerd one yit 'at could play +my style o' fiddlin' ekal to Wash Lowry. You see, +Wash didn't play none o' this-here new-fangled music—nothin' +but the old tunes, you understand, "The +Forkéd Deer," and "Old Fat Gal," and "Gray Eagle," +and the like. Now, them's music! Used to like +to hear Wash play "Gray Eagle." He could come as +nigh a-makin' that old tune talk as ever you heerd! +Used to think a heap o' his fiddle—and he had a good +one, shore. I've heerd him say, time and time agin, +'at a five-dollar gold-piece wouldn't buy it, and I +knowed him myse'f to refuse a calf fer it onc't—yes-sir, +a yearland calf—and the feller offered him a double-bar'l'd +pistol to boot, and blame ef he'd take it; said +he'd ruther part with anything else he owned than his +fiddle.—But here I am, clean out o' the furry agin!... +Oh, yes; I was a-tellin' 'bout little Bob, with that +old hat; and he had on a swaller-tail coat and a lot o'<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span> +fixin's, a-actin' like he was a squire; and he had him a +great long beard made out o' corn-silks, and you +wouldn't a-knowed him ef it wasn't fer his voice. +Well, he was a-p'tendin' he was a squire a-tryin' some +kind o' law-suit, you see; and John Wesley he was the +defendunt, and Joney Wiles, I believe it was, played +like he was the plaintive. And they'd had a fallin' out +'bout some land, and was a-lawin' fer p'session, you +understand. Well, Bob he made out it was a mighty +bad case when <i>John-Wes</i> comes to consult him 'bout +it, and tells <i>him</i> ef a little p'int o' law was left out he +thought he could git the land fer him. And then John-Wes +<i>bribes</i> him, you understand, to leave out the p'int +o' law, and the squire says he'll do all he kin, and so +John-Wes goes out a-feelin' purty good. Then <i>Wiles</i> +comes in to consult the squire, don't you see. And the +'squire tells <i>him</i> the same tale he told <i>John Wesley</i>. +So <i>Wiles</i> bribes him to leave out the p'int o' law in <i>his</i> +favor, don't you know. So when the case is tried he +decides in favor o' John-Wes, a-tellin' <i>Wiles</i> some +cock-and-bull story 'bout havin' to manage it thataway +so's to git the case mixed so's he could git it fer him<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span> +shore; and posts <i>him</i> to sue fer change of venue or +somepin',—anyway, Wiles gits a new trial, and then the +squire decides in <i>his</i> favor, and tells John-Wes another +trial will fix it in <i>his</i> favor, and so on.—And so it goes +on tel, anyway, he gits holt o' the land hisse'f and all +their money besides, and leaves them to hold the bag! +Well-sir, it was purty well got up; and they said it was +John-Wes's doin's, and I 'low it was—he was a good +hand at anything o' that sort, and knowed how to make +fun.—But I've be'n a-tellin' you purty much ever'thing +but what I started out with, and I'll try and hurry +through, 'cause I know you're tired.</p> + +<p>'Long 'bout the beginnin' o' summer, things had got +back to purty much the old way. The boys round was +a-gittin' devilish, and o' nights 'specially theyr was a +sight o' meanness a-goin' on. The mill-hands, most of +'em, was mixed up in it—Coke and Morris, and them 'at +had jined meetin' 'long in the winter had all backslid, +and was a-drinkin' and carousin' round worse'n ever.</p> + +<p>People perdicted 'at <i>Bills</i> would backslide, but he +helt on faithful, to all appearance; said he liked to see +a feller when he made up his mind to do right, he liked<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span> +to see him do it, and not go back on his word; and even +went so fer as to tell Ezry ef they didn't putt a stop to +it he'd quit the neighberhood and go somers else. And +Bills was Ezry's head man then, and he couldn't a-got +along 'thout him; and I b'lieve ef Bills had a-said the +word old Ezry would a-turned off ever' hand he had.—He +got so he jist left ever'thing to Bills. Ben Carter +was turned off fer somepin', and nobody ever knowed +what. Bills and him had never got along jist right +sence the fight.</p> + +<p>Ben was with this set I was a-tellin' you 'bout, and +they'd got him to drinkin' and in trouble, o' course. I'd +knowed Ben well enough to know he wouldn't do nothin' +ornry ef he wasn't agged on, and ef he ever was +mixed up in anything o' the kind Wes Morris and John +Coke was at the bottom of it, and I take notice <i>they</i> +wasn't turned off when Ben was.</p> + +<p>One night the crowd was out, and Ben amongst 'em, +o' course.—Sence he'd be'n turned off he'd be'n a-drinkin',—and +I never blamed him much; he was so good-hearted +like and easy led off, and I allus b'lieved it +wasn't his own doin's.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span></p> + +<p>Well, this night they cut up awful, and ef they was +one fight they was a dozend; and when all the devilment +was done they <i>could</i> do, they started on a stealin' expedition, +and stold a lot o' chickens and tuk 'em to the mill +to roast 'em; and, to make a long story short, that night +the mill burnt clean to the ground. And the whole pack +of 'em collogued together aginst Carter to saddle it onto +him; claimed 'at they left Ben there at the mill 'bout +twelve o'clock—which was a fact, fer he was dead drunk +and couldn't git away. Steve stumbled over him while +the mill was a-burnin' and drug him out afore he knowed +what was a-goin' on, and it was all plain enough to Steve +'at Ben didn't have no hand in the firin' of it. But I'll +tell you he sobered up mighty suddent when he seed +what was a-goin' on, and heerd the neighbers a-hollerin', +and a-threatenin' and a-goin' on!—fer it seemed to +be the ginerl idee 'at the buildin' was fired a-purpose. +And says Ben to Steve, says he, "I expect I'll haf to +say good-bye to you, fer they've got me in a ticklish +place! I kin see through it all now, when it's too +late!" And jist then Wesley Morris hollers out, +"Where's Ben Carter?" and started to'rds where me<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span> +and Ben and Steve was a-standin'; and Ben says, wild-like, +"Don't you two fellers ever think it was <i>my</i> +doin's," and whispers "Good-bye," and started off; +and when we turned, Wesley Morris was a-layin' flat of +his back, and we heerd Carter yell to the crowd 'at +"that man"—meanin' Morris—"needed lookin' after +worse than <i>he</i> did," and another minute he plunged +into the river and swum acrost; and we all stood and +watched him in the flickerin' light tel he clum out on +t'other bank; and 'at was the last anybody ever seed o' +Ben Carter!</p> + +<p>It must a-be'n about three o'clock in the morning by +this time, and the mill then was jist a-smoulderin' to +ashes—fer it was as dry as tinder and burnt like a flash—and +jist as a party was a-talkin' o' organizin' and follerin' +Carter, we heerd a yell 'at I'll never fergit ef I'd +live tell another flood. Old Ezry, it was, as white as a +corpse, and with the blood a-streamin' out of a gash in +his forred, and his clothes half on, come a-rushin' into +the crowd and a-hollerin' fire and murder ever' jump. +"My house is a-burnin', and my folks is all a-bein' murdered +whilse you're a-standin' here! And Bills done it!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span> +Bills done it!" he hollered, as he headed the crowd and +started back fer home. "Bills done it! I caught him at +it; and he would a-murdered me in cold blood ef it +hadn't a-be'n fer his woman. He knocked me down, and +had me tied to a bed-post in the kitchen afore I come to. +And his woman cut me loose and told me to run fer he'p; +and says I, 'Where's Bills?' and she says, 'He's after +<i>me</i> by this time.' And jist then we heerd Bills holler, +and we looked, and he was a-standin' out in the clearin' +in front o' the house, with little Annie in his arms; and +he hollered wouldn't she like to kiss the baby good-bye. +And she hollered My God! fer me to save little Annie, +and fainted clean dead away. And I heerd the roof +a-crackin', and grabbed her up and packed her out jist +in time. And when I looked up, Bills hollered out agin, +and says, 'Ezry,' he says, 'you kin begin to kindo' git +an idee o' what a good feller I am! And ef you hadn't +a-caught me you'd a-never a-knowed it, and "<i>Brother +Williams</i>" wouldn't a-be'n called away to another app'intment +like he is.' And says he, 'Now, ef you foller +me I'll finish you shore!—You're safe <i>now</i> fer I hain't +got time to waste on you furder.' And jist then his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span> +woman kindo' come to her senses ag'in and hollered fer +little Annie, and the child heerd her and helt out its +little arms to go to her, and hollered 'Mother! Mother!' +And Bills says, 'Dam yer mother! ef it hadn't a-be'n +fer <i>her</i> I' a-be'n all right. And dam you, too!' he says +to me.—'This'll pay you fer that lick you struck me; +and fer you a-startin' reports, when I first come, 'at more'n +likely I'd done somepin' mean over East and come out +West to reform! And I wonder ef I <i>didn't</i> do somepin' +mean afore I come here?' he went on; 'kill somebody er +somepin'? And I wonder ef I ain't reformed enough +to go back? Good-bye, Annie!' he hollered; 'and you +needn't fret about yer baby, I'll be the same indulgent +father to it I've allus be'n!' And the baby was a-cryin' +and a-reachin' out its little arms to'rds its mother, when +Bills he turned and struck off in the dark to'rds the river."</p> + +<p>This was about the tale 'at Ezry told us, as nigh as I +can rickollect: and by the time he finished, I never want +to see jist sich another crowd o' men as was a-swarmin' +there. Ain't it awful when sich a crowd gits together? +I tell you it makes my flesh creep to think about it!</p> + +<p>As Bills had gone in the direction of the river, we<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span> +wasn't long in makin' our minds up 'at he'd haf to cross +it, and ef he done <i>that</i> he'd haf to use the boat 'at was +down below the mill, er wade it at the ford, a mil'd er +more down. So we divided in three sections, like—one +to go and look after the folks at the house, and another +to the boat, and another to the ford. And Steve and +me and Ezry was in the crowd 'at struck fer the boat: +and we made time a-gittin' there! It was awful dark, +and the sky was a-cloudin' up, like a storm; but we wasn't +long a-gittin' to the p'int where the boat was allus tied; +but they wasn't no boat there! Steve kindo' tuk the +lead, and we all talked in whispers. And Steve said to +kindo' lay low and maybe we could hear somepin'; and +some feller said he thought he heerd somepin' strange-like, +but the wind was kindo' raisin' and kep' up sich a +moanin' through the trees along the bank 'at we couldn't +make out nothin'. "Listen!" says Steve, suddent-like, +"<i>I</i> hear somepin'!" We was all still ag'in—and we all +heerd a moanin' 'at was sadder'n the wind—sounded +mournfuller to <i>me</i>,—'cause I knowed it in a minute, and I +whispered, "Little Annie." And 'way out acrost the +river we could hear the little thing a-sobbin', and we all<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span> +was still's death; and we heerd a voice we knowed was +Bills's say, "Dam ye! Keep still, or I'll drownd ye!" +And the wind kindo' moaned ag'in, and we could hear +the trees a-screetchin' together in the dark, and the +leaves a-rustlin'; and when it kindo' lulled ag'in, we +heerd Bills make a kindo' splash with the oars; and jist +then Steve whispered fer to lay low and be ready—he +was a-goin' to riconn'itre; and he took his coat and +shoes off, and slid over the bank and down into the +worter as slik as a' eel. Then ever'thing was still +ag'in, 'cept the moanin' o' the child, which kep' a-gittin' +louder and louder; and then a voice whispered to +us, "He's a-comin' back; the crowd below has sent +scouts up, and they're on t'other side. Now watch +clos't, and he's our meat." We could hear Bills, by +the moanin' o' the baby, a-comin' nearder and nearder, +tel suddently he made a sorto' miss-lick with the oar, I +reckon, and must a-splashed the baby, fer she set up a +loud cryin'; and jist then old Ezry, who was a-leanin' +over the bank, kindo' lost his grip, some way o' nother, +and fell kersplash in the worter like a' old chunk. +"Hello?" says Bills, through the dark, "you're there,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span> +too, air ye?" as old Ezry splashed up the bank ag'in. +And "Cuss you!" he says then, to the baby—"ef it +hadn't be'n fer <i>your</i> infernal squawkin' I'd a-be'n all +right; but you've brought the whole neighberhood out, +and, dam you, I'll jist let you swim out to 'em!" And +we heerd a splash, then a kindo gurglin', and then +Steve's voice a-hollerin', "Close in on him, boys; I've +got the baby!" And about a dozent of us bobbed off +the bank like so many bull-frogs, and I'll tell you the +worter b'iled! We could jist make out the shape o' +the boat, and Bills a-standin' with a' oar drawed back to +smash the first head 'at come in range. It was a mean +place to git at him. We knowed he was despert, and +fer a minute we kindo' helt back. Fifteen foot o' +worter's a mighty onhandy place to git hit over the +head in! And Bills says, "You hain't afeard, I rickon—twenty +men ag'in one!" "You'd better give yourse'f +up!" hollered Ezry from the shore. "No, Brother +Sturgiss," says Bills, "I can't say 'at I'm at all anxious +'bout bein' borned ag'in, jist yit awhile," he says; "I +see you kindo' 'pear to go in fer baptism; guess you'd +better go home and git some dry clothes on; and,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span> +speakin' o' home, you'd ort 'o be there by all means—your +house might catch afire and burn up whilse you're +gone!" And jist then the boat give a suddent shove +under him—some feller'd div under and tilted it—and +fer a minute it throwed him off his guard, and the boys +closed in. Still he had the advantage, bein' in the boat: +and as fast as a feller would climb in he'd git a whack +o' the oar, tell finally they got to pilin' in a little too +fast fer him to manage, and he hollered then at we'd +have to come to the bottom ef we got him, and with +that he div out o' the end o' the boat, and we lost sight +of him; and I'll be blame ef he didn't give us the slip +after all!</p> + +<p>Wellsir, we watched fer him, and some o' the boys +swum on down stream, expectin' he'd raise, but couldn't +find hide ner hair of him; so we left the boat a-driftin' +off down stream and swum ashore, a-thinkin' he'd jist +drownded hisse'f a-purpose. But they was more su'prise +waitin' fer us yit,—fer lo-and-behold-ye, when we +got ashore they wasn't no trace o' Steve er the baby to +be found. Ezry said he seed Steve when he fetched +little Annie ashore, and she was all right, on'y she was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span> +purt-nigh past cryin'; and he said Steve had lapped his +coat around her and give her to him to take charge of, +and he got so excited over the fight he laid her down +betwixt a couple o' logs and kindo' fergot about her tel +the thing was over, and he went to look fer her, and she +was gone. Couldn't a-be'n 'at she'd a-wundered off +her-own-se'f; and it couldn't a-be'n 'at <i>Steve</i>'d take +her, 'thout a-lettin' us know it. It was a mighty aggervatin' +conclusion to come to, but we had to do it, +and that was, <i>Bills</i> must a-got ashore unbeknownst to +us and packed her off. Sich a thing wasn't hardly +probable, yit it was a thing 'at <i>might</i> be; and after +a-talkin' it over we had to admit 'at <i>that</i> must a-be'n +the way of it. But where was <i>Steve</i>? W'y, we argied, +he'd diskivvered she was gone, and had putt out on +track of her 'thout losin' time to stop and explain the +thing. The next question was, what did Bills want +with her ag'in?—He'd tried to drownd her onc't. We +could ast questions enough, but c'rect answers was +mighty skearce, and we jist concluded 'at the best thing +to do was to putt out fer the ford, fer that was the nighdest +place Bills could cross 'thout a boat, and ef it <i>was</i><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span> +him tuk the child, he was still on our side o' the river, +o' course. So we struck out fer the ford, a-leavin' +a couple o' men to search <i>up</i> the river. A drizzlin' +sorto' rain had set in by this time, and with that and +the darkness and the moanin' of the wind, it made 'bout +as lonesome a prospect as a feller ever wants to go +through ag'in.</p> + +<p>It was jist a-gittin' a little gray-like in the morning by +the time we reached the ford, but you couldn't hardly +see two rods afore you fer the mist and the fog 'at had +settled along the river. We looked fer tracks, but +couldn't make out nothin'. Thereckly old Ezry punched +me and p'inted out acrost the river. "What's that?" +he whispers. Jist 'bout half-way acrost was somepin' +white-like in the worter—couldn't make out what—perfeckly +still it was. And I whispered back and told him +I guess it wasn't nothin' but a sycamore snag. "Listen!" +says he; "sycamore snags don't make no noise like that!" +And, shore enough, it was the same moanin' noise we'd +heerd the baby makin' when we first got on the track. +Sobbin' she was, as though nigh about dead. "Well, ef +that's <i>Bills</i>," says I—"and I reckon they hain't no<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span> +doubt but it is—what in the name o' all that's good and +bad's the feller a-standin' there fer!" And a-creepin' +clos'ter, we could make him out plainer and plainer. It +<i>was</i> him; and there he stood breast-high in the worter, +a-holdin' the baby on his shoulder like, and a-lookin' up +stream, and a-waitin.'</p> + +<p>"What do you make out of it?" says Ezry. "What's +he waitin' fer?"</p> + +<p>And, a-strainin' my eyes in the direction <i>he</i> was +a-lookin', I seed somepin' a-movin' down the river, and +a minute later I'd made out the old boat a-driftin' down +stream; and then of course ever'thing was plain enough: +He was waitin' fer the boat, and ef he got <i>that</i> he'd +have the same advantage on us he had afore.</p> + +<p>"Boys," says I, "he mustn't git that boat ag'in! +Foller me, and don't let him git to the shore alive!" +And in we plunged. He seed us, but he never budged, +on'y to grab the baby by its little legs, and swing it out +at arms-len'th. "Stop, there!" he hollered.—"Stop +jist where ye air! Move another inch and I'll drownd +this dam young-un afore yer eyes!" he says.—And he'd +a-done it. "Boys," says I, "he's got us. Don't move!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span> +This thing'll have to rest with a higher power'n our'n! +Ef any of you kin <i>pray</i>," says I, "now's a good time to +do it!"</p> + +<p>Jist then the boat swung up, and Bills grabbed it and +retch 'round and set the baby in it, never a-takin' his eye +off o' us, though, fer a minute. "Now," says he, with a +sorto' snarlin' laugh, "I've on'y got a little while to stay +with you, and I want to say a few words afore I go. I +want to tell you fellers, in the first place, 'at you've be'n +<i>fooled</i> in me: I <i>hain't</i> a good feller—now, honest! And +ef you're a little the worse fer findin' it out so late in the +day, you hain't none the worse fer losin' me so soon—fer +I'm a-goin' away now, and any interference with my +arrangements'll on'y give you more trouble; so it's better +all around to let me go peaceable and jist while I'm in +the notion. I expect it'll be a disapp'intment to some o' +you that my name hain't 'Williams,' but it hain't. And +maybe you won't think nigh as much o' me when I tell +you furder 'at I was obleeged to 'dopt the name o' 'Williams' +onc't to keep from bein' strung up to a lamp-post, +but sich is the facts. I was so extremely unfortunit +onc't as to kill a p'tickler friend o' mine, and he forgive<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span> +me with his dyin' breath, and told me to run whilse I +could, and be a better man. But he'd spotted me with +a' ugly mark 'at made it kindo' onhandy <i>to</i> git away, but +I did at last; and jist as I was a-gittin' reformed-like, you +fellers had to kick in the traces, and I've made up my +mind to hunt out a more moraler community, where +they don't make sich a fuss about trifles. And havin' +nothin' more to say, on'y to send <i>Annie</i> word 'at I'll still +be a father to her young-un here, I'll bid you all good-bye." +And with that he turned and clum in the boat—or +ruther <i>fell</i> in,—fer somepin' black-like had riz up in +it, with a' awful lick—my—God!—And, a minute later, +boat and baggage was a-gratin' on the shore, and a +crowd come thrashin' 'crost from t'other side to jine us,—and +'peared like wasn't a <i>second</i> longer tel a feller was +a-swingin' by his neck to the limb of a scrub-oak, his +feet clean off the ground and his legs a-jerkin' up and +down like a limber-jack's.</p> + +<p>And Steve it was a-layin' in the boat, and he'd rid a +mil'd er more 'thout knowin' of it. Bills had struck and +stunt him as he clum in whilse the rumpus was a-goin'<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span> +on, and he'd on'y come to in time to hear Bills's farewell +address to us there at the ford.</p> + +<p>Steve tuk charge o' little Annie ag'in, and ef she'd +a-be'n his own child he wouldn't a-went on more over her +than he did; and said nobody but her mother would git +her out o' his hands ag'in. And he was as good as his +word; and ef you could a-seed him a half hour after +that, when he <i>did</i> give her to her mother—all lapped up +in his coat and as drippin' wet as a little drownded +angel—it would a-made you wish't you was him to see +that little woman a-caperin' round him, and a-thankin' +him, and a-cryin' and a-laughin', and almost a-huggin' +him, she was so tickled,—well, I thought in my soul +she'd die! And Steve blushed like a girl to see her +a-takin' on, and a-thankin' him, and a-cryin', and a-kissin' +little Annie, and a-goin' on. And when she inquired +'bout Bills, which she did all suddent-like, with a burst +o' tears, we jist didn't have the heart to tell her—on'y +we said he'd crossed the river and got away. And he +had!</p> + +<p>And now comes a part o' this thing 'at'll more'n like +tax you to believe it: Williams and her wasn't man and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span> +wife—and you needn't look su'prised, nuther, and I'll +tell you fer why:—They was own brother and sister; and +that brings me to <i>her</i> part of the story, which you'll haf +to admit beats anything 'at you ever read about in books.</p> + +<hr style="width: 35%;" /> + +<p>Her and Williams—that <i>wasn't</i> his name, like he acknowledged, +hisse'f, you rickollect—ner <i>she</i> didn't want +to tell his right name; and we forgive her fer that. Her +and "Williams" was own brother and sister, and their +parunts lived in Ohio some'ers. Their mother had be'n +dead five year' and better—grieved to death over her +onnachurl brother's recklessness, which Annie hinted +had broke her father up in some way, in tryin' to shield +him from the law. And the secret of her bein' with him +was this: She had married a man o' the name of Curtis +or Custer, I don't mind which, adzackly—but no matter; +she'd married a well-to-do young feller 'at her +brother helt a' old grudge ag'in, she never knowed what; +and, sence her marriage, her brother had went on from +bad to worse, tel finally her father jist give him up and +told him to go it his own way—he'd killed his <i>mother</i> +and ruined <i>him</i>, and he'd jist give up all hopes! But<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span> +Annie—you know how a sister is—she still clung to him +and done ever'thing fer him, tel finally, one night, about +three years after she was married, she got word some +way that he was in trouble ag'in, and sent her husband +to he'p him; and a half hour after he'd gone, her +brother come in, all excited and bloody, and told her to +git the baby and come with him, 'at her husband had got +in a quarrel with a friend o' his and was bad hurt. And +she went with him, of course, and he tuk her in a buggy, +and lit out with her as tight as he could go all +night; and then told her 'at <i>he</i> was the feller 'at had +quarrelled with her husband, and the officers was after +him, and he was obleeged to leave the country, and fer +fear he hadn't made shore work o' him, he was a-takin' +her along to make shore of his gittin' his revenge; and +he swore he'd kill her and the baby too ef she dared to +whimper. And so it was, through a hunderd hardships +he'd made his way at last to our section o' the country, +givin' out 'at they was man and wife, and keepin' her +from denyin' of it by threats, and promises of the time +a-comin' when he'd send her home to her man ag'in in +case he hadn't killed him. And so it run on tel you'd<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span> +a-cried to hear her tell it, and still see her sister's love +fer the feller a-breakin' out by a-declarin' how kind he +was to her <i>at times</i>, and how he wasn't railly bad at +heart, on'y fer his ungov'nable temper. But I couldn't +he'p but notice, when she was a-tellin' of her hist'ry, +what a quiet sorto' look o' satisfaction settled on the +face o' Steve and the rest of 'em, don't you understand.</p> + +<p>And now they was on'y one thing she wanted to ast, +she said; and that was,—could she still make her home +with us tel she could git word to her friends?—and +there she broke down ag'in, not knowin', of course, +whether <i>they</i> was dead er alive; fer time and time ag'in +she said somepin' told her she'd never see her husband +ag'in on this airth; and then the women-folks would cry +with her and console her, and the boys would speak +hopeful—all but Steve; some way o' nother Steve was +never like hisse'f from that time on.</p> + +<p>And so things went fer a month and better. Ever'thing +had quieted down, and Ezry and a lot o' hands, +and me and Steve amongst 'em, was a-workin' on the +frame-work of another mill. It was purty weather, and +we was all in good sperits, and it 'peared like the whole<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span> +neighberhood inte<i>rest</i>ed—and they <i>was</i>, too—women-folks +and ever'body. And that day Ezry's woman and +amongst 'em was a-gittin' up a big dinner to fetch down +to us from the house; and along about noon a spruce-lookin' +young feller, with a pale face and a black beard, +like, come a-ridin' by and hitched his hoss, and comin' +into the crowd, said "Howdy," pleasant-like, and we +all stopped work as he went on to say 'at he was on the +track of a feller o' the name o' "Williams," and wanted +to know ef we could give him any infermation 'bout +sich a man. Told him maybe,—'at a feller bearin' +that name desappeared kindo' myster'ous from our +neighberhood 'bout five weeks afore that. "My God!" +says he a-turnin' paler'n ever, "am I too late? Where +did he go, and was his sister and her baby with him?" +Jist then I ketched sight o' the women-folks a-comin' +with the baskets, and Annie with 'em, with a jug o' +worter in her hand; so I spoke up quick to the stranger, +and says I, "I guess 'his sister and her baby' wasn't +along," says I, "but his <i>wife</i> and <i>baby's</i> some'eres here +in the neighberhood yit." And then a-watchin' him +clos't, I says suddent, a-p'intin' over his shoulder,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span> +"There his woman is now—that one with the jug, +there." Well, Annie had jist stooped to lift up one o' +the little girls, when the feller turned, and their eyes +met. "Annie! My wife!" he says; and Annie she +kindo' give a little yelp like and come a-flutterin' down +in his arms; and the jug o' worter rolled clean acrost +the road, and turned a somerset and knocked the cob +out of its mouth and jist laid back and hollered "Good—good—good—good—good!" +like as ef it knowed +what was up and was jist as glad and tickled as the rest +of us.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="DIALECT_IN_LITERATURE" id="DIALECT_IN_LITERATURE"></a>DIALECT IN LITERATURE</h2> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span></p> +<h2>DIALECT IN LITERATURE</h2> + +<p>"<i>And the common people heard him gladly.</i>"</p> + + +<p>Of what shall be said herein of dialect, let it be understood +the term dialect referred to is of that general +breadth of meaning given it to-day, namely, any speech +or vernacular outside the prescribed form of good English +in its present state. The present state of the +English is, of course, not any one of its prior states. +So first let it be remarked that it is highly probable that +what may have been the best of English once may now +by some be counted as a weak, inconsequent <i>patois</i>, or +dialect.</p> + +<p>To be direct, it is the object of this article to show +that dialect is not a thing to be despised in any event—that +its origin is oftentimes of as royal caste as that of +any speech. Listening back, from the standpoint of to-day, +even to the divine singing of that old classic master +to whom England's late laureate refers as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span></p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"... the first warbler, whose sweet breath<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Preluded those melodious bursts that fill<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The spacious times of great Elizabeth<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With sounds that echo still";<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>or to whom Longfellow alludes, in his matchless sonnet, as</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"... the poet of the dawn, who wrote<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Canterbury Tales, and his old age<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Made beautiful with song";—<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Chaucer's verse to us is <i>now</i> as veritably dialect as to +that old time it <i>was</i> the chastest English; and even then +his materials were essentially dialect when his song was +at best pitch. Again, our present dialect, of most +plebeian ancestry, may none the less prove worthy. +Mark the recognition of its own personal merit in the +great new dictionary, where what was, in our own remembrance, +the most outlandish dialect, is now good, +sound, official English.</p> + +<hr style="width: 35%;" /> + +<p>Since Literature must embrace all naturally existing +materials—physical, mental, and spiritual—we have no +occasion to urge its acceptance of so-called dialect, for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span> +dialect <i>is</i> in Literature, and <i>has</i> been there since the beginning +of all written thought and utterance. Strictly +speaking, as well as paradoxically, all verbal expression +is more or less dialectic, however grammatical. While +usage establishes grammar, it no less establishes so-called +dialect. Therefore we may as rightfully refer to +"so-called grammar."</p> + +<p>It is not really a question of Literature's position +toward dialect that we are called upon to consider, but +rather how much of Literature's valuable time shall be +taken up by this dialectic country cousin. This question +Literature her gracious self most amiably answers by +hugging to her breast voluminous tomes, from Chaucer +on to Dickens, from Dickens on to Joel Chandler Harris. +And this affectionate spirit on the part of Literature, in +the main, we all most feelingly indorse.</p> + +<p>Briefly summed, it would appear that dialect means +something more than mere rude form of speech and +action—that it must, in some righteous and substantial +way, convey to us a positive force of soul, truth, dignity, +beauty, grace, purity and sweetness that may even touch +us to the tenderness of tears. Yes, dialect as certainly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span> +does all this as that speech and act refined may do it, +and for the same reason: it is simply, purely natural +and human.</p> + +<p>Yet the Lettered and the Unlettered powers are at +swords' points; and very old and bitter foemen, too, +they are. As fairly as we can, then, let us look over +the field of these contending forces and note their diverse +positions: First, <i>the Lettered</i>—they who have +the full advantages of refined education, training, and +association—are undoubtedly as wholly out of order +among <i>the Unlettered</i> as the Unlettered are out of order +in the exalted presence of the Lettered. Each faction +may in like aversion ignore or snub the other; but a +long-suffering Providence must bear with the society of +both. There may be one vague virtue demonstrated by +this feud: each division will be found unwaveringly +loyal to its kind, and mutually they desire no interchange +of sympathy whatever.—Neither element will +accept from the other any <i>patronizing</i> treatment; and, +perhaps, the more especially does the <i>Unlettered</i> faction +reject anything in vaguest likeness of this spirit. Of +the two divisions, in graphic summary,—<i>one</i> knows the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span> +very core and centre of refined civilization, and this +only; the <i>other</i> knows the outlying wilds and suburbs +of civilization, and this only. Whose, therefore, is the +greater knowledge, and whose the just right of any whit +of self-glorification?</p> + +<p>A curious thing, indeed, is this factional pride, as +made equally manifest in both forces; in one, for instance, +of the Unlettered forces: The average farmer, +or countryman, knows, in reality, a far better and wider +range of diction than he permits himself to use. He restricts +and abridges the vocabulary of his speech, fundamentally, +for the reason that he fears offending his rural +<i>neighbors</i>, to whom a choicer speech might suggest, on +his part, an assumption—a spirit of conscious superiority, +and therewith an implied reflection on <i>their</i> lack of +intelligence and general worthiness. If there is any one +text universally known and nurtured of the Unlettered +masses of our common country, it is that which reads, +"All men are created equal." Therefore it is a becoming +thing when true gentility prefers to overlook some +variations of the class who, more from lack of cultivation +than out of rude intent, sometimes almost compel a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span> +positive doubt of the nice veracity of the declaration, or +at least a grief at the munificent liberality of the so-be-quoted +statement. The somewhat bewildering position +of these conflicting forces leaves us nothing further to +consider, but how to make the most and best of the situation +so far as Literature may be hurt or helped +thereby.</p> + +<p>Equally with the perfect English, then, dialect should +have full justice done it. Then always it is worthy, and +in Literature is thus welcome. The writer of dialect +should as reverently venture in its use as in his chastest +English. His effort in the <i>scholarly</i> and <i>elegant</i> direction +suffers no neglect—he is <i>schooled</i> in that, perhaps, +he may explain. Then let him be <i>schooled</i> in <i>dialect</i> +before he sets up as an expounder of it—a teacher, forsooth +a master! The real master must not only know +each varying light and shade of dialect expression, but +he must as minutely know the inner character of the +people whose native tongue it is, else his product is +simply a pretence—a wilful forgery, a rank abomination. +Dialect has been and is thus insulted, vilified, +and degraded, now and continually; and through this<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span> +outrage solely, thousands of generous-minded readers +have been turned against dialect who otherwise would +have loved and blessed it in its real form of crude purity +and unstrained sweetness—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Honey dripping from the comb!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Let no impious faddist, then, assume its just interpretation. +He may know everything else in the world, but +not dialect, nor dialectic people, for both of which he +has supreme contempt, which same, be sure, is heartily +returned. Such a "superior" personage may even go +among these simple country people and abide indefinitely +in the midst of them, yet their more righteous contempt +never for one instant permits them to be their real selves +in his presence. In consequence, his most conscientious +report of them, their ways, lives, and interests, is absolutely +of no importance or value in the world. He never +knew them, nor will he ever know them. They are not +his kind of people, any more than he is their kind of +man; and <i>their</i> disappointment grieves us more than his.</p> + +<p>The master in Literature, as in any art, is that "divinely +gifted man" who does just obeisance to all living<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span> +creatures, "both man and beast and bird." It is this +master only who, as he writes, can sweep himself aside +and leave his humble characters to do the thinking and +the talking. This man it is who celebrates his performance—not +himself. His work he celebrates because it +is not his only, but because he feels it the conscientious +reproduction of the life itself—as he has seen and known +and felt it;—a representation it is of God's own script, +translated and transcribed by the worshipful mind and +heart and hand of genius. This virtue in all art is impartially +demanded, and genius only can fully answer +the demand in any art for which we claim perfection. +The painter has his expression of it, with no slighting +of the dialectic element; so, too, the sculptor, the musician, +and the list entire. In the line of Literature and +literary material, an illustration of the nice meaning and +distinction of dialectic art will be found in Charles Dudley +Warner's comment of George Cable's work, as far +back as 1883, referring to the author's own rendition of +it from the platform. Mr. Warner says:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>While the author was unfolding to his audience a life and +society unfamiliar to them and entrancing them with pictures,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span> +the reality of which none doubted and the spell of which none +cared to escape, it occurred to me that here was the solution of +all the pother we have recently got into about the realistic and +the ideal schools in fiction. In "Posson Jone," an awkward +camp-meeting country preacher is the victim of a vulgar confidence +game; the scenes are the street, a drinking-place, a +gambling-saloon, a bull-ring, and a calaboose; there is not a +"respectable" character in it. Where shall we look for a more +faithful picture of low life? Where shall we find another so +vividly set forth in all its sordid details? And yet see how art +steps in, with the wand of genius, to make literature! Over the +whole the author has cast an ideal light; over a picture that, in +the hands of a bungling realist, would have been repellant he +has thrown the idealizing grace that makes it one of the most +charming sketches in the world. Here is nature, as nature only +ought to be in literature, elevated but never departed from.</p></div> + +<p>So we find dialect, as a branch of Literature, worthy +of the high attention and employment of the greatest +master in letters—not the merest mountebank. Turn to +Dickens, in innumerable passages of pathos: the death +of poor Jo, or that of the "Cheap John's" little daughter +in her father's arms, on the foot-board of his peddling +cart before the jeering of the vulgar mob; smile moistly, +too, at Mr. Sleary's odd philosophies; or at the trials of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span> +Sissy Jupe; or lift and tower with indignation, giving +ear to Stephen Blackpool and the stainless nobility of +his cloyed utterances.</p> + +<p>The crudeness or the homeliness of the dialectic element +does not argue its unfitness in any way. Some +readers seem to think so; but they are wrong, and very +gravely wrong. Our own brief history as a nation, and our +finding and founding and maintaining of it, left our forefathers +little time indeed for the delicate cultivation of +the arts and graces of refined and scholarly attainments. +And there is little wonder, and great blamelessness on +their part, if they lapsed in point of high mental accomplishments, +seeing their attention was so absorbed +by propositions looking toward the protection of their +rude farm-homes, their meagre harvests, and their half-stabled +cattle from the dread invasion of the Indian. +Then, too, they had their mothers and their wives and +little ones to protect, to clothe, to feed, and to die for +in this awful line of duty, as hundreds upon hundreds +did. These sad facts are here accented and detailed not +so much for the sake of being tedious as to more clearly +indicate why it was that many of the truly heroic ancestry<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span> +of "our best people" grew unquestionably dialect +of caste—not alone in speech, but in every mental trait +and personal address. It is a grievous fact for us to +confront, but many of them wore apparel of the commonest, +talked loudly, and doubtless said "thisaway" +and "thataway," and "Watch y' doin' of?" and "Whur +y' goin' at?"—using dialect even in their prayers to Him +who, in His gentle mercy, listened and was pleased; and +who listens verily unto this hour to all like prayers, and +yet pleased; yea, haply listens even to the refined rhetorical +petitions of those who are <i>not</i> pleased.</p> + +<p>There is something more at fault than the language +when we turn from or flinch at it; and, as has been intimated, +the wretched fault may be skulkingly hidden +away in the ambush of <i>ostensible</i> dialect—that type of +dialect so copiously produced by its sole manufacturers, +who, utterly stark and bare of the vaguest idea of +country life or country people, at once assume that all +their "gifted pens" have to do is to stupidly misspell +every word; vulgarly mistreat and besloven every theme, +however sacred; maim, cripple, and disfigure language +never in the vocabulary of the countryman—then<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span> +smuggle these monstrosities of either rhyme or prose +somehow into the public print that is to innocently +smear them broadcast all over the face of the country +they insult.</p> + +<p>How different the mind and method of the true interpreter. +As this phrase goes down the man himself +arises—the type perfect—Colonel Richard Malcolm +Johnston, who wrote "The Dukesborough Tales"—an +accomplished classic scholar and teacher, yet no less an +accomplished master and lover of his native dialect of +middle Georgia. He, like Dickens, permits his rustic +characters to think, talk, act, and live, just as nature +designed them. He does not make the pitiable error of +either patronizing or making fun of them. He knows +them and he loves them; and they know and love him in +return. Recalling Colonel Johnston's dialectic sketches, +with his own presentation of them from the platform, +the writer notes a fact that seems singularly to obtain +among all true dialect-writers, namely, that they are +also endowed with native histrionic capabilities: <i>Hear</i>, +as well as read, Twain, Cable, Johnston, Page, Smith, +and all the list, with barely an exception.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span></p> + +<p>Did space permit, no better illustration of true dialect +sketch and characterization might here be offered than +Colonel Johnston's simple story of "Mr. Absalom Billingslea," +or the short and simple annals of his like +quaint contemporaries, "Mr. Bill Williams" and "Mr. +Jonas Lively." The scene is the country and the very +little country town, with landscape, atmosphere, simplicity, +circumstance—all surroundings and conditions—<i>veritable</i>—everything +rural and dialectic, no less than +the simple, primitive, common, wholesome-hearted men +and women who so naturally live and have their blessed +being in his stories, just as in the life itself. This is the +manifest work of the true dialect writer and expounder. +In every detail, the most minute, such work reveals the +master-hand and heart of the humanitarian as well as +artist—the two are indissolubly fused—and the result of +such just treatment of whatever lowly themes or characters +we can but love and loyally approve with all our +human hearts. Such masters necessarily are rare, and +such ripe perfecting as is here attained may be in part +the mellowing result of age and long observation, though<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span> +it can but be based upon the wisest, purest spirit of the +man as well as artist.</p> + +<p>In no less excellence should the work of Joel Chandler +Harris be regarded: His touch alike is ever reverential. +He has gathered up the bruised and broken voices and +the legends of the slave, and from his child-heart he +has affectionately yielded them to us in all their eerie +beauty and wild loveliness. Through them we are made +to glorify the helpless and the weak and to revel in their +victories. But, better, we are taught that even in barbaric +breasts there dwells inherently the sense of right +above wrong—equity above law—and the One Unerring +Righteousness Eternal. With equal truth and strength, +too, Mr. Harris has treated the dialectic elements of the +interior Georgia country—the wilds and fastnesses of +the "moonshiners." His tale of "Teague Poteet," of +some years ago, was contemporaneous with the list of +striking mountain stories from that strong and highly +gifted Tennesseean, Miss Murfree, or "Charles Egbert +Craddock." In the dialectic spirit her stories charm and +hold us. Always there is strangely mingled, but most +naturally, the gentle nature cropping out amid the most<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span> +desperate and stoical: the night scene in the isolated +mountain cabin, guarded ever without and within from +any chance down-swooping of the minions of the red-eyed +law; the great man-group of gentle giants, with +rifles never out of arm's-reach, in tender rivalry ranged +admiringly around the crowing, wakeful little boy-baby; +the return, at last, of the belated mistress of the +house—the sister, to whom all do great, awkward reverence. +Jealously snatching up the babe and kissing it, +she querulously demands why he has not long ago been +put to bed. "He 'lowed he wouldn't go," is the reply.</p> + +<p>Thomas Nelson Page, of Virginia, who wrote "Meh +Lady"—a positive classic in the Negro dialect: his +work is veritable—strong and pure and sweet; and as an +oral reader of it the doubly gifted author, in voice and +cadence, natural utterance, every possible effect of +speech and tone, is doubtless without rival anywhere.</p> + +<p>Many more, indeed, than may be mentioned now +there are of these real benefactors and preservers of the +wayside characters, times, and customs of our ever-shifting +history. Needless is it to speak here of the earlier +of our workers in the dialectic line—of James Russell<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span> +Lowell's New England "Hosea Biglow," Dr. Eggleston's +"Hoosier School-Master," or the very rare and +quaint, bright prattle of "Helen's Babies." In connection +with this last let us very seriously inquire what this +<i>real</i> child has done that Literature should so persistently +refuse to give him an abiding welcome? Since for ages +this question seems to have been left unasked, it may be +timely now to propound it. Why not the real child in +Literature? The real child is good enough (we all +know he is bad enough) to command our admiring attention +and most lively interest in real life, and just as +we find him "in the raw." Then why do we deny him +any righteous place of recognition in our Literature? +From the immemorial advent of our dear old Mother +Goose, Literature has been especially catering to the +juvenile needs and desires, and yet steadfastly overlooking, +all the time, the very principles upon which Nature +herself founds and presents this lawless little brood of +hers—the children. It is not the children who are out +of order; it is Literature. And not only is Literature +out of order, but she is presumptuous; she is impudent. +She takes Nature's children and revises and corrects<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span> +them till "their own mother doesn't know them." This +is literal fact. So, very many of us are coming to inquire, +as we've a right, why is the real child excluded +from a just hearing in the world of letters as he has in +the world of fact? For instance, what has the lovely +little ragamuffin ever done of sufficient guilt to eternally +consign him to the monstrous penalty of speaking most +accurate grammar all the literary hours of the days of +the years of his otherwise natural life?—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Oh, mother, may I go to school<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With brother Charles to-day?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The air is very fine and cool;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Oh, mother, say I may!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>—Is this a real boy that would make such a request, +and is it the real language he would use? No, we are +glad to say that it is not. Simply it is a libel, in every +particular, on any boy, however fondly and exactingly +trained by parents however zealous for his overdecorous +future. Better, indeed, the dubious sentiment of the +most trivial nursery jingle, since the latter at least maintains +the lawless though wholesome spirit of the child-genuine.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span>—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Hink! Minx! The old witch winks—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The fat begins to fry;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There's nobody home but Jumping Joan,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Father and mother and I."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Though even here the impious poet leaves the scar of +grammatical knowledge upon childhood's native diction; +and so the helpless little fellow is again misrepresented, +and his character, to all intents and purposes, is assaulted +and maligned outrageously thereby.</p> + +<p>Now, in all seriousness, this situation ought not to be +permitted to exist, though to change it seems an almost +insurmountable task. The general public, very probably, +is not aware of the real gravity of the position of +the case as even unto this day it exists. Let the public +try, then, to contribute the real child to the so-called +Child Literature of its country, and have its real child +returned as promptly as it dare show its little tousled +head in the presence of that scholarly and dignified institution. +Then ask why your real child has been +spanked back home again, and the wise mentors there +will virtually tell you that Child Literature wants no +real children in it, that the real child's example of defective<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span> +grammar and lack of elegant deportment would +furnish to its little patrician patrons suggestions very +hurtful indeed to their higher morals, tendencies, and +ambitions. Then, although the general public couldn't +for the life of it see why or how, and might even be +reminded that <i>it</i> was just such a rowdying child itself, +and that its <i>father</i>—the Father of his Country—was just +such a child; that Abraham Lincoln was just such a +lovable, lawless child, and yet was blessed and chosen in +the end for the highest service man may ever render +unto man,—all—all this argument would avail not in +the least, since the elegantly minded purveyors of Child +Literature can not possibly tolerate the presence of any +but the refined children—the very proper children—the +studiously thoughtful, poetic children;—and these must +be kept safe from the contaminating touch of our rough-and-tumble +little fellows in "hodden gray," with frowzly +heads, begrimed but laughing faces, and such awful, +awful vulgarities of naturalness, and crimes of simplicity, +and brazen faith and trust, and love of life and +everybody in it. All other real people are getting into +Literature; and without some real children along will +they not soon be getting lonesome, too?</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + +<h2> +Books By<br /> +James Whitcomb Riley<br /></h2> + +<p>NEGHBORLY POEMS<br /> +<br /> +SKETCHES IN PROSE, WITH INTERLUDING VERSES<br /> +<br /> +AFTERWHILES<br /> +<br /> +PIPES O' PAN (Prose and Verse)<br /> +<br /> +RHYMES OF CHILDHOOD<br /> +<br /> +FLYING ISLANDS OF THE NIGHT<br /> +<br /> +GREEN FIELDS AND RUNNING BROOKS<br /> +<br /> +ARMAZINDY<br /> +<br /> +A CHILD-WORLD<br /> +<br /> +HOME-FOLKS<br /> +<br /> +OLD-FASHIONED ROSES<br /> +(English Edition)<br /> +<br /> +THE GOLDEN YEAR<br /> +(English Edition)<br /> +<br /> +POEMS HERE AT HOME<br /> +<br /> +RUBÁIYÁT OF DOC SIFERS<br /> +<br /> +CHILD-RHYMES, WITH HOOSIER PICTURES<br /> +<br /> +RILEY LOVE-LYRICS<br /> +(Pictures by Dyer)<br /> +</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="Transcribers_Notes" id="Transcribers_Notes"></a>Transcriber's Notes</h3> + +<p>Moved List of Books by James Whitcomb Riley to end of book.</p> + +<p>Page <a href="#Page_204">204</a>: Corrected typo genious to genius<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(and genious only can fully answer the demand in any art).</span></p> + +<p>Made minor punctuation corrections.</p> + + + + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Neghborly Poems and Dialect Sketches, by +James Whitcomb Riley + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NEGHBORLY POEMS, DIALECT SKETCHES *** + +***** This file should be named 37074-h.htm or 37074-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/7/0/7/37074/ + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Diane Monico, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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