LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. ©f|ajt. io]i^r^^i ifo. Shelf ..v CAPTAIN BOB BILEY. 151 CAPTAIN BOB RILEY. An' so ye never heard that yarn 'Bout ol' Captain Bob — well, I'm durn ! How long have ye been livin' here? Hain't ye givin' me the queer? Hones' injin? Waal then say you- Un's shall heve it an' min' its true. Bob, he runs in the Anchor Line — An' hez ever sence fifty- nine, He's pa'ticlar too, an' talk 'bout style, O, I guess not! waal, I should smile! Why, look here, straunger, he's been known To look at a boat 'n gev her tone. That wuz Bob fur 'bout twenty year, Till somehow 'er 'nuther — it wuz queer. His luck it changed ; an' so one trip He got in a storm that did rip His chimneys cl'ar off to the deck. An' dumped 'em overboard a wreck. 152 CAPTAIN BOB BILEY. She wuz repaired an' left agin, But struck a gale, an' durn my skin Ef she didn't come home 'thout her stacks. Says Bob, "it's chimneys that she lacks." "Yes," sez the boss, "it seems to me She's bent on bein' a muly." Waal, up they hist's another set. An' farst'nd 'em to staj^, ye bet. When the boss says, "I 'low they'll stay Till ye git back home, anyway. So down the river the boat flew. An' tossin' high smoke, I tell you. At fus' the weather it wuz fa'r, An' so Bob, he sets in his chair On the roof. It's big, fur ye see Bob weighs two hundred and ninety. That's jes his size, an' ye can bet He hain't an' easy man upset. CAPTAIN B OB BILE Y. 1 53 All went smooth till on the hum run, When Bob spies a cloud 'n says, "there's fun Ahead sure, for the ol' storm king Is comin' for his reg'lar thing, But I want non' o' it in mine." An' then he yells, "bring up a line An' tie me to these here chimneys. Fur I'm a gwine along with these." Waal, the next minute 'way they went — Or at least that wuz their intent — But when the storm had cleared away. There sat Bob an' the chimneys — they Wuz hangin' to the ropes all right — Not overboard by a durn sight. Fur they couldn't get 'way with him — I tell ye Bob's a dandy Jim, He swore he'd bring them chimnej^s home Or lose his job, an' so they come. 164 ^iV ODE TO AUTUMN. AN ODE TO AUTUMN. 'Tis fall, And all The latest fashions are on tap, And female gall That comes to pall Our spirits with that never-ending cry, Which makes us think it would be sweet to die. Olife And strife, That rhyme and fit each other passing well ; O maid and wife, O merchant's knife, That cuts the goods that never are on sale, And all the things that make us weep and wail. Come now And vow To serve us in our hour of need. And show us how To point our prow For that fair port on which our thoughts are bent. Where roosts the winter's coal and monthly rent. AN ODE TO AUTUMN. 165 That we May see The cheer that autumn ought to bring — The fat tur-ke, With cranber-e, And pumpkin pies of real ancestral size, And other luxuries that we highly prize. 156 THE WHISKY BING. THE WHISKY RING. 1876. "All aboard!" the conductor said: "Ready!" the engineer replied, With signals from the engine's head, Which fainter grew until they died At the city's side. For, getting steam, the engine lit Out up the road, and over space. As though the very fates spurred it — Leading the train a reckless chase In that midnight race. Spanning rivers and piercing hills, Threading the woods with golden light ; Anon a screech which caused the quills Of waking fowls to stand upright In terror and frio^ht. THE WHISKY BING. 157 On to the Capitol they flew — Two hundred pussengers or more — The Governor, a dozen or two Of Senators, besides a score For a house still lower. They talked of politics and laws, Of finance and affairs of State, The whisk}^ ring, and wagged their jaws Long and loud of its terrible fate, While they took theirs straight. "Hunky fellows, well met," you say ; And so they seemed ; but don't be rash — The State has berths that never pay— Pan out neither honor nor cash — Why, they ain't worth hash. Sol in the east rose round and red. When all stepped off the pausing train, The Governor stood and scratched his head— *'What ! members wearing ball and chain? - Will you jest explain? " 158 THE WHISKY BING. " That' sail right, Gov' nr" — shaking his hand- An officer said ; "these bo3^s are booked For the lower house, you understand — Sent up for taking their whisky crooked. The Governor looked!" THE NOBLE BED MAN. 159 THE NOBLE RED MAN. Big Moccasin Jim Was what they called him. A Winnebago, tall and slim, Born and brought up way out there On the Western plains, somewhere — Where they lift the white man's hair. "Child of the forest!" Oh, give us a rest! A lazy lumex, or I'm blest. "Ugh!" he grunts, "big Injun me heap! Fire-water and tobac' cheap, The great White Father red man keep ! ' ' Well, this Indian — And it was a sin — Would loaf about the post and grin, Waiting for his regular grub. Nothing abashed by kick or snub — Total depravity to the hub. 160 THE NOBLE BED MAN. Till the officer said — Scratching his head And quoting a line you have read — ''How distance lends enchantment to And beautifies many a view A close inspection might look through. "None of this in mine — Throwing pearls to swine, Who tends the grape may drink the wine ; Who sows the seed may reap the grain. And the 'Prodigal' may not complain To find the calf already slain. And he formed a ring, Which was just the thing To make the child of the forest sing *'Big Injun no git heap to eat — Pale-face men muchee Injun cheat." This was the speech he did repeat. Wall, so thin he grew — What I speak is true — That you might look that Indian through ; The shadow he cast on the ground Was, on close inspection, found Caused by the pelt he had around. THE NOBLE BED MAN. IGl But the Government Got upon the scent, When a good Friend straightway went With power to investigate, And then report unto the state, Whether he found things crooked or straight. Well, this old Broadbrim, All in Quaker trim. With coat reaching low down on him. Sought the post, but 'tis inferred, It wasn't the red man's side he heard. He left next day with — "mum's the word." To the State he said, "Friends, it is bread And meat which ails the man that's red, It's plainly evident to me Civilization don't agree With the noble aborigenee." 162 THE M YS TEB Y OF KERB Y PA TCH. THE MYSTERY OF KERRY PATCH. There are mysteries in this world that are never cleared away, And will not be understood until the final judg- ment day ; But of all the hidden secrets there are few indeed can match The story of the newsboy who lived in "Kerry Patch." He was but a child in years — had seen of birth- days only six — Though the capricious goddess Fortune had dealt him many licks ; Every dud upon his body showed where gaping rents had been, And yet rags become respectable when scrupu- lously clean. THE MYS TEH Y OF KERB Y PA TGH. 1 6 3 Every morning, bright and early, he would board the passing car, With his scanty stock in trade, and call out, "Papers, here you are!" Spoke in accents low and feeble, and in a serious tone. As though nursing some great sorrow that he wished not to be known. Men would shake their heads and mutter, "Hav'n't any time to read: Times are hard, and every nickel counts!" Oh, miserable creed ! Sympathy is loth to enter where no interest is at stake ; And charity, at best, but follows in a business wake. But one day a splendid lady the poor little child caressed. As a mother might her darling, and a dozen kisses pressed Right upon his rosy lips, as she drew him to her seat; Said she really couldn't help it, for he looked so nice and sweet. 164 THE MYSTEBY OF KEBRY BATCH. Then she questioned him of home and spoke a kindly word of cheer ; Was he prosperous and happy ? But he answered with a tear Dropped upon her silken garment as he struggled to be free, And petulantly muttered: "Oh, please, missus let me be ! " In a moment he had vanished — then there came a piercing cry, See the child beneath the wheels of the car that's passing by ; "Too late!" men say and shake their heads, while women faint away. Was it carlcssness? No matter. Dead, mangled, there he lay. They bore him to the alley, followed by the motley crowd. With his torn and crumpled papers wrapped about him as a shroud. Asking of the ragged urchins that were running on before, Where the little gamin lived, and to please point out the door. THI^ MYS TEB Y OF KERB Y PA TCH. 1 C 5 * 'That's his home, right over there in that house across the way ; But his mother's verj^ sick — they think she'll not live out the day — Go up gently, if you please, sir, for the noise affects her so ; Doctor says it's nearly over —thought this morn- ing she would go." Silently and sad they entered, paused and gazed about the room — Not a whisper, not an echo — all was silent as the tomb. And they laid the little gamin close beside her on the bed ; But she never saw her child, for the mother, too, was dead ! That's the mystery of Kerry Patch ; and you'll think it rather queer, But it's all was ever known of them by any one round here. Some thought she'd been a lady fallen from her high estate ; All declared she was a woman worthy of a better fate. 166 THE MTS TEB Y OP KERU Y PA TCB. What their history, or secret, the world may never know, For they searched the room for proof in every corner, high and low ; Neither note nor superscription any evidence revealed — All was blank, unmeaning, silent, as their graves in "Potter's Field." NO L UGK m FRA YER. 167 NO LUCK IN PRAYER. It's the wick'd 'z gits the cream down here, An' the plus 'z gits the crust, But the ways o* Providence air queer An' I reck'n we'll hev ter trust. I've alus went on religion some, An' I 'low I've done my shar' To'ards sendin' souls ter kingum come — But I ain't no luck in pray'r. Why when the k'ards went agin me flat. An' I los' my bottom red, An' riz a stake on my boots an' hat, What d' you think that I said ? Did I blow an spout an' want ter fight? Not much, fur that ain't my trade. I goes ter my room that very night An' got down 'n my knees 'n pra3^'d. 1 G8 NO L UCK IN PBA YER . I tol' the Lo'd how the thing 'd gone, An' dwelt on my arful luck, How Luke hed my yoke o' steers 'n pawn, An how arf ly I war stuck. Besides he didn't belong ter the chu'ch. An' war giv'n ter gain' an' sin, Tuk pride 'n leavin' saints 'n the lu'ch An' ropin' the members in. Waal, I felt rel'eved an' went ter work, Plum full o' relig'ous strength ; Ye see I lever war called a shirk, An I alus goes my length. So I staked my trousers on the tray, An waited fur Luke ter tu'n. But he raked em in indiff'rentlj^, Like it warn't o' no concern. No ! thar ain't no salvation fur me ! I hev got no show up thar, I'm 'umble 'z any one brok' kin be, But I ain't no luck in pray'r. Ct VIL BIGHTS IN SURE VEPOB T. 1 G9 CIVIL RIGHTS IN SHREVEPORT. There air things in this worl' legislatiou can't reach, Questions statesmen do not understand, Impulses they fail in endeavorin' to teach Us to master an' hold in command. I've no doubt it's correct to pass civil rights laws For the colored ; but I must request — An' I do it with all due respect for the cause — Don't send 'em to Shreveport to test. One come to the hotel an' he wrote down his name In characters quite dashin' an' bold — Said the clerk, "You air colored," he replied "I'm the same," When their e3'es at each other they rolled. T wo o' clock wuz the hour an' the- tables wuz spread For the guests who now marched in to dine, \Nhen, would you believe it the ol' reprobate said : "Hash ready? show me up, I'llhev mine." 170 CIVIL BIGHTS IN SIIREVEPOBT. The Caucasian waiter drewbisse'f up with pride An' then answered, "Ef you know what's well, You'll make yerse'f scarce here, come now, git up and slide Er you'll dine in a place — I'll not spell." But he waltzed up the steps which wuz fully two flights, With his thumbs in the arms o' his vest, An' aroun' the lonor hall ez thouojh viewin' the sights. When he final'y set down with the rest. Then the women retired to their rooms in disgust. An' Si Sanderson said, "Well this lays" — An' he rose to his feet ez though greatl}^ non- plussed — "Over anj^thing seen in these days." An' he let fly a ball o' potatoes an' fish, Then salads, pickled onions an' pears, Sullibubs an' jelly, an' so every dish. Till they topped off with tables an' chairs. CIVIL niQHTS IN SRBEVEPOnT, 171 We tunnelled the wreck an' we found the remains Buried under the dining room traps, But thinkin' a funeral a sheer wastin' o' pains Sent 'em out in a basket o' scraps. There air things in this worP legislation can ^t reach, Questions statesmen should not agitate, Ef they will, let 'em slip in a clause, I beseech, That will pa}" for our demolished plates. 172 THE HE no OF NATCHEZ T,END. THE HERO OF NATCHEZ BEND. Thar air men ez air sot np ez heroes, That don't do much, ye'll allow, Then agin thar air plenty o' those Can't git thar names up no how. An' a 7nan that runs on the river May save more lines 'n enough, An' s'archin' the papers diskiver They ain't even gin him a puff. Now I don't think this is all reg'lar, 'Taint treatin' we-uns O. K. I know, fur ye see I hev been thar, An that is what makes me say That a chap ez does his levelest In bringin' an ol' craft through, An hap'ns ter git jerk'd ter his long rest Ain't ter be sneeezed at by you. THE IIEBO OF NATCHEZ BEND. 173 Ez war the case with Bagly Harris, Who froze ter the Creole's wheel, Fur he seed his duty ez clear ez Daylight, an' he didn't squeal. Though he never knowed the prevailin' Storm hed scooped him overboard. An' the pilot house war a sailin' Along o' its own accord. He tried fur ter blow on the whistle An' holler down ter the bar, Ter his ol' friend big Sandy Bissell Ter send him a drink up thar. Fur he wusn't awar' that the Creole War safely tied ter a tree, An' the capt'in an' every soul Asleep ez sound ez could be. So he held her level an' steady In the boilin' water 'n wind, An' keeping a lookout ahead, he Expected soon fur ter find 174 THE HERO OF NATCHEZ BEND. The bank, so's he could make a landiii'. But he never found the shor' An* all through the night he kept standin' An' steerin' jes ez afor'. When they foun' him he war still clingin' With his teeth unter the wheel, Jes ez though he hed bin a bringin' Through a craft ez hed a keel. But col' in death's embrace, an' grim — Ter Canaan's Ian' he crossed, An' I hope the angels won't tell him He war the unly one lost. Thar's men ez air sot up ez heroes, That don't do much, ye'll allow, Then agin thar air plenty o' those Ez can't git thar names up no how. An' so it war with Bagly Harris, Who war made o' the true stuff, An' I reckon it unly fa'r is Ter gin the ol' man a puff. THE APPLE MAID. 175 THE APPLE MAID. 'Twas in that lovely season of the year When pawpaws ripen and grow soft and black, And in the daily market do appear To tempt loose change from the depleted sack, That Sally Skinner, the fair apple maid. With ladened basket to the levee strayed. She was quite young, just bordering on sixteen. Of comely presence as you'd wish to see, Although she wasn't dressed just like a queen (Her dress flapped in the wind a little free) ; But she was lively, and could sell more fruit Than all the peddlers on the creek to boot. Her mother took in washing on the hill, — Sometimes took something stronger in, 'twas said; But then she was a woman of strong will, And never let it run off with her head. But plied her business in an even way. And earned her daily bread from day to day. 1 76 THE APPLE MAID. And so they prospered, as 'tis plain all should Who pass their time away in doing good, And in due time financially took rank As having quite a nest-egg in the bank ; But lovely Juliet met her Romeo, And why should Sally ever unloved go ? He was deck-sweeper on the Mary Ann, A youth of gallons stride and coarse red hair — Would soon grow up to be a bully man ; He now could chew tobacco, light and swear; How could the lovely creature answer nay. To "Sally, pass the produce up this way?" It charmed the girl to see her lover eat ; And so she gazed, and never once mistrusted. While he was taking in the sour and sweet. That he or she, or both, would soon be busted ; But so it was,for when she homeward strayed, She found her fruit, her time and money played. The empty basket made her mother smile, For it did argue a most prosperous day ; But when she said: "Dear Sally, where's your pile?" THE APPLE MAID. 177 The maiden turned her head another way. You may imagine, but I can't express, How old dame Skinner did her offspring bless. But women are but women after all ; And when the bankrupt daughter did explain, — Although denouncing her commercial fall, — Resolved at once to set up trade again. So, swiftly to the bank the mother went. And, check in hand, demanded her last cent. Then, calling Sally to her side, she said : "Go buy a peck, and tr}^ your luck again ; But shun the fellow with the sandy head. Or from this house forever you'll remain." And so she sallied forth, and talked and smiled, And sought the youth again, the silly child. She found him brushing up the lower deck, But meeting, they both did sit down to rest ; He of her apple cart soon made a wreck, And left the girl again sorely distressed, Who gazed on him and then looked in the basket ; How dear he was we scarcely need to ask it. 178 THE APPLE MAID. They married, and were happy in their love ; Promotion came and raised him to deck hand — And on the raging creclv he still does rove, While she's sole owner of an apple stand. My story's brief, but long enough to prove The world's still running in the same old groove. THE COUNTY FAIE. 179 THE COUNTY FAIR. Waal, yes, ye see, 'at we're on ban', An' anxious fur to do our shar', Fur o' all 'mus'ents, un'erstan', Me an' Merlindy prefer the Fa'r. These air the curiosities A man don't tire o' lookin' at — Suthin' ter help pay taxes An' keep things goin' 'n sech ez that. Cows ez '11 gev a pail o' milk, An' bred 'till they 'pear half human, An' bosses' 'at shine jes like silk, An' run — ef ye'll wait ol' 'oman, An' ta'k a spell ter Deacon Wells, I'll try'n pick a winner er two, An' te'ch some o' them city swells What a plain country chap kin do. Want ter go long, eh ! an' not wait — Wimin' they say aint much fur luck, But mar'd men mus' b'ar thar fate — That gal war bo'n in ol' Kentuck. 180 CHRISTMAS EVE. CHRISTMAS EVE. He beara rich jewels to his lady's bower, And pockets Santa-Claus-wise filled with toyo ; Love tokens that forecast the morrow's joys, When meriy bells ring out the welcome hour. Happy the home that knows such scenes as these. Where loving hands arrange each glad surprise, Keeping alive the hallowed memories That came to us from out the centuries. THE SAD FATE OF PETER JONES. 181 THE SAD FATE OF PETER JONES. Once, in the flight of time, there lived a boy Who came of poor but honest parentage ; He was his mother's pet and father's joy, And just exactly eighteen years of age When he did quit this sublunar}^ sphere, And died a hero, as it will appear. He was an unsophisticated youth, From the verdant fields of Posey County, Who never could speak anything but truth, Though offered for each falsehood a large bounty ; And when he came to town to seek a living. Much good advice to other boys kept giving. He never played with marbles or with balls. And saw no good in any of these waj^s, But loved to view the horses in their stalls, And this one criticise and that one praise ; And daily made commendable progression In studying for the bob-tail car profession. 182 THE SAD FATE OF PETEB JONES. For many weeks he strolled about the city, And ran in debt for board and all expenses ; He made some friends, who said it was a pity, And vowed the boy was losing all his senses — For he would stand for hours, with his mouth ajar. And view with ecstacy each passing car. One day he got a driver's situation, And felt at length, that he had drawn a prize ; In fact, it was an active occupation. In which a youth was very apt to rise — Fur every one who did engage to drive Was bound by contract to get up at five. He took the reins as one ordained to rule. Then tightened them a little with each hand, As though to say, "Well, now, good Mister Mule, Hereafter I would have you understand That when I say to you, 'Come, go alang,' That I am captain of this 'ere shebang." Just then the starter blew a piercing blast, Which made the animal prick up its ears And dash ahead at gait so very fast THE SAD FATE OF PETEB JONES. 183 As to arouse in Peter Jones some fears ; But when the car began to jolt and shake, The inmates hallooed out, "Put down the brake!" Instead of putting down, he screwed it up, Which only made the mule rush onward faster ; When, lo ! the car run on a big pull pup, And Peter whispered to himself, 'Dod blast her!" But, after going on one wheel awhile, It settled down again in splendid style ; Then dashed ahead at a terrific rate, Alike unheeding rings to stop or hail. The passengers were in a fearful state — Strong men did pray and weaker women wail ; Spectators said the sight was truly grand To witness Peter drive that "one in hand." Just then another car came round the curve — Two single mules were blended into one ; Ask for those passengers ! I would observe That "they have put their angel plumage on ;" And in the wreck were found the cold re- mains Of Peter Jones, still holding to the reins. 184 THE SAD FATE OF PETEIi JONES. The coroner was summoned to the scene, And held an inquest on the men and mules. He said the accident might not have been Had both the cars observed the comp'ny's rules, Which read emphatically, in white and black ; "Two cars shall never pass upon one track." MISSISSIPPI SMITHEBS. 186 MISSISSIPPI smithp:rs. "Hello ! elev'n— waal, let it strike ; Kern, Frazier, kern — a soug ! Simpson, thar, an' Marlinspike, Jes pass the grog along. We'll cut fur deal— the highest k'ard — " Says a voice from the draught thej' sip "Dark the river rolls below" — "Well, durn it, let her rip." "Converse made an awful smoke, With that air J. M. White ; I reckon that the catfish woke When that craft kem in sight. But Lor', she's gone an' hed her daj^ ; Her famous joh is done — " "Dark the river rolls below — " "Well, durn it, let it run." 186 MISSISSIPPI SMITHEBS. *' Fifty year ago to-night — Drink, boys, I'm gettin' dr}^ — The Swiftsure went up like a kite ; You orto've seen us fly. She'd pass'd the Homer under way. But the critter busted wide — " *'I)ark the river rolls below" — "Well, durn it, let her slide." "Smith war planted in the field, Above the mouth of cache ; An' Oakes hasn't, sence she squealed, Tuk up the pan fur hash. An' Sally Smithers — waal, I've been 'lone fur many a year," "Dark the river runs below" — "How strange the lights appear." "Waal, yes, them were the palmy daj^s! At least, that's what they say; Fur blessin's here we seldom praise Until they're pass'd away. But Sallie — she went long ago ; How peartly time has flew ! "Ho! Broadus, catch Old Smithers! thar- He's quit the river, too." A MUD THEORY. 187 A MUD THEORY. 'Tis a theory of the schools, The earth was once a fluid, Aud growing solid as it cools, Will yet become imbued With such a quantity of cold, As not a living thing to hold. That is, the sun's not all the heat That nourishes vegetation. For while Sol warms the head, the feet Draw from the incrustation — The vegetables' feet I mean — Sufficient warmth to keep them green. Well, be this as it may elsewhere — 1 speak but for this section — And grieve to say I cannot share My thoughts in this connection ; 'Tis true, or I'm an arrant sinner. Terra firma here gets daily "thinner." 188 SANDY POSET. SANDY POSEY. Thar's signs ez goes back on the ol'estman, Thar's clouds ez never brings rain, Signs ez air apt ter mislead, Deceptions ez causes pain. An tlie bes' that we kin do ol' Satan '111 now an' then make a gain : Fur instance, I'll jes explain. Ez in the case o' big Sandy Posey, At the oV camp-meetin' groun', He bed every symptom O' hevin' salvation foun'. An' right in the middle o' the sermon Commenced jumpin' up an down An' then ter rollin arouu'. I felt sartin ez it war a cl'ar case O' the spirit-movin power That he'd got a holt o' him. Then an' thar that very hour ; Fur the ol' sinner shook till his dice box An' k'ards fell in a shower, He hed drap'd his las' bower. SANDY FOSEY. 189 Then he looked up inter the apple trees An' inquired, "who kin it be A roustin' up thar in that fork Ez done this hyar thing ter me?" An I said, "Thank the Lo'd, man. Fur causin' ye fur ter see" — Still a lookin' up a tree. "Waal, yes, I'm seeiu' some now,ol'pardner, An' I wish that ye would try An' fin' out the on'ry scamp Ez squirted inter ray eye That air terbac'er juice ;" this surprised me, So 'at I made no reply : Fac' ez 'at I didn't try. Thar's signs ez goes bac' on the ol'est man, Thar's clouds ez never brings rain ; Signs ez air apt ter mislead, Deceptions ez causes pain. Ez in the case o' big Sandy Posey Who 'ill not fool me soon ag'in, Ez 'bout my way o' thinkin'. 190 THE NEW AMAZONS. THE NEW AMAZONS. Say have you heard of great Dio* And his female brigade in Ohio ? The charge that they made On King Alcohol's trade, Opened that Old Monarch's eye, O. When Peter the Hermit first made his Crusade 'gainst those demons of Hades, 'Twas an awful mistake Those warriors to take Instead of an army of ladies. For had those uncivilized nations, With all their unfriendly relations, Been besieged with such charms, They'd have thrown down their arms — Gone back on their chief and their rations. *Dio Lewis. THE NEW AMAZONS. 191 Then sing us no more songs of Bacchus, And cease with your nonsense to rack us We will cheerfully flee From the joys of a spree, If the women will only attack us. So, forward, brigade of Ohio, Led on by redoubtable Dio ; The aroma which slips From thy warriors' sweet lips Is better than any old rye, O. 192 SANDY THOMPSON'S STEERS. SANDY THOMPvSON'S STEERS. Waal, I ain't much on spiunin' j^arns, An' tellin' jokes an' sich, Fur 1 git things all mixed up, Can't tell t'other frum which. But I s'pose 3"e'r, boun' ter hear it, So draw aroun' yer cheers. An' I'll tell ye 'bout my scrape With Sar^dy Thompson's steers. I'd been a haulin' o' some logs An' jes unhitched a pull — When the hook got cotched in my bout, An' jerked me agin ol' bull, Which made the steers skedaddle An' foot it through the snow, An' they kept a goin' faster The mor' I holler' d whoa. SANDY THOMPSON'S STEEBS. 193 They snaked me down through the d'arin', An' struck the ol' turnpike, An I 'low it's safe ter say Ye never saw the like. They puffed an' blowed an made more fuss Than a Mississippi eraf, That war a makin* raillroad time With a barge in tow back af. We pass'd good De'con Sanford's house Ez he war hevin' pra'r, An' the houn's they yelped an' start'd Ez ef 01' Nick war thar. The good exhorter heard the noise, But lowed they'd struck a trail. An' kep' on prayin jes ez though It warn't o' no avail. I brought up stradle o' a stump, But the team rushed alons^ Like a locomotive engine With the steam tu'ned on strong. An' my boot went jumpin' arter — I never shell furgit, Waal, I rec'on them air critters Air hollin' o' it yit. 194 SANDY THOMPSON'S STEERS. They say that all is fur the bes' , Hed we the power ter see, But thar air things in this hyar worl' That air myst'ries ter me. An' the mor' I stedy on it The mor' it still appears, That no good could ever kem O' that on'ry yoke o' steers. THE UNRECONSTRUCTED. 195 THE UNRECONSTRUCTED. Sand}^ Hawkins war his Dame, an' he resided down in Pike, An' fur railin' on the Yankees no one ever saw his like. He'd cuss 'em with an eloquence so extremely rich an rar' , It partuk o' all the earnestness an' fe'vency o' pra'r. "A carpet bagger," he would say, with his pecu- liar sneer, "Is not the style o' citizen '11 fin' it healthy hyar." An' then ef any war aroun' jes ter tech em ter the quick. He'd declar' he never yit hed seed a Yank he couldn't lick. 196 THE UNRECO^ STBUCTED. He'd bluffed off all new comers, while a number he had whaled, An 'them ez he hedn'tpummeledhe'd effectually quailed. Till one day he struck a straunger, an' in con- versation with The same, he soon discovered that his name, it war Jim Smith. They'd played a game o' poker, which war quarter-ante straight, But the k'ards went back on Sandy at a fearful rapid rate. Till the whol' 'mount o' currency that hed be- longed ter him War snugly rustercatin' in the panterloous o' Jim. Then he 'lowed how he'd been cheated, an' his dander ris an' ris. While he continered ter express the feelings that war his — Said 'twar nigger luck ez beat him, an' warn't done 'pon the square, An' 'twar evident he meant ter otq fur Jim right then an' thar. THE UNBE CONSTRUCTED. 197 But Mr. Smith war peaceful, an' not so easily beguiled, An' he stood an' looked at Sandy ez though pained ter see him riled, 'Lowed he didn't keer ter fight a man fur sech a trivial cause, An' besides it warn't proper thus ter trespass on the laws. Is thar reason in a mad man, or infuriated steer, Or a hoss when he imagin's su'thin's wrong about the gear. Or a Mississippi craft that hez made up her mind ter bust, Or the bank whar ye deposit when ye call ter ast fur trust ? 'Twar 'about this way with Sandy, who struck out lef an right. An' swore he'd hev his money back or else he'd hev a fight. So they got inter a tussle which lasted fur quite a spell. An' when the thing war over Sandy didn't feel so well. 198 THE UNRECONSTRUCTED. They picked him up an' bore him Jiors de combat frum the ground, An' filled him full o' licker, 'lowin that mought bring him roun'. Fur a moment breath kem ter him an' he looked 'roun' 'n' sighed "We air ruined by the Yanks," an' he closed his hps an' died. THE WHITE COLLAR LINE. 199 THE WHITE COLLAR LINE. Bill come into the trade with the durndes' oV craf , She wuz broke down amidship an' hogged all abaf. An' her chimneys, they leaned at right angles away, But he'd writ on her wheelhouse, "I've come here to stay." The people all laughed at that air plug o' a boat, An' declar'd that her capt'in should hev a new coat : Fur his elbows wuz out an' his knees wuzn't in. But when a man's hones' his rags ain't no sin. He wuz deck han' an' rouster — stood watch at the wheel, An' would fire till he made the safety valve squeal. 200 THE WHITE COLLAR LINE. Waal, the berths that he hel' I 'low wuzn't a few, Fur the boys all declar'd he wuz chambermaid, too. He would run any craf in the trade out o' sight, An' wuz never foun' nappin' in day time or night, But would land fur a hail jes to take in a dime. An' the people, they said, "gev us Bill every time." The other boats a' lowed that the thing it wuz plain That their business wuz played ef this chap did remain ; So to put up a job they straightway went about, The object o' which wuz jist to raise William out. They cut down on the rates, an tuk passengers cheap : What before they'd charged one, now would pay fur a heap. But Bill stayed in the game with his deuces an' trays, An' what worried 'em most, he kept standin' the raise. THE WHITE COLLAR LINE. 201 Competition went on, an the money it flew ; When they landed fer freight Bill wuz alus thar, too, An' rak'd in snch ashar' o' the trade which they sought That they swore by the pow'rs '"twuz a tartar they'd caught." Yes, he stayed, you bet, and you will find him there yit ; He will tell you about all the fights that he's fit — Fur Bill he wuz game, an attended to biz ; An you see all them white collared boats? — waal, they're his. 202 BLANNEBHAS8ETT 8. BLANNERHASSETT'S. "Blannerhassett's?" said the Captain: "that's it, there. But this bar's rather shallow — Sykes, the lead ! Seven and a quarter? well, that's fair; But hold her level, Birch, there's rocks ahead — Ah ! there you are, now let her go along, And tell the engineer to work her strong. "Well, all I know about the island is : Just previous to the year eighteen hundred, Blannerhassett and that wife of his Settled here. The neighbors said they blun- dered, And vowed no feller with sech soft white hands Would ever make much headway cl'arin' lands. BLANNEBHA88B TT S. 203 "But he had what the people wanted — gold! Which is a power, you know, of some dimen- sions ; And all he had to do, so I am told. Was just to hint at what were his intentions — Whether to clear a field or bridge a run — It wasn't no time till the job was done. "And soon they rigged the island up so fine, It seemed a jewel risen from the water. Of all the farms this one did take the shine ; Folks came to see it from every quarter. The rare flowers, plants, fruits and shrubbery, They say, was really a sight to see. "As to his wife, why, I've heard them tell About her beauty, and how she played On the harp and piano till the swell Of music out on the waters strayed. And charmed a boat's crew that was floatin' by. Till Sandy Jones forgot that he held high. 204 BLANNEBHAS8ETT S. "And how they come to quit the place, eh ! O ! You see, a certain chap from New Yorlv city, Who came a coasting down the river slow — I know you'll say it was a pity That he should stop at this here paradise, Where everj^thing was goin' on so nice. "But Aaron Burr did stop — that was his name — And him and Blannerhassett had a chat. In which Mr. Burr did talk of fame, And power, and empire, ermine, and all that, Till Blannerhassett got so badly stuck That he concluded just to try his luck. "And that is all — he never did come back. For years the madam pined, till, broken- hearted. She died ; and so the island went to rack, And it's now, you see, about where it started. The weeds are rather thrifty, you'll allow. And that old house ain't quite a palace now."