Class Book / hi / ^ c^ COPYRIGHT DEPOSm LIFE PICTURES AND OTHER THOUGHTS EUGENE BROWN COPVRlaMTBO 1912 EUGENE BROWN PEORIA, II.L., THE BROWN RHYMES PUBLISHING HOUSE PEOBIA, ILLINOIS PRESS OP NIXON PRINTING CO. PEORIA, ILL. ^CLA3125?1 5Pr^far?< In this, the Author's second publication, he still adheres to the original principle, **not for pecuniary profit," and presents this book as a method of preserving these original thoughts in the libraries of the Brown family, and others who may be interested. (BtitiUtxtB. PAGE Just How It Was 1 The Used Auto 3 Fall Days 5 Ode To The Pumpkin Pie 6 Christmas, (1905) 7 Live As You Go Along 9 Over At The Old House 11 This Means You. 14 Life's Question 16 Keep Out With Dog And Gun 17 My Prayer 18 JttBt f nht Hit WuB, Possibly some of you have met one of those characters, famous for relating incidents, but very poor hands at remembering the exact particulars, and keeping the listeners on needles, as it were, by arguing as to just the exact truth of the minor particulars, when really that has no direct bearing upon the point of the incident. Possibly it will help you to recall some such characters in your own acquaintance, when I tell you about one whom I met, and his relating of an incident ran something like this: I had the darn'dest jamboree Last Wednesday night. No, let me see? Oh, Thursday night, it was, I guess, — Or was it Wednesday? Yes, — No, — Yes, Last Thursday night — but could it be? Now, wait a minute — let — me — see — Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday night — Yes, Wednesday evenin', that there's right. Well, what I was a goin' to say: Con sarn it all, I've lost a day. Last Wednesday night, as sure as fate, Just in the evenin' — 'twasn't late — , I met Gus Black, — or was it Joe? No, Gus. Well, darn it, I don't know. I've know'd them twins fer twenty years. An' Joe's the one with loppy ears. Or is it Gus? No, that can't be, 'Cause Gus, I guess he don't know me. Hold on, hold on, it is Gus, now. I'm plumb gee-twisted. Anyhow, I met him there on Adams street, Perched high up on his wagon seat. Or was he in a buggy? — Yes, The wagon's what it was, I guess. Well, 'taint no matter anyhow, We simply jest got in a row. An' he'll know me next time we meet. I knocked him plumb clean off his feet. 'Twas Thursday night, I know it now, An' all because he let his sow Run through my yard an' break the gates. I always did git mixed on dates. The thing that you think you can do is more than half done when you start. If you have never done anything for yourself, then you are either a coward or a ne'er-do-well, or else you'd better start now. ®1|^ ai0Fb Attto. Some of you may have had experience with automobiles. The driver is generally in fear of something happening to the engine. In the south one day I sat on the rear seat of an antiquated auto and overheard the following conversation on the front seat: Hear that? Hear that? Now, wait a bit, I'll speed'er up and see. Can't you hear that from where you sit? It don't sound good to me. Now listen. Hear it? There! Hear that? That click. That there haint right. I can't quite tell just where it's at. That hood aint very tight. Now, there it goes, the chain, I guess, a hittin' on th' guard. It always rattles more or less. She's puffin' pretty hard. I'll tell you what, it's too much juice. She's got to have more air. No, that aint it, your muffler's loose. By gosh, I can't tell where That noise is comin' from and yet — she's quit that puffin' now. It's in yer mixer. Bill, I'll bet, and still, I can't s^e how — That pump ain't workin' like it should. I fixed it ip last night. By gosh, I bet it's in th' hood. These cars would make me fight. Now listen when I throw the gear— it sounds some better there. Let's stop at this garage right here and try a bit more air. Oh, darn the carburetter. No! I'll run 'er till she quits. Now listen when I run 'er slow. That furthest valve there spits. By hek, I guess she's got 'er gait. Throw up yer spark a bit. If I get home to dinner late, my wife'll have a fit. Oh, darn yer wife — ^hear that again? The darned thing's gettin' worse. I thought I shot a tire then. Excuse me if I curse. Just listen at the bloody thing. It's shootin' pretty well. It sounds a little like a spring. Be hanged if I can tell. Say, Bill, I know, the sparker's off. You'd better let me drive. The sparker, Hell. Just hear 'er cough. You think I haint alive? The darned connectin' rod is broke, by gosh, I'll bet a dime. Say, Bill, this car sure is a joke. Well, 'bye, I'm home on time. 3taU iajjH. Now himtin's no fun on a sticky, hot day But, take it, along when the sky is grey — The branches get cleaned up enough to see through — The squirrel thinks he's hid — cause he can't see you. A feller kin go fer a half a day's roam An' feel good an' hungry again' he gits home — I tell you the change puts new life in yer veins — An' then, take it late in the fall, when it rains, An' all out o' doors there's a kind of a fog By gosh, you kin crawl in an' sleep like a log — It's good days fer taters — eat jackets an' all. Nobody kin help kind o' likin' the fall. When it's kind o' uncomfortable out o' doors An' we hustle around with the evening chores — When the leaves on the ground seem to race to and fro An' the smoke from the fire wood kind o' hangs low. There's lots of good walnuts to dry on the shed An' plenty of kivvers to slip on the bed — The cold wind comes by with its usual pang The barn door blows shut with the very same "bang." The summer is gone, bat the branches aglow Are plenty to pay us for letting it go. The new, cooler nights with the hot chicken pie Pay up for the long summer season gone by. So bring in some cider an' pop some more corn An' get out the fiddle, an' Joe, get yer horn An' Bess at the organ, an' Babe on the comb — Crowd up close together an' play "Home, Sweet Home." m^ ®o ®lj? ittmtrkttt Pif. Peoria, 111., Feb. 20, '04. Dear Cousin George: — I have never answered your letter because I was waiting for the spirit to move me, so I could answer it after the style of your request. I just came from a 3c lunch counter with my stomach full, therefore I do not think the following is as appetizing as it otherwise might have been made, but I give it to you now, and dedicate it to you "without permis- sion." You will find it the greatest "I opener" that ever came "through the tube." Believe me when I tell you that I opened fourteen kegs of "I's" in order to pick out enough words ending with the vowel sound of "I'' to build up the rhyme. If you will sit down and attempt to "put up" some short meter with any certain vowel sound at the end of each line, you'll be surprised how soon you'll run out of "soap.'' Here she goes: When the winds begin to sigh, Like the winter's gettin' nigh; When the geese are flyin' high To the south, across the sky; When the frost is on the rye, An' the corn is stacked up high; When the fields are kind o' dry. An' the crop is all laid by; When the Sap Suck has to pry In the wood, to get a fly; When the Bob White whistles sly, An' there comes a faint reply; When the cotton-tail is spry, Lest the hunter catch his eye; When the waivin' trees imply That the year is goin' to die. An' you don't know, hardly, why. But you kind o' want to cry — There is just one thing that's shy, All our hearts to satisfy. 'Tis a good big Pumpkin Pie. All in favor, please say "Aye." Good-bye. OIIjnBtmaa, 1305. O, Merry, Merry Christmas, what truly does it mean? A day of gifts from you to me, and Holly, red and green? A holiday for little folks with Santa Glaus, so gay? Is this the purport, do you think, of this eventful day? A day of dancing sugar-plnms, of Christmas trees, and song? Can we endorse it, after all, or must we call it wrong When some exchange their tokens rare, and others want for bread — When some are scarcely in the race, while others forge ahead? A birthday of the Christ of old, whom we have never seen? So mythical to us today, two thousand years be- tween ? What then shall we, who live today, find good in Christmas tide? Or, shall we call it 'Holiday' and venture naught be- side? Ah, no, there's millions bundled up in this electric phrase From childhood's Christmas stocking time to old, declining days — There's such a world ef earthly good each one of us could do That Christmas is a lesson leaf, each year, for me and you. Association is the gift that money cannot buy. It stills the heart that often longs, and dries the tearful eye. So, get together now and then, and call your neigh- bors in And have a Christmas every week and think what fools we've been To go along in doubt and fear and much too often weep When gifts are not a requisite and cheering words so cheap. Let's make a resolution, then, for t as the coming year To have a Christmas every day and let us never hear A single word from any Brown to shake the Christ- mas tree. The vote's unanimous, I know — so let it always be. People are much like chickens, once one is sick, or down, the others pick it to death. Many a great work could have been hastened by the people who looked on. Envy is about the worst curse to mankind. lUte Afl lo« Clfl Almt9. There's a somethin' in my makin' That perhaps is all my own, 'Tis a liberty I'm takin' Just to see if I'm alone. Did you ever hate the present, Get disgusted with your lot When your duty wasn't pleasant. Or the weather cold, or hot? Have you caught yourself a wishin' That the workin' time was o'er, That you just could go a fishin' For a week or two, or more? Has your think tank ever told you That there's better times ahead When your mother had to scold you, Had to send you off to bed? Have you ever wished the hours On the clock would hurry by To the day in sunny bowers With perpetual blue sky? Have you ever thought you'd hurry 'Till you got the work all done So you wouldn't have to worry. But could simply live on fun? If you did, there's nothin' in it. Better try another way. Have your fun this very minute Lest the world should end today. Live the now and dash the morrow Keep it new, with all its joy. Never let a coming sorrow Any other soul annoy. Watch the hand that's on the throttle "leep the other out of sight, Put your troubles in a bottle And be sure the cork is tight. Keep a thinkin', keep a sayin' That you'll mix your work with play And remember that you're payin' For the things you shirk today. Don't be lookin' for the turnin' When your life will be a dream. Keep the fires ever burnin' For we're driftin' down the stream. The man in a class by himself is the one who holds and merits the confidence of his community. If you want to be happy, get satisfied with your lot and then gradually improve it. Every man either earns his monetary success, or else pays dearly for it. 10 dwr At Ei\t mh f nwH?. These verses were written for our immediate family, and in some respects may not mean so much to all of my readers, but some of the verses will tit you all. Sometimes I think, as I sit alone, Of the days when childhood was all my own. Of the fun we had in the big back lot, When the snow was cold, or the sun was hot, A watchful eye on each little tot, Over at the Old House. I think of the closet, up in front. Where we used to rummage and fish and hunt, The watch-maker's tools, and the cubby hole, And then I think of the turning pole, And the terrace in front, where we used to roll, Over at the Old House. I think of the summer kitchen there, Where Pap would tinker and we would stare. The old red sleigh with the shingle nail. The rosin that boiled on the side fence rail And how John Onyun carried the mail. Over at the Old House. How the crust slid under the cellar door, And the rainy day sleds wore out the floor. How we ate in the kitchen at wash day times. How we sat on a chair for childish crimes. How I drank hard cider with Harry Himes, Over at the Old House. And again I think of the buggy shed, And the stalls where Filly and Dick were fed, How we welcomed the sound of the big barn door, And knew that Pap was home from the store, I'd like to go through those days once more, Over at the Old House, I often think of the dinner bell, Whose sound the whole prairie knew so well. The pantry off from the kitchen there, Where mother made cookies, oh, so rare. Always enough, but none to spare. Over at the Old House. The mother goose songs that we used to sing, The pop corn ball that hung by a string, I often think of the parlor, too, The curiosities, more than few. And just how the organ looked, do you? Over at the Old House. Remember the coasting on White street hill? With many a slip and often a spill? How they would come from far and near, Even at night when the sky was clear, "Bring out the G" I seem to hear. Over at the Old House. Remember the ditch in the lot next door? How we made furnaces there galore? How we would scamper and tumble and climb? Think of the fun we could have for a dime. Then how we bellowed at Dancing School time, Over the Old House. 12 Two of us, seems to me, Edna and Ted, Slept with an eighteen inch board in the bed. How we took turns at the same old red quilt. Don't you remember the mantel Pap built, Also the box of face powder Ted spilt. Over at the Old House. Often I think of the old street light The magic lantern shows every night. Also the Silver leaf, fanned by the breeze, Well you remember the hives and the bees, Bright days were those in the big cheery trees. Over at the Old House. Remember the "Authors'' we used to play When Scarlet Fever was holding sway? The "Palsom of Life" and all the rest. Remember the dolls that Ida dressed? And weren't the rats an awful pest, Over at the Old House. The Sunday hair cuts we all went through. The clippers would pull till your face was blue. The flying dutchman you can't forget, Where many a time we got up-set. I fancy I see it whirling yet. Over at the Old House. And yet we go onward to each morning sun. Waiting the day when we'll have lots of fun. Boys, it's no use, we might just as well say: I'm goin' to try to have fun every day, Thinking with joy of the past, on the way, Over at the Old House. 13 ^i^xs Mmnsi f siu. I took the town directory from off the office shelf To try and find a person who was just his own plain self. I read the list of all my friends and people that I knew And every blessed one of them — well — this is what they do: The chambermaid would like to be the lady in the room, The best man at the wedding, he would like to be the groom. The woman in the purple dress is bound to want the drab. The cabman tries to imitate the fellow in the cab. If Mrs. Jones talks English, w'y her maid talks Eng- lish, too, And if she gets a new blue hat, the hired girl's is blue. The speaker on the platform tries to imitate the Gov. The kid takes off the actor, when he starts in mak- ing love. The preacher apes the doctor and the bell boy apes the swell, 14 The darkie apes the whole darn'd bunch and does it mighty well. The lady at the party tries to walk like Mrs. High, The way they spuldge and mimic makes me giggle fit to die. The dasher in the ball room holds his arm just like his friend, The girl that's dancing with him tries to do the Greecian bend. It's so, clear down the ladder, yes, and up again, and down. From star to souper on the stage, from circus King to clown There's not a single one that tries to be himself alone, But all reach out to pinch some little trick that's not their own. They try to talk some foolish way, or use some cer- tain word That they pick up from someone else, in just the common herd. And so we have to take it all — there's nothing we can do Because we find that, now and then, we do the mon- key, too. Let's eat a bit, and leave the rest. The one who follows smacks the best. If you know you are right, your enemies won't give you much worry. 15 ICtf**B (^ntBtian. Wondering, thinking, our lives wend their way, Far toward the future our hearts, day by day. Hateful at intervals, often times sad, Sometimes too sorrowful, sometimes too glad. Hoping in futures, or living in past; Sailing from Summer to Winter's cold blast. Striving together for weel or for woe Sipping the bitter with sweets, as we go. Seeing some good and a moral with all. Building up towers to see each one fall Gathering knowledge to leave it behind Carving our names in whatever we find. Lofty air pictures and castles immense Grass always greenest beyond the line fence. Hope everlasting and future not gone. Whither and when will the curtain be drawn. Thus we are thankful for things we don't see. Something to wonder for — something to be. None can compare with this wonderful wall This to be thankful for once and for all. 16 2Ce^p Wut Wxtk iag Knh (gun. You'll have to git right out o' here, no huntin' on this place. You can't tell me you didn't see that sign right 'fore yer face. We jest arrested 2 er 3 fer huntin' on these grounds, I'd like to know, though, where ye got them pretty Beagle hounds. That young one there looks like he's built of first class bang up stock. Ye see, the old man made the rule, an' he's as firm as rock. No, boys, yer whiskey won't buy me, you'll have to climb the wire. By gol, that houn's a pretty head, I'll bet he's full o' fire. By gol, I wish the boss was here, he's sick a bed, ye know. If this wan't Sunday I'd jest like to see that pup there go. By gum, you've got a handsome gun, an' say, she's balanced slick. I tell you what you do, now, boys, jest skin across the crick. An' skirt aroun' that timber there, up near that there south lot, I bet you'll start a cotton-tail, I almost know the spot. Con sarn it all, jest wait a bit, my gun's up in the barn. The old man's deaf, an' if he hears, well, — I don't give a darn. We'll jest skin out an' get a few, I'm stuck on that there pup. You fellers start along. I'll get my gun, an' I'll ketch up. M^ Jprag^r. 0, Thou Supreme Power and Guide, hearken un- to this reverence: I thank Thee for the possibilties which Thou hast placed around me. I hope that I may so conduct myself as to be a creditable factor in my community. I trust that Thine existence shall be so present- ed to the iniquitous that they shall see of Thee. I rejoice that Thy presence is enjoyable by all the universe, and that man is the strength which shapes his own destiny. Glory be to the Factor which allows to man this liberal privilege. I regret that sometimes fate will temporarily outdo Thy best intentions, but rejoice in the know- ledge that Right and Justice tower above even Fate, and that I can be right, and thus take advantage of all the impetus with which Thine own existence has surrounded me, and thus I go on, with the highest speed, to the greatest goal intended for Man. Amen. IS A wise man who can see good in others is bound to absorb some of it. It isn't always the sharpest ones who perform their world work best. Many a dollar has slipped trying to cinch the last one. If you are honest, that's a "trade" which will go far toward supporting a big family. If your pride is in your pocket, I'll know there's ready cash with it. He who can keep a secret will find more valu- able things coming into his keeping. If you like a person, you can let him know without telling it, and he'll like you. There are no servants. It's just a great army, and as the battle goes on, each rises to the rank where he belongs. If every earthly wish of yours would just come true, just that, my friend, would be my earnest wish for you. He who is careless about following orders would never suit me for a General. Many are the worldly men not prone To stand aloft and say their soul's their own. After all, facts make the best stories. Truth and evolution. Everybody believes that. 19 APR 17 1912 Deacidified using the Bookkeeper proa Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide Treatment Date: Sept. 2009 PreservationTechnologii A WORLD LEADER IN COLLECTIONS PRESERVA1 111 Thomson Park Drive Cranberry Township, PA 16066 (724) 779-2111