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RILEY FARM-RHYMES 
 
RILEY 
 FARM-RHYMES 
 
 JAMES 
 WHITCOMB RILEY 
 
 ILLUSTRATED BY 
 
 WILL VAWTER 
 
 03 
 
 INDIANAPOLIS 
 
 THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY 
 
 PUBLISHERS 
 
Copyright, 1883, 1887, 1888, 1890, 1891, 1892, 1894, 
 
 1896, 1898, 1899 and 1905 
 
 by 
 
 James Whitcomb Riley 
 
 Copyright 1921 
 The Bobbs-Merrill Company 
 
 tS^ 
 
 ^0^ 
 
 
 <\' 
 
 Printed in the United States of America 
 
 PRESS OF 
 
 BRAUNWORTH & CO. 
 
 BOOK MANUFACTURERS 
 
 BROOKLYN. N. Y. 
 
 m 151921 
 
 \^ 
 
 ^J 
 
 0)C!.A622410 
 
^ 
 
 Inscribed with all Grateful Esteem 
 
 TO 
 
 The Good Old-Fashioned People 
 
THE deadnin' and the thichefs jes' a-b'ilin' full of 
 
 June, 
 From the rattle o^ the cricket, to the yallar-ham- 
 
 mer's tune; 
 And the catbird in the bottom and the sap-sucJc on 
 
 the snag, 
 Seems ef they can't — od-rot-em! — jest do nothin' 
 
 else but brag! 
 
 They's music in the ttvitter of the bluebird and the 
 
 And that sassy little critter jest a-peckin' all the day; 
 They's music in the *' flicker'' and they's music in 
 
 the thrush. 
 And they's music in the snicker o' the chipmunk in 
 
 the brush! — 
 
 They's music all around me! — And I go back, in a 
 
 dream 
 Sweeter yit than ever found me fast asleep: — And, 
 
 in the stream 
 That ust to split the medder whare the dandylions 
 
 growed, 
 I stand knee-deep, and redder than the sunset down 
 
 the road. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 At "The Literary" ........... 86 
 
 Canary at the Farm, A ........ . 68 
 
 Country Pathway, A . . 141 
 
 Dream of Autumn, A . . 47 
 
 Fessler's Bees 22 
 
 Griggsby's Station ........... 78 
 
 How John Quit the Farm 118 
 
 Knee-Deep in June 101 
 
 "Mylo Jones»s Wife" 50 
 
 Old-Fashioned Roses 114 
 
 Old October 110 
 
 Old Winters on the Farm 109 
 
 Orchard Lands of Long Ago, The 56 
 
 Romancin' 158 
 
 Squire Hawkins's Story 173 
 
 Tale of the Airly Days, A 152 
 
 Thoughts fer the Discuraged Farmer .... 41 
 
 "Tradin' Joe" 60 
 
 Tree-Toad, The 137 
 
 Uncle Dan'l in Town over Sunday 71 
 
 Up and Down Old Brandywine 165 
 
 Us Farmers in the Country ....... 84 
 
 Voice from the Farm, A 157 
 
 Wet-Weather Talk . 38 
 
 What Smith Knew about Farming ..... 92 
 
 When Early March Seems Middle May .... 149 
 
 When the Frost Is on the Punkin ..... 17 
 
 When the Green Gits Back in the Trees ... 34 
 
 Where the Children Used to Play 74 
 
 Wortermelon Time 130 
 
.^t-^ 
 
 J 
 
 
RILEY FARM-RHYMES 
 
 4^^. 
 
WHEN THE FROST IS ON THE PUNKIN 
 
 w 
 
 HEN the frost is on the punkin and the 
 
 fodder's in the shock, 
 And you hear the kyouck and gobble of the struttin' 
 
 turkey-cock, 
 And the clackin' of the guineys, and the cluckin' of 
 
 the hens, 
 And the rooster's hallylooyer as he tiptoes on the 
 
 fence ; 
 O, it's then's the times a feller is a-f eelin' at his best. 
 With the risin' sun to greet him from a night of 
 
 peaceful rest. 
 As he leaves the house, bare-headed, and goes out to 
 
 feed the stock. 
 When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in 
 
 the shock. 
 
 17 
 
WHEN THE FROST IS ON THE PUNKIN 
 
 They's something kindo' harty-like about the 
 
 atmusfere 
 When the heat of summer^s over and the coohn' fall 
 
 is here — 
 Of course we miss the flowers, and the blossums on 
 
 the trees, 
 And the mumble of the hummin'-birds and buzzin' of 
 
 the bees; 
 But the air's so appetizin' ; and the landscape through 
 
 the haze 
 Of a crisp and sunny morning of the airly autumn 
 
 days 
 Is a pictur' that no painter has the colorin' to mock — 
 When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in 
 
 the shock. 
 
 The husky, rusty russel of the tossels of the com. 
 And the raspin' of the tangled leaves, as golden as 
 
 the morn ; 
 The stubble in the furries — kindo' lonesome-like, but 
 
 still 
 A-preachin' sermuns to us of the barns they growed 
 
 to fill; 
 
 18 
 
WHEN THE FROST IS ON THE PUNKIN 
 
 The strawstack in the medder, and the reaper in the 
 shed ; 
 
 The hosses in theyr stalls below — the clover over- 
 head ! — 
 
 O, it sets my hart a-clickin' like the tickin' of a clock, 
 
 When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in 
 the shock! 
 
 Then your apples all is getherd, and the ones a feller 
 
 keeps 
 Is poured around the cellar-floor in red and yeller 
 
 heaps ; 
 And your cider-makin' 's over, and your wimmern- 
 
 folks is through 
 With their mince and apple-butter, and theyr souse 
 
 and saussage, too ! . . . 
 I don't know how to tell it — ^but ef sich a thing could 
 
 be 
 As the Angels wantin' boarding and they'd call 
 
 around on me — 
 I'd want to 'commodate 'em — all the whole-indurin' 
 
 flock- 
 When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in 
 
 the shock! 
 
 21 
 
(^(irp 
 
 FESSLER'S BEES 
 
 ALKIN' 'bout yer bees," says Ike, 
 Speakin' slow and ser'ous-like, 
 "D' ever tell you 'bout old 'Bee'— 
 Old 'Bee' Fessler?" Ike says-he! 
 "Might call him a bee-expert, 
 When it come to handlin' bees, — 
 Roll the sleeves up of his shirt 
 And wade in amongst the trees 
 Where a swarm 'u'd settle, and — 
 Blam'dest man on top of dirt ! — • 
 Rake 'em with his naked hand 
 Right back in the hive ag'in, 
 Jes' as easy as you please! 
 Nary bee 'at split the breeze 
 Ever jabbed a stinger in 
 22 
 
FESSLEE'S BEES 
 
 Old 'Bee' Fessler — jes' in fun, 
 Er in airnest — nary one! — 
 Couldn't agg one on to, nuther, 
 Ary one way er the other! 
 
 "Old 'Bee' Fessler," Ike says-he, 
 
 ''Made a speshyality 
 
 Jes' o' bees ; and built a shed — 
 
 Len'th about a half a mild! 
 
 Had about a thousan' head 
 
 0' hives, I reckon — tame and wild ! 
 
 Dumdest buzzin' ever wuz — 
 
 Wuss'n telegraph-poles does 
 
 When they're sockin' home the news 
 
 Tight as they kin let 'er loose ! 
 
 Visitors rag out and come 
 
 Clean from town to hear 'em hum, 
 
 And stop at the kivered bridge; 
 
 But wuz some 'u'd cross the ridge 
 
 Alius, and go clos'ter — so 's 
 
 They could see 'em hum, I s'pose ! 
 
 'Peared-like strangers down that track 
 
 Alius met folks comin' back 
 
 Lookin' extry fat and hearty 
 
 Fer a city picnic party ! 
 
 23 
 
FESSLER'S BEES 
 
 ** Tore he went to Floridy, 
 Old *Bee' Fessler," Ike says-he— 
 ''Old 'Bee' Fessler couldn't bide 
 Childern on his place," says Ike. 
 "Yit, fer all, they'd climb inside 
 And tromp round there, keerless-like. 
 In their bare feet. 'Bee' could tell 
 Ev'ry town-boy by his yell — 
 So 's 'at when they bounced the fence, 
 Didn't make no difference! 
 He'd jes' git down on one knee 
 In the grass and pat the bee! — 
 And, ef 't 'adn't stayed stuck in, 
 Fess' 'u'd set the sting ag'in, 
 'N' potter off, and wait around 
 Fer the old famillyer sound. 
 Alius boys there, more or less, 
 Scootin' round the premises ! 
 When the buckwheat wuz in bloom, 
 Lawzy! how them bees 'u'd boom 
 Round the boys 'at crossed that way 
 Fer the crick on Saturday ! 
 Never seemed to me su'prisin' 
 'At the sting o' bees 'uz p'izin! 
 
 24 
 
FESSLER'S BEES 
 
 " Tore he went to Floridy," 
 
 Ike says, "nothin' 'bout a bee 
 
 'At old Fessler didn't know, — 
 
 W'y, it jes' 'peared-like 'at he 
 
 Knowed their language, high and low : 
 
 Claimed he told jes' by their buzz 
 
 What their wants and wishes wuz! 
 
 Peek in them-air little holes 
 
 Round the porches o' the hive — 
 
 Drat their pesky little souls! — 
 
 Could 'a' skinned the man alive! 
 
 Bore right in there with his thumb. 
 
 And squat down and scrape the gum 
 
 Outen ev'ry hole, and blow 
 
 'N' bresh the crumbs off, don't you know! 
 
 Take the roof off, and slide back 
 
 Them-air glass concerns they pack 
 
 Full o' honey, and jes' lean 
 
 'N' grabble 'mongst 'em fer the queen! 
 
 Fetch her out and show you to her — 
 
 Jes', you might say y interview her! 
 
 "Year er two," says Ike, says-he, 
 " 'Fore he went to Floridy, 
 25 
 
FESSLER'S BEES 
 
 Fessler struck the theory, 
 Honey was the same as love — 
 You could make it day and night: 
 Said them bees o' his could be 
 Got jes' twic't the work out of 
 Ef a feller managed right. 
 He contended ef bees found 
 Blossoms all the year around, • 
 He could git 'em down at once 
 To work all the winter months 
 Same as summer. So, one fall. 
 When their summer's work wuz done, 
 'Bee' turns in and robs 'em all; 
 Loads the hives then, one by one. 
 On the cyars, and 'lowed he'd see 
 Ef bees loafed in Floridy! 
 Said he bet he'd know the reason 
 Ef Ms didn't work that season! 
 
 "And," says Ike, "it's jes'," says-he, 
 "Like old Fessler says to me: 
 'Any man kin fool a bee, 
 Git him down in Floridy!* 
 'Feared at fust, as ole 'Bee' said, 
 Fer to kind o' turn their head 
 26 
 
FESSLER'S BEES 
 
 Fer a spell; but, bless you! they 
 Didn't lose a half a day 
 Altogether! — Jes' lit in 
 Them-air tropics, and them-air 
 Cacktusses a-ripen-nin', 
 'N' magnolyers, and sweet peas, 
 'N' 'simmon and pineapple trees, 
 'N' ripe bananers, here and there, 
 'N' dates a-danglin' in the breeze, 
 'N' figs and reezins everywhere. 
 All waitin' jes' fer Fessler's bees! 
 'N' Fessler's bees, with gaumy wings, 
 A-gittin' down and ivhoopin^ things !- 
 Fessler kind o' overseein' 
 'Em, and sort o' 'hee-o-heein'!^ 
 
 " 'Fore he went to Floridy, 
 Old 'Bee' Fessler," Ike says-he, 
 "Wuzn't counted, jes' to say, 
 Mean er or'n'ry anyway; 
 On'y' ev'ry 'tarnel dime 
 'At 'u'd pass him on the road 
 He'd ketch up with, ev'ry time; 
 And no mortal ever knowed 
 
 29 
 
FESSLER'S BEES 
 
 Him to spend a copper cent — 
 'Less on some fool- speriment 
 With them bees — like that-un he 
 Played on 'em in Floridy. 
 Fess', of course, he tuck his ease, 
 But 'twus bilious on the bees ! 
 Sweat, you know, 'u'd jes' stand out 
 On their forreds — pant and groan, 
 And grunt round and limp about ! — 
 And old 'Bee,' o' course, a-knowin' 
 'Twuzn't no fair shake to play 
 On them pore dumb insecks, ner 
 To abuse 'em thataway. 
 Bees has rights, I'm here to say. 
 And that's all they ast him fer! 
 Man as mean as thaty jes' 'pears, 
 Could 'a' worked bees on the sheers! 
 Cleared big money — well, I guess, 
 *Bee' shipped honey, more er less. 
 Into ev'ry state, perhaps, 
 Ever putt down in the maps ! 
 
 "But by time he fetched 'em back 
 In the Spring ag'in," says Ike, 
 
 30 
 
FESSLER'S BEES 
 
 "They wuz actin' s'picious-like : 
 Though they 'peared to lost the track 
 O' everything they saw er heard, 
 They'd lay round the porch, and gap' 
 At their shadders in the sun, 
 Do-less like, ontel some bird 
 Suddently 'u'd maybe drap 
 In a bloomin' churry tree, 
 Twitterin' a tune 'at run 
 In their minds familiously! 
 They'd revive up, kind o', then. 
 Like they argied: 'Well, it's be'n 
 The most longest summer we 
 Ever saw er want to see! 
 Must be right, though, er old "Bee'' 
 'U'd notify us!' they says-ee; 
 And they'd sort o' square their chin 
 And git down to work ag'in — 
 Moanin' round their honey-makin'. 
 Kind o' like their head was achin', 
 Tetchin' fer to see how they 
 Trusted Fessler that away — 
 Him a-lazin' round, and smirkin' 
 To hisse'f to see 'em workin'! 
 
 31 
 
FESSLER'S BEES 
 
 "But old *Bee/ " says Ike, says-he, — 
 "Now where is he? Where's he gone? 
 Where's the head he helt so free? 
 Where's his pride and vanity? 
 What's his hopes a-restin' on? — 
 Never knowed a man," says Ike, 
 "Take advantage of a bee, 
 'At affliction didn't strike 
 Round in that vicinity! 
 Sinners alkis suffers some. 
 And old Fessler's reck'nin' come! 
 That-air man to-day is jes' 
 Like the grass 'at Scriptur' says 
 Cometh up, and then turns in 
 And jes' gits cut down ag'in! 
 
 "Old 'Bee' Fessler," Ike says-he, 
 "Says, last fall, says he to me — 
 *Ike,' says he, 'them bees has jes' 
 Ciphered out my or'n'riness! 
 Nary bee in ary swarm 
 On the whole endurin' farm 
 Won't have nothin' more to do 
 With a man as mean as I've 
 
 32 
 
FESSLER'S BEES 
 
 Be'n to them, last year er two ! 
 Nary bee in ary hive 
 But'll turn his face away, 
 Like they ort, whenever they 
 Hear my footprints drawin' nigh!' 
 And old 'Bee,' he'd sort o' shy 
 Round oneasy in his cheer. 
 Wipe his eyes, and yit the sap. 
 Spite o' all, 'u'd haf to drap. 
 As he wound up: Wouldn't keer 
 Quite so much ef they'd jes' light 
 In and settle things up right. 
 Like they ort ; but — blame the thing !- 
 'Pears-like they won't even sting! 
 Pepper me, the way I felt, 
 And I'd thank 'em, ev'ry welt!' 
 And as miz'able and mean 
 As 'Bee' looked, ef you'd 'a' seen 
 Them-air hungry eyes," says Ike, 
 "You'd fergive him, more'n like. 
 
 "Wisht you had 'a' knowed old *Bee' 
 'Fore he went to Floridy!" 
 
WHEN THE GREEN GITS BACK IN 
 THE TREES 
 
 IN Spring, when the green gits back in the trees, 
 And the sun comes out and stays, 
 And yer boots pulls on with a good tight squeeze, 
 
 And you think of yer bare-foot days; 
 When you ort to work and you want to not, 
 
 And you and yer wife agrees 
 It's time to spade up the garden-lot. 
 
 When the green gits back in the trees — 
 Well ! work is the least o* my idees 
 When the green, you know, gits back in the 
 trees ! 
 
 34 
 
WHEN THE GEEEN GITS BACK IN THE TREES 
 
 When the green gits back in the trees, and bees 
 
 Is a-buzzin^ aroun' ag'in 
 In that kind of a lazy go-as-you-please 
 
 Old gait they bum roun' in; 
 When the grounds all bald whare the hay-rick 
 stood, 
 And the crick's riz, and the breeze 
 Coaxes the bloom in the old dogwood, 
 And the green gits back in the trees, — 
 I like, as I say, in sich scenes as these, 
 The time when the green gits back in the trees ! 
 
 When the whole tail-feathers o' Wintertime 
 
 Is all pulled out and gone! 
 And the sap it thaws and begins to climb, 
 
 And the swet it starts out on 
 A feller's forred, a-gittin' down 
 
 At the old spring on his knees^ — 
 I kindo' like jest a-loaferin' roun' 
 
 When the green gits back in the trees — 
 Jest a-potterin' roun' as I — dum — please — 
 When the green, you know, gits back in the 
 trees ! 
 
 37 
 
WET-WEATHER TALK 
 
 IT hain't no use to grumble and complane ; 
 It's jest as cheap and easy to rejoice. — 
 When God sorts out the weather and sends rain, 
 W'y, rain's my choice. 
 
 Men ginerly, to all intents — 
 
 Although they're apt to grumble some — 
 Puts most theyr trust in Providence, 
 And takes things as they come — 
 That is, the commonality 
 Of men that's lived as long as me 
 Has watched the world enugh to learn 
 They're not the boss of this concern. 
 38 
 
WET-WEATHER TALK 
 
 With some, of course, it's different — 
 
 I've saw young men that knowed it all, 
 And didn't like the way things went 
 On this terrestchul ball; — 
 
 But all the same, the rain, some way, 
 Rained jest as hard on picnic day; 
 Er, when they railly wanted it, 
 It mayby wouldn't rain a bit ! 
 
 In this existunce, dry and wet 
 
 Will overtake the best of men — 
 Some little skift o' clouds'll shet 
 The sun off now and then. — 
 
 And mayby, whilse you're wundern who 
 You've fool-like lent your umbrell' to, 
 And want it — out'll pop the sun. 
 And you'll be g-lad you hain't got none! 
 
 It aggervates the farmers, too — 
 
 They's too much wet, er too much sun, 
 Er work, er waitin' round to do 
 Before the plowin' 's done: 
 
 And mayby, like as not, the wheat. 
 Jest as it's lookin' hard to beat, 
 
 39 
 
WET-WEATHER TALK 
 
 Will ketch the storm — and jest about 
 The time the corn's a-jintin' out. 
 
 These-here cy-clones a-foolin' round — 
 
 And back'ard crops! — and wind and rain! — 
 And yit the corn that's wallerd down 
 May elbow up again ! — 
 
 They hain't no sense, as I can see, 
 Fer mortuls, sich as us, to be 
 A-faultin' Natchur's wise intents, 
 And iockin' horns with Providence! 
 
 It hain't no use to grumble and complane ; 
 
 It's jest as cheap and easy to rejoice. — 
 When God sorts out the weather and sends rain, 
 
 W'y, rain's my choice. 
 
 jPiP^ 
 
THOUGHTS FER THE DISCURAGED 
 FARMER 
 
 THE summer winds is sniffin' round the bloomin' 
 locus' trees ; 
 And the clover in the pastur' is a big day f er the bees, 
 And they been a-swiggin' honey, above board and on 
 
 the sly, 
 Tel they stutter in theyr buzzin' and stagger as they 
 
 fly. 
 
 The flicker on the fence-rail 'pears to jest spit on his 
 
 wings 
 And roll up his feathers, by the sassy way he sings ; 
 And the hoss-fly is a-whettin'-up his forelegs f er biz, 
 And the off -mare is a-switchin' all of her tale they is. 
 
 41 
 
THOUGHTS FER THE DISCURAGED FARMER 
 
 You can hear the blackbirds jawin' as they f oiler up 
 
 the plow — 
 Oh, theyr bound to git theyr brekf ast, and theyr not 
 
 a-carin' how; 
 So they quarrel in the furries, and they quarrel on 
 
 the wing — 
 But theyr peaceabler in pot-pies than any other 
 
 thing : 
 And it's when I git my shotgun drawed up in stiddy 
 
 rest, 
 She's as full of tribbelation as a yeller- jacket's nest; 
 And a few shots before dinner, when the sun's a- 
 
 shinin' right, 
 Seems to kindo'-sorto' sharpen up a feller's appetite I 
 
 They's been a heap o' rain, but the sun's out to-day, 
 And the clouds of the wet spell is all cleared away. 
 And the woods is all the greener, and the grass is 
 
 greener still ; 
 It may rain again to-morry, but I don't think it will. 
 Some says the crops is ruined, and the corn's 
 
 drownded out. 
 And propha-sy the wheat will be a failure, without 
 
 doubt ; 
 
 42 
 
THOUGHTS FER THE DISCUEAGED FARMER 
 But the kind Providence that has never failed us 
 
 yet, 
 
 Will be on hands onc't more at the 'leventh hour, 
 I bet! 
 
 Does the medder-lark complane, as he swims high 
 
 and dry 
 Through the waves of the wind and the blue of the 
 
 sky? 
 Does the quail set up and whissel in a disappinted 
 
 way, 
 Er hang his head in silunce, and sorrow all the day ? 
 Is the chipmuck's health a-failin'? — Does he walk, 
 
 er does he run? 
 Don't the buzzards ooze around up thare just like 
 
 they've alius done? 
 Is they anything the matter with the rooster's lungs 
 
 er voice? 
 Ort a mortui be complainin' when dumb animals 
 
 rejoice? 
 
 Then let us, one and all, be contentud with our lot ; 
 The June is here this morning, and the sun is shining 
 hot. 
 
 45 
 
THOUGHTS FER THE DISCURAGED FARMER 
 
 Oh ! let us fill our harts up with the glory of the day, 
 And banish ev'ry doubt and care and sorrow fur 
 
 away ! 
 Whatever be our station, with Providence fer guide, 
 Sich fine circumstances ort to make us satisfied; 
 Fer the world is full of roses, and the roses full of 
 
 dew, 
 And the dew is full of heavenly love that drips fer 
 
 me and you. 
 
 Ai^4^ 
 
A DREAM OF AUTUMN 
 
 MELLOW hazes, lowly trailing 
 Over wood and meadow, veiling 
 Somber skies, with wild fowl sailing 
 Sailor-like to foreign lands ; 
 And the north wind overleaping 
 Summer's brink, and flood-like sweeping 
 Wrecks of roses where the weeping- 
 Willows wring their helpless hands. 
 
 47 
 
A DREAM OF AUTUMN 
 
 Flared, like Titan torches flinging 
 Flakes of flame and embers, springing 
 From the vale, the trees stand swinging 
 
 In the moaning atmosphere; 
 While in dead'ning lands the lowing 
 Of the cattle, sadder growing, 
 Fills the sense to overflowing 
 
 With the sorrow of the year. 
 
 Sorrowfully, yet the sweeter 
 Sings the brook in rippled meter 
 Under boughs that lithely teeter 
 
 Lorn birds, answering from the shores 
 Through the viny, shady-shiny 
 Interspaces, shot with tiny 
 Flying motes that fleck the winy 
 
 Wave-engraven sycamores. 
 
 Fields of ragged stubble, wrangled 
 With rank weeds, and shocks of tangled 
 Corn, with crests like rent plumes dangled 
 Over Harvest's battle-plain ; 
 
 48 
 
A DREAM OF AUTUMN 
 
 And the sudden whir and whistle 
 Of the quail that, like a missile, 
 Whizzes over thorn and thistle, 
 
 And, a missile, drops again. 
 
 Muffled voices, hid in thickets 
 Where the redbird stops to stick its 
 Ruddy beak betwixt the pickets 
 
 Of the truant's rustic trap; 
 And the sound of laughter ringing 
 Where, within the wild vine swinging. 
 Climb Bacchante's schoolmates, flinging 
 
 Purple clusters in her lap. 
 
 Rich as wine, the sunset flashes 
 Round the tilted world, and dashes 
 Up the sloping West, and splashes 
 
 Red foam over sky and sea — 
 Till my dream of Autumn, paling 
 In the splendor all-prevailing, 
 Like a sallow leaf goes sailing 
 
 Down the silence solemnly. 
 
 49 
 
" MYLO JONES'S WIFE '' 
 
 ait /TYLO JONES'S wife" was all 
 ifX I heerd, mighty near, last Fall — ^ 
 Visitun relations down 
 T'other side of Morgan town! 
 Mylo Jones's wife she does 
 This and that, and "those" and "thus"!- 
 Can't 'bide babies in her sight — 
 Ner no childern, day and night, 
 Whoopin' round the premises — 
 Ner no nothin' else, I guess ! 
 50 
 
"MYLO JONES'S WIFE" 
 
 Mylo Jones's wife she 'lows 
 
 She's the boss of her own house ! — 
 
 Mylo — consequences is — 
 
 Stays whare things seem some like his, — 
 
 Uses, mostly, with the stock — 
 
 Coaxin' ''Old Kate" not to balk, 
 
 Ner kick hoss-flies' branes out, ner 
 
 Act, I s'pose, so much like her! 
 
 Yit the wimmern-folks tells you 
 
 She's perfection. — Yes they do ! 
 
 Mylo's wife she says she's found 
 
 Home hain't home with men-folks round 
 
 When they's work like hern to do — 
 
 Picklin' pears and butchern, too, 
 
 And a-rendern lard, and then 
 
 Cookin' f er a pack of men 
 
 To come trackin' up the flore 
 
 She's scrubbed tel she'll scrub no more! — 
 
 Yit she'd keep things clean ef they 
 
 Made her scrub tel Judgmunt Day ! 
 
 Mylo Jones's wife she sews 
 Carpet-rags and patches clothes 
 
 53 
 
"MYLO JONES'S WIFE" 
 
 Jest year in and out! — and yit 
 
 Whare's the livin' use of it ? 
 
 She asts Mylo that. — And he 
 
 Gits back whare he'd ruther be. 
 
 With his team; — ^jest plows — and don't 
 
 Never sware — hke some folks won't! 
 
 Think ef he'd cut loose, I gum! 
 
 'D he'p his heavenly chances some! 
 
 Mylo's wife don't see no use, 
 Ner no reason ner excuse 
 Fer his pore relations to 
 Hang- round like they alius do ! 
 Thare 'bout onc't a year — and she — 
 She jest ga'nts 'em, folks tells me, 
 On spiced pears! — Pass Mylo one. 
 He says ''No, he don't chuse none!" 
 Workin'men like Mylo they 
 'D ort to have meat ev'ry day ! 
 
 Dad-burn Mylo Jones's wife! 
 Ruther rake a blame caseknife 
 'Crost my wizzen than to see 
 Sich a womern rulin' me! — 
 54 
 
"MYLO JONES'S WIFE" 
 
 Ruther take and turn in and 
 Raise a fool mule-colt by hand! 
 Mylo, though — od-rot the man! — 
 Jest keeps ca'm — like some folks can- 
 And 'lows sich as her, I s'pose, 
 Is Man's helpmeet! — ^Mercy knows ! 
 
THE ORCHARD LANDS OF LONG AGO 
 
 THE orchard lands of Long Ago! 
 drowsy winds, awake, and blow 
 The snowy blossoms back to me, 
 And all the buds. that used to be! 
 Blow back along the grassy ways 
 Of truant feet, and lift the haze 
 Of happy summer from the trees 
 That trail their tresses in the seas 
 Of grain that float and overflow 
 The orchard lands of Long Ago! 
 56 
 
THE OECHARD LANDS OF LONG AGO 
 
 Blow back the melody that slips 
 
 In lazy laughter from the lips 
 
 That marvel much if any kiss 
 
 Is sweeter than the apple's is. 
 
 Blow back the twitter of the birds — 
 
 The lisp, the titter, and the words 
 
 Of merriment that found the shine 
 
 Of summer-time a glorious wine 
 
 That drenched the leaves that loved it so, 
 
 In orchard lands of Long Ago I 
 
 memory! alight and sing 
 Where rosy-bellied pippins cling, 
 And golden russets glint and gleam, 
 As, in the old Arabian dream, 
 The fruits of that enchanted tree 
 The glad Aladdin robbed for me! 
 And, drowsy v/inds, awake and fan 
 My blood as when it overran 
 A heart ripe as the apples grow 
 In orchard lands of Long Ago! 
 
"TRADIN' JOE^' 
 
 I'M one o' these cur'ous kind o' chaps 
 You think you know when you don't, perhaps! 
 I hain't no fool — ner I don't p'tend 
 To be so smart I could rickommend 
 Myself fer a conger ssman, my friend! — 
 But I'm kind o' betwixt-and-between, you know, — 
 One o' these fellers 'at folks call "slow." 
 And I'll say jest here I'm kind o' queer 
 Regardin' things 'at I see and hear, — 
 Fer I'm thick o' hearin* sometimes, and 
 It's hard to git me to understand; 
 But other times it hain't, you bet! 
 Fer I don't sleep with both eyes shet! 
 
 I've swapped a power in stock, and so 
 The neighbers calls me "Tradin' Joe" — 
 And I'm goin' to tell you 'bout a trade, — 
 And one o' the best I ever made: 
 
 60 
 
"TRADIN' JOE" 
 
 Folks has gone so fur's to say 
 
 'At I'm well fixed, in a worldly way, 
 
 And hein' so, and a widower, 
 
 It's not su'prisin', as you'll infer, 
 
 I'm purty handy among the sect — 
 
 Widders, especially, rickollect! 
 
 And I won't deny that along o' late 
 
 I've hankered a heap fer the married state — 
 
 But some way o' 'nother the longer we wait 
 
 The harder it is to discover a mate. 
 
 Marshall Thomas, — a friend o' mine, 
 Doin' some in the tradin' line. 
 But a'most too young to know it all — 
 On'y at picnics er some hall! — 
 Says to me, in a banterin' way. 
 As we was a-loadin' stock one day,^ 
 "You're a-huntin' a wife, and I want you to see 
 My girl's mother, at Kankakee! — 
 She hain't over fortj^ — good-lookin' and spry. 
 And jest the woman to fill your eye! 
 And I'm a-goin' there Sund'y, — and now," says he, 
 "I want to take you along with me; 
 And you marry her, and," he says, "by 'shaw ! 
 You'll hev me fer yer son-in-law!" 
 
 61 
 
"TRADIN' JOE" 
 
 I studied a while, and says I, "Well, I'll 
 
 First have to see ef she suits my style; 
 
 And ef she does, you kin bet your life 
 
 Your mother-in-law will be my wife !'* 
 
 Well, Sunday come; and I fixed up some — 
 
 Putt on a collar — I did, by gum! — 
 
 Got down my "plug," and my satin vest — 
 
 (You wouldn't know me to see me dressed! — 
 
 But any one knows ef you got the clothes 
 
 You kin go in the crowd wher' the best of 'em goes !) 
 
 And I greeced my boots, and combed my hair 
 
 Keerfully over the bald place there; 
 
 And Marshall Thomas and me that day^ 
 
 Eat our dinners with Widder Gray 
 
 And her girl Han'! ... 
 
 Well, jest a glance 
 0' the widder's smilin' countenance, 
 A-cuttin' up chicken and big pot-pies. 
 Would make a man hungry in Paradise! 
 And passin* p'serves and jelly and cake 
 'At would make an angers appetite ache! — 
 Pourin' out coffee as yaller as gold — 
 Twic't as much as the cup could hold — 
 
 62 
 
"TRADIN' JOE" 
 
 La! it was rich! — And then she'd say, 
 "Take some o' this!" in her coaxin' way, 
 Tell ef rd been a hoss I'd 'a' foundered, shore, 
 And jest dropped dead on her white-oak floor! 
 Well, the way I talked would 'a' done you good, 
 Ef you'd been there to 'a' understood ; 
 Tel I noticed Hanner and Marshall, they 
 Was a-noticin' me in a cur'ous way; 
 So I says to myse'f, says I, "Now, Joe, 
 The best thing fer you is to jest go slow!" 
 And I simmered down, and let them do 
 The bulk o' the talkin' the evening through. 
 And Marshall was still in a talkative gait 
 When he left, that evening — tolable late. 
 "How do you like her?" he says to me; 
 Says I, "She suits, to a 'i-y-TeeT 
 And then I ast how matters stood 
 With him in the opposite neighberhood ? 
 "Bully !" he says ; "I ruther guess 
 I'll finally git her to say the *yes/ 
 I named it to her to-night, and she 
 Kind o' smiled, and said 'she'd see' — 
 And that's a purty good sign!" says he: 
 "Yes," says I, "you're ahead o' me/" 
 
 65 
 
"TRADIN' JOE" 
 
 And then he laughed, and said, "Go in!" 
 
 And patted me on the shoulder ag'in. 
 
 Well, ever sense then I've been ridin' a good 
 
 Deal through the Kankakee neighberhood ; 
 
 And I make it convenient sometimes to stop 
 
 And hitch a few minutes, and kind o' drop 
 
 In at the widder's, and talk o' the crop 
 
 And one thing o' 'nother. And week afore last 
 
 The notion struck me, as I drove past, 
 
 I'd stop at the place and state my case — ^ 
 
 Might as well do it at first as last! 
 
 I felt first-rate; so I hitched at the gate, 
 
 And went up to the house ; and, strange to relate, 
 
 Marshall Thomas had dropped in, too. — 
 
 ''Glad to see you, sir, how do you do?" 
 
 He says, says he ! Well — it sounded queer; 
 
 And when Han' told me to take a cheer, 
 
 Marshall got up and putt out o' the room — 
 
 And motioned his hand fer the widder to come. 
 
 I didn't say nothin' fer quite a spell. 
 
 But thinks I to myse'f, "There's a dog in the well !" 
 
 And Han' she smiled so cur'ous at me- 
 
 Says I, "What's up?" And she says, says she, 
 
 66 
 
^'TKADIN' JOE" 
 
 "Marshall's been at me to marry ag'in, 
 
 And I told him 'no/ jest as you come in." 
 
 Well, somepin' o' 'nother in that girl's voice 
 
 Says to me, "Joseph, here's your choice!" 
 
 And another minute her guileless breast 
 
 Was lovin'ly throbbin' ag'in' my vest! — 
 
 And then I kissed her, and heerd a smack 
 
 Come like a' echo a-flutterin' back, 
 
 And we looked around, and in full view 
 
 Marshall was kissin' the widder, too! 
 
 Well, we all of us laughed, in our glad surprise, 
 
 Tel the tears come a-streamin' out of our eyes ! 
 
 And when Marsh said " 'Twas the squarest trade 
 
 That ever me and him had made," 
 
 We both shuck hands, 'y jucks! and swore 
 
 We'd stick together ferevermore. 
 
 And old Squire Chipman tuck us the trip: 
 
 And Marshall and me's in pardnership! 
 
A CANARY AT THE FARM 
 
 FOLKS has be'n to town, and Sahry 
 Fetched 'er home a pet canary, — 
 And of all the blame', contrary, 
 
 Agg-ervatin' things alive! 
 I love music — that's I love it 
 When it's free — and plenty of it; — 
 But I kindo' git above it, 
 At a dollar-eighty-five! 
 
 Reason's plain as I'm a-sayin', — 
 Jes' the idy, now, o' layin' 
 Out yer money, and a-payin' 
 
 Fer a wilier-cage and bird. 
 When the medder-larks is wingin' 
 Round you, and the woods is ringin' 
 With the beautifullest singin' 
 
 That a mortal ever heard ! 
 
 Sahry's sot, tho'. — So I tell her 
 
 He's a purty little feller. 
 
 With his wings o' creamy-yeller. 
 
 And his eyes keen as a cat ; 
 And the twitter o' the critter 
 'Pears to absolutely glitter! 
 Guess I'll haf to go and git her 
 
 A high-priceter cage 'n that! 
 68 
 
UNCLE DAN'L IN TOWN OVER SUNDAY 
 
 1 CAN'T git used to city ways — ■ 
 Ner never could, I' bet my hat ! 
 Jevver know jes' whur I was raised? — 
 Raised on a farm ! D' ever tell you that? 
 Was undoubtatly, I declare! 
 And now, on Sunday — ^fun to spare 
 Around a farm! Why, jes' to set 
 Up on the top three-cornered rail 
 Of Pap's ole place, nigh La Fayette, 
 I'd swap my soul off, hide and tail ! 
 71 
 
UNCLE DAN'L IN TOWN OVER SUNDAY 
 
 You fellers in the city here, 
 You don't know nothin' ! — S'pose to-day, 
 This clatterin' Sunday, you waked up 
 Without no jinglin'-janglin' bells, 
 Ner rattlin' of the milkman's cup, 
 Ner any swarm of screechin' birds 
 Like these here English swallers — S'pose 
 Ut you could miss all noise like those. 
 And git shet o' thinkin' of 'em afterwerds. 
 And then, in the country, wake and hear 
 Nothin' but silence — wake and see 
 Nothin' but green woods fur and near? — 
 What sort o' Sunday would that be? . . . 
 Wisht I hed you home with me! 
 
 Now think ! The laziest of all days — 
 To git up any time — er sleep — 
 Er jes' lay round and watch the haze 
 A-dancin' 'crost the wheat, and keep 
 My pipe a-goern laisurely. 
 And puff and whiff as pleases me — 
 And ef I leave a trail of smoke 
 Clean through the house, no one to say, 
 "Wah ! throw that nasty thing away ; 
 Hev some regyard fer decency!" 
 72 
 
UNCLE DAN'L IN TOWN OVER SUNDAY 
 
 To walk round barefoot, if you choose; 
 Er saw the fiddle — er dig some bait 
 And go a-fishin' — er pitch hoss shoes 
 Out in the shade somewhurs, and wait 
 For dinner-time, with an appetite 
 Ut folks in town cain't equal quite ! 
 To laze around the bam and poke 
 Fer hens' nests — er git up a match 
 Betv/ixt the boys, and watch 'em scratch 
 And rassle round, and sweat and swear 
 And quarrel to their hearts' content; 
 And me a-jes' a-settin' there 
 A-hatchin' out more devilment! 
 What sort o' Sunday would that be? . , . 
 Wisht I hed you home with me ! 
 
WHERE THE CHILDREN USED TO PLAY 
 
 THE old farm-home is Mother's yet and mine, 
 And filled it is with plenty and to spare, — 
 But we are lonely here in life's decline, 
 
 Though fortune smiles around us everywhere: 
 We look across the gold 
 Of the harvests, as of old — 
 The com, the fragrant clover, and the hay: 
 But most we turn our gaze. 
 As with eyes of other days. 
 To the orchard where the children used to play. 
 
 74 
 
WHERE THE CHILDREN USED TO PLAY 
 
 from our life's full measure 
 And rich hoard of worldy treasure 
 
 We often turn our weary eyes away, 
 And hand in hand tve wander 
 Down the old path winding yonder 
 
 To the orchard where the children used to play. 
 
 Our sloping- pasture-lands are filled with herbs; 
 
 The barn and granary-bins are bulging o'er: 
 The grove's a paradise of singing birds — 
 
 The woodland brook leaps laughing by the door; 
 
 Yet lonely, lonely still, 
 
 Let us prosper as we will, 
 Our old hearts seem so empty everyway — 
 
 We can only through a mist 
 
 See the faces we have kissed 
 In the orchard where the children used to play. 
 
 O from our life's full measure 
 And rich hoard of worldly treasure 
 
 We often turn our tveary eyes away, 
 And hand in hand we wander 
 Dotvn the old path winding yonder 
 
 To the orchard where the children used to play. 
 77 
 
GRIGGSBY'S STATION 
 
 PAP'S got his pattent-right, and rich as all 
 creation ; 
 But Where's the peace and comfort that we all 
 had before? 
 Le's go a-visitin' back to Griggsby's Station — 
 Back where we ust to be so happy and so pore! 
 
 The likes of us a-livin' here! It's jest a mortal pity 
 
 To see us in this great big house, with cyarpets on 
 
 the stairs, 
 
 And the pump right in the kitchen! And the city! 
 
 city! city! — 
 
 And nothin' but the city all around us ever'wheres ! 
 
 78 
 
GRIGGSBY'S STATION 
 
 Climb clean above the roof and look from the steeple, 
 
 And never see a robin, nor a beech or ellum tree ! 
 
 And rig-ht here in ear-shot of at least a thousan' 
 
 people. 
 
 And none that neighbors with us or we want to go 
 
 and see! 
 
 Le's go a-visitin' back to Griggsby^s Station — 
 Back where the latch-string's a-hangin' from the 
 door. 
 And ever' neighbor round the place is dear as a 
 relation — 
 Back where we ust to be so happy and so pore! 
 
 I want to see the Wiggenses, the whole kit-and-bilin', 
 A-drivin' up from Shallor Ford to stay the Sunday 
 through ; 
 And I want to see 'em hitchin' at their son-in-iaw's 
 and pilin' 
 Out there at 'Lizy Ellen's like they ust to do! 
 
 I want to see the piece-quilts the Jones girls is 
 makin' ; 
 And I want to pester Laury 'bout their freckled 
 hired hand, 
 
 79 
 
GRIGGSBY'S STATION 
 
 And joke her 'bout the widower she come purt' nigh 
 a-takin', 
 Till her Pap got his pension 'lowed in time to save 
 his land. 
 
 Le's go a-visitin' back to Griggsby's Station — 
 Back where they's nothin' aggervatin' any more, 
 
 Shet away safe in the woods around the old 
 location — 
 Back where we ust to be so happy and so pore! 
 
 I want to see Marindy and he'p her with her sewin'. 
 And hear her talk so lovin' of her man that's dead 
 and gone, 
 And stand up with Emanuel to show me how he's 
 growin', 
 And smile as I have saw her 'fore she putt her 
 .mournin' on. 
 
 And I want to see the Samples, on the old low^er 
 eighty, 
 When John, our oldest boy, he was tuk and 
 burried^ — for 
 His own sake and Katy's, — and I want to cry with 
 Katy 
 As she reads all his letters over, writ from The 
 War. 
 
 80 
 
GEIGGSBY'S STATION 
 
 What's in all this grand life and high situation, 
 And nary pink nor hollyhawk a-bloomin' at the 
 door ? — 
 
 Le's go a-visitin' back to Griggsby's Station — 
 Back where we ust to be so happy and so pore! 
 
^^^ 
 
 us FARMERS IN THE COUNTRY 
 
 US farmers in the country, as the seasons go and 
 come, 
 Is purty much like other folks,— we're apt to grumble 
 
 some! 
 The Spring's too backward fer us, er to forward — ary 
 
 one — 
 We'll jaw about it anyhow, and have our way er 
 
 none ! 
 The thaw's set in too suddent; er frost's stayed in 
 
 the soil 
 Too long to give the wheat a chance, and crops is 
 
 bound to spoil ! 
 The weather's eether most too mild, er too outrage- 
 ous rough, 
 And altogether too much rain, er not half rain 
 
 enugh ! 
 
 84 
 
us FARMERS IN THE COUNTRY 
 
 Now what rd like and what you'd like is plane enugh 
 
 to see: 
 It's jest to have old Providence drop round on you 
 
 and me 
 And ast us what our views is first, regardin' shine 
 
 er rain, 
 And post 'em when to shet her off, er let her on 
 
 again I 
 And yit I'd ruther, after all — consider'n' other chores 
 I' got on hands, , a-tendin' both to my aff ares and 
 
 yours — 
 I'd ruther miss the blame I'd git, a-rulin' things up 
 
 thare, 
 And spend my extry time in praise and gratitude 
 
 and prayer. 
 
AT " THE LITERARY '' 
 
 FOLKS in town, I reckon, thinks 
 They git all the fun they air 
 Runnin' loose 'round! — but, 'y jinks! 
 We' got fun, and fun to spare. 
 Right out here amongst the ash 
 And oak timber ever' where ! 
 Some folks else kin cut a dash 
 'Sides town-people, don't fergit! — 
 'Specially in winter-time, 
 When they's snow, and roads is fit. 
 In them circumstances I'm 
 Resig-nated to my lot — 
 Which putts me in mind o' what 
 'S called "The Literary." . 
 
 Us folks in the country sees 
 Lots o' fun! — Take spellin'-school ; 
 Er ole hoe-down jamborees; 
 Er revivals; er ef you'll 
 Tackle taffy-pullin's you 
 Kin git fun, and quite a few! — 
 Same with huskin's. But all these 
 86 
 
AT "THE LITERARY" 
 
 Kind o' frolics they hain't new 
 By a hunderd year* er two 
 Cipher on it as you please! 
 But I'll tell you what I jest 
 Think walks over all the rest — 
 Anyway it suits me best, — 
 That's 'The Literary." 
 
 First they started it — " 'y gee !" 
 
 Thinks-says-I, "this settle-ment 
 
 'S gittin' too high-toned f er me !'* 
 
 But when all begin to jine. 
 
 And I heerd Izory went, 
 
 I jest kind o' drapped in line. 
 
 Like you've seen some sandy, thin. 
 
 Scrawny shoat putt fer the crick 
 
 Down some pig-trail through the thick 
 
 Spice-bresh, where the whole drove's been 
 
 'Bout six weeks 'fore he gits in! — 
 
 "Can't tell nothin'," I-says-ee, 
 
 " 'Bout it tel you go and see 
 
 Their blame 'Literary'!" 
 
 87 
 
AT "THE LITEEARY" 
 
 Very first night I was there 
 I was 'p'inted to be what 
 They call "Critic" — so's a fair 
 And square jedgment could be got 
 On the pieces 'at was read, 
 And on the debate, — "Which air 
 Most destructive element, 
 Fire er worter?" Then they hed 
 Compositions on "Content," 
 "Death," and "Botany" ; and Tomps 
 He read one on "Dreenin' Swamps" 
 I p'nounced the boss, and said, 
 "<So fur, 'at's the best thing read 
 In yer ^LiteraryM" 
 
 Then they sung some — ^tel I called 
 
 Order, and got back ag'in 
 
 In the critic's cheer, and hauled 
 
 All o' the p'formers in: — 
 
 Mandy Brizendine read one 
 
 I fergit; and Doc's was "Thought"; 
 
 And Sarepty's, hern was "None 
 
 Air Denied 'at Knocks" : and Daut — 
 
 88 
 
':M3 
 
AT "THE LITERARY" 
 
 Fayette Strawnse's little niece — » 
 She got up and spoke a piece : 
 Then Izory she read hern — 
 "Best thing in the whole concern/* 
 I-says-ee; "now le' 's adjourn 
 This-here ^Literary' !" 
 
 They was some contendin' — yit 
 We broke up in harmony. 
 Road outside as white as grit, 
 And as slick as slick could be! — 
 I'd fetched 'Zory in my sleigh, — 
 And I had a heap to say, 
 Drivin' back — in fact, I driv 
 'Way around the old north way^ 
 Where the Daubenspeckses live. 
 'Zory alius — 'fore that night — 
 Never 'peared to feel jest right 
 In my company. — You see, 
 On'y thing on earth saved me 
 Was that "Literary"! 
 
WHAT SMITH KNEW ABOUT FARMING 
 
 THERE wasn't two purtier farms in the state 
 Than the couple of which I'm about to relate ; — 
 Jinin' each other — belongin' to Brown, 
 And jest at the edge of a flourishin' town. 
 Brown was a man, as I understand. 
 That alius had handled a good 'eal o' land. 
 And was sharp as a tack in driyin' a trade — 
 For that's the way most of his money was made. 
 And all the grounds and the orchards about 
 His two pet farms was all tricked out 
 With poppies and posies 
 And sweet-smellin' rosies; 
 And hundreds o' kinds 
 Of all sorts o' vines, 
 To tickle the most horticultural minds ; 
 And little dwarf trees not as thick as your wrist 
 With ripe apples on 'em as big as your fist: 
 And peaches, — Siberian crabs and pears. 
 And quinces — ^Well! any fruit any tree bears; 
 And the purtiest stream — jest a-swimmin' with fish. 
 And — jest almost everything heart could wish! 
 
 92 
 
WHAT SMITH KNEW ABOUT FARMING 
 
 The purtiest orchards — ^I wish you could see 
 How purty they was, for I know it 'ud be 
 A regular treat! — ^but I'll go ahead with 
 My story! A man by the name o' Smith — 
 (A bad name to rhyme, 
 But I reckon that I'm 
 Not goin' back on a Smith! nary time!) 
 'At hadn't soul of kin nor kith. 
 And more money than he knowed what to do with, — 
 So he comes a-ridin' along one day, 
 And he says to Brown, in his offhand way — 
 Who was trainin' some newfangled vines round a bay- 
 Winder — "Howdy-do — look-a-here — say: 
 What'U you take for this property here ? — 
 I'm talkin' o' leavin' the city this year, 
 And I want to be 
 Where the air is free. 
 
 And I'll buy this place, if it ain't too dear!" — 
 Well — they grumbled and jawed aroun' — 
 "I don't like to part with the place," says Brown; 
 "Well," says Smith, a-jerkin' his head, 
 "That house yonder — ^bricks painted red — 
 Jest like this'n — a purtier view — 
 Who is it owns it?" "That's mine too," - 
 
 93 
 
WHAT SMITH KNEW ABOUT FARMING 
 
 Says Bro^vn, as he winked at a hole in his shoe, 
 
 ''But ril tell you right here jest what I kin do: — 
 
 If you'll pay the hggers I'll sell it to you." 
 
 Smith went over and looked at the place — 
 
 Badgered with Brown, and argied the case — 
 
 Thought that Brown's figgers was rather too tall. 
 
 But, findin' that Brown wasn't goin' to fall. 
 
 In final agreed. 
 
 So they drawed up the deed 
 
 For the farm and the fixtures — ^the live stock an' all. 
 
 And so Smith moved from the city as soon 
 
 As he possibly could — But ''the man in the moon" 
 
 Knowed more'n Smith o' farmnn' pursuits. 
 
 And jest to convince you, and have no disputes, 
 
 How little he knowed, 
 
 I'll tell you his "mode," 
 
 As he called it, o' raisin' "the best that growed," 
 
 In the way o' potatoes — 
 
 Cucumbers — tomatoes, 
 
 And squashes as lengthy as young alligators. 
 
 'Twas alius a curious thing to me " 
 
 How big a fool a feller kin be 
 
 When he gits on a farm after leavin' a town! — 
 
 Expectin' to raise himself up to renown, 
 
 94 
 
L ^^ 
 
WHAT SMITH KNEW ABOUT FARMING 
 
 And reap for himself agricultural fame, 
 By growin' of squashes — without any shame — 
 As useless and long as a technical name. 
 To make the soil pure 
 And certainly sure, 
 
 He plastered the ground with patent manure. 
 He had cultivators, and double-hoss plows, 
 And patent machines for milkin' his cows ; 
 And patent hay-forks — patent measures and weights, 
 And new patent back-action hinges for gates, 
 And bam locks and latches, and such little dribs, 
 And patents to keep the rats out o' the cribs — 
 Reapers and mowers, 
 And patent grain sowers; 
 And drillers 
 And tillers 
 
 And cucumber hillers, 
 
 And harriers ; — and had patent rollers and scrapers, 
 And took about ten agricultural papers. 
 So you can imagine how matters turned out : 
 But Brown didn't have not a shadder o' doubt 
 That Smith didn't know what he was about 
 When he said that "the old way to farm was played 
 out." 
 
 97 
 
WHAT SMITH KNEW ABOUT FARMING 
 
 But Smith worked ahead, 
 
 And when any one said 
 
 That the old way o' workin' was better instead 
 
 0' his "modem idees," he alius turned red, 
 
 And wanted to know 
 
 What made people so 
 
 Infernally anxious to hear theirselves crow? 
 
 And guessed that he'd manage to hoe his own row. 
 
 Brown he come onc't and leant over the fence. 
 
 And told Smith that he couldn't see any sense 
 
 In goin' to such a tremendous expense 
 
 For the sake o' such no-account experiments : — 
 
 'That'll never make corn! 
 
 As shore's you're bom 
 
 It'll come out the leetlest end of the horn !" 
 
 Says Brown, as he pulled off a big roastin'-ear 
 
 From a stalk of his own 
 
 That had tribble outgi'own 
 
 Smith's poor yaller shoots, and says he, "Looky here ! 
 
 This corn was raised in the old-fashioned way, 
 
 And I rather imagine that this corn'll pay 
 
 Expenses f er raisin' it ! — What do you say ?" 
 
 Brown got him then to look over his crop. — 
 
 His luck that season had been tip-top ! 
 
 98 
 
WHAT SMITH KNEW ABOUT FARMING 
 
 And you may surmise 
 
 Smith opened his eyes 
 
 And let out a look o' the wildest surprise 
 
 When Brown showed him punkins as big as the lies 
 
 He was stuffin' him with — about offers he'd had 
 
 For his farm: "I don't want to sell very bad," 
 
 He says, but says he, 
 
 "Mr. Smith, you kin see 
 
 For yourself how matters is standin' with me, 
 
 / understand farmin' and I'd better stay. 
 
 You know, on my farm; — ^I'm a-makin' it pay — 
 
 I oughtn't to grumble ! — ^I reckon I'll clear 
 
 Away over four thousand dollars this year." 
 
 And that was the reason, he made it appear, 
 
 Why he didn't care about sellin' his farm. 
 
 And hinted at his havin' done himself harm 
 
 In sellin' the other, and wanted to know 
 
 If Smith wouldn't sell back ag'in to him. — So 
 
 Smith took the bait, and says he, "Mr. Brown, 
 
 I wouldn't sell out but we might swap aroun' — 
 
 How'll you trade your place for mine?" 
 
 (Purty sharp way o' comin' the shine 
 
 Over Smith! Wasn't it?) Well, sir, this Brown 
 
 Played out his hand and brought Smithy down — 
 
 99 
 
WHAT SMITH KNEW ABOUT FARMING 
 
 Traded with him an', workin' it cute, 
 
 Raked in two thousand dollars to boot 
 
 As slick as a whistle, an' that wasn't all, — 
 
 He managed to trade back again the next fall, — 
 
 And the next — and the next — as long as Smith 
 
 stayed 
 He reaped with his harvests an annual trade. — 
 Why, I reckon that Brown must 'a' easily made — 
 On an average — nearly two thousand a year — 
 Together he made over seven thousand — clear.— 
 Till Mr. Smith found he was iosin' his health 
 In as big a proportion, almost, as his wealth; 
 So at last he concluded to move back to town, 
 And sold back his farm to this same Mr. Brown 
 At very low figgers, by gittin' it down. 
 Further'n this I have nothin' to say 
 Than merely advisin' the Smiths fer to stay 
 In their grocery stores in flourishin' towns 
 And leave agriculture alone — and the Browns. 
 
"^^' 
 
 KNEE-DEEP IN JUNE 
 
 I 
 
 TELL you what I like the best — 
 'Long about knee-deep in June, 
 'Bout the time strawberries melts 
 On the vine, — some afternoon 
 Like to jes' git out and rest. 
 
 And not work at nothin' else! 
 101 
 
KNEE-DEEP IN JUNE 
 
 II 
 
 Orchard's where I'd ruther be — 
 Needn't fence it in fer me! — 
 
 Jes' the whole sky overhead, 
 And the whole airth underneath — 
 Sorto' so's a man kin breathe 
 
 Like he ort, and kindo' has 
 Elbow-room to keerlessly 
 
 Sprawl out len'thways on the grass 
 Where the shadders thick and soft 
 
 As the kivvers on the bed 
 Mother fixes in the loft 
 Alius, when they's company! 
 
 Ill 
 
 Jes' a-sorto' lazin* there — 
 S'lazy, 'at you peek and peer 
 Through the wavin' leaves above. 
 Like a feller 'at's in love 
 And don't know it, ner don't keer ! 
 Ever'thing you hear and see 
 Got some sort o' interest- 
 Maybe find a bluebird's nest 
 
 102 
 
Jh': , 
 
 ,.* 
 
 h ' 
 
KNEE-DEEP IN JUNE 
 
 Tucked up there conveenently 
 
 Fer the boy 'at's ap' to be 
 
 Up some other apple-tree! 
 Watch the swallers skootin' past 
 'Bout as peert as you could ast; 
 
 Er the Bob-white raise and whiz 
 
 Where some other's whistle is. 
 
 IV 
 
 Ketch a shadder down below, 
 And look up to find the crow — 
 Er a hawk, — away up there, 
 Tearantly froze in the air ! — 
 
 Hear the old hen squawk, and squat 
 
 Over ever' chick she's got. 
 Sudden t-like ! — and she knows where 
 
 That-air hawk is, well as you! — 
 
 You jes' bet your life she do! — 
 Eyes a-glitterin' like glass, 
 Waitin' till he makes a pass! 
 
 - V . 
 
 Pee-wees' singin', to express 
 My opinion, 's second class, 
 
 105 
 
KNEE-DEEP IN JUNE 
 
 Yit you'll hear 'em more er less; 
 
 Sapsucks o-ittin' down to biz, 
 Weedin' out the lonesomeness ; 
 Mr. Blue jay, full o' sass. 
 
 In them base-ball clothes o' his, 
 Sportin' round the Orchard jes' 
 Like he owned the premises! 
 
 Sun out in the fields kin sizz. 
 But flat on yer back, I guess. 
 
 In the shade's where glory is! 
 That's jes' what I'd like to do 
 Stiddy fer a year er two! 
 
 VI 
 
 Plague! ef they ain't somepin' in 
 Work 'at kindo' goes ag'in' 
 My convictions ! — 'long about 
 Here in June especially! — 
 Under some old apple-tree, 
 
 Jes' a-restin' through and through, 
 I could git along without 
 
 Nothin' else at all to do 
 Only jes' a-wishin' you 
 
 106 
 
KNEE-DEEP IN JUNE 
 
 Wuz a-gittin' there like me, 
 And June was eternity! 
 
 VII 
 
 Lay out there and try to see 
 Jes' how lazy you kin be! — 
 
 Tumble round and souse yer head 
 In the clover-bloom, er pull 
 
 Yer straw hat acrost yer eyes 
 And peek through it at the skies, 
 Thinkin' of old chums 'at's dead. 
 Maybe, smilin' back at you 
 In betwixt the beautiful 
 
 Clouds o' gold and white and blue. 
 Month a man kin railly love — 
 June, you know, I'm talkin' of! 
 
 VIII 
 March ain't never nothin' new! — 
 Aprile's altogether too 
 
 Brash fer me! and May — I jes' 
 
 'Bominate its promises, — 
 Little hints o' sunshine and 
 Green around the timber-land — 
 
 107 
 
KNEE-DEEP IN JUNE 
 
 A few blossoms, and a few 
 Chip-birds, and a sprout er two, — 
 Drap asleep, and it turns in 
 'Fore daylight and snoivs ag'in! — 
 But when Jiine conies — Clear my th'oat 
 
 With wild honey! — Rench my hair 
 In the dew! and hold my coat! 
 
 Whoop out loud ! and th'ow my hat !- 
 
 June wants me, and I'm to spare! 
 
 Spread them shadders anywhere, 
 
 I'll git down and waller there. 
 And obleeged to you at that! 
 
^'ip 
 
 
 r'l-^ 
 
 OLD WINTERS ON THE FARM 
 
 I HAVE jest about decided 
 It 'ud keep a town-hoy hoppiri' 
 Fer to work all winter, choppin' 
 Fer a' old fireplace, like / did ! 
 Lawz! them old times wuz contrairy! — 
 Blame' backbone o' winter, 'peared-like 
 Wouldn't break! — and I wuz skeered-like 
 Clean on into Feb'uary! 
 
 Nothin' ever made me madder 
 Than fer Pap to stomp in, layin' 
 In a' extra forestick, sayin', 
 
 "Groun'-hog's out and seed his shadder V 
 109 
 
OLD OCTOBER 
 
 OLD October's purt' nigh gone, 
 And the frosts is comin' on 
 Little heavier every day — 
 Like our hearts is thataway! 
 Leaves is changin' overhead 
 Back from green to gray and red, 
 Brown and yeller, with their stems 
 Loosenin' on the oaks and e'ms; 
 And the balance of the trees 
 Gittin' balder every breeze — 
 Like the heads we're scratchin' on ! 
 Old October's purt' nigh gone. 
 110 
 
OLD OCTOBER 
 
 I love Old October so, 
 I can't bear to see her go — 
 Seems to me like losin' some 
 Old-home relative er chum^ 
 Tears like sorto' settin' by 
 Some old friend 'at sigh by sigh 
 Was a-passin' out o' sight 
 Into everlastin' night! 
 Hickemuts a feller hears 
 Rattlin' down is more like tears 
 Drappin' on the leaves below — 
 I love Old October so! 
 
 Can't tell what it is about 
 Old October knocks me out! — 
 I sleep well enough at night — 
 And the blamedest appetite 
 Ever mortal man possessed, — 
 Last thing et, it tastes the best!- 
 Warnuts, butternuts, pawpaws, 
 'lies and limbers up my jaws 
 Fer raal service, sich as new 
 Pork, spareribs, and sausage, too.- 
 Yit, fer all, they's somepin' 'bout 
 Old October knocks me out ! 
 113 
 
OLD-FASHIONED ROSES 
 
 THEY ain't no style about 'em, 
 And they're sorto' pale and f aded^, 
 Yit the doory/ay here, without 'em, 
 Would be lonesomer, and shaded 
 With a good 'eal blacker shadder 
 
 Than the morning-glories makes. 
 
 And the sunshine would look sadder 
 
 Fer their good old-fashion' sakes. 
 
 I like 'em 'cause they kindo'- 
 Sorto' make a feller like 'em! 
 
 And I tell you, when I find a 
 
 Bunch out whur the sun kin strike 'em, 
 114 
 
OLD-FASHIONED EOSES 
 
 It alius sets me thinkin' 
 
 0' the ones 'at used to grow 
 
 And peek in thro' the chinkin' 
 0' the cabin, don't you know! 
 
 And then I think o' mother, 
 
 And how she ust to love 'em — 
 When they wuzn't any other, 
 
 'Less she found 'em up above 'em! 
 And her eyes, afore she shut 'em, 
 
 Whispered with a smile and said 
 
 We must pick a bunch and putt 'em 
 
 In her hand when she wuz dead. 
 
 But, as I wuz a-sayin'. 
 
 They ain't no style about 'em 
 Very gaudy er displayin'. 
 
 But I wouldn't be without 'em, — 
 'Cause I'm happier in these posies. 
 
 And the hollyhawks and sich, 
 Than the hummin'-bird 'at noses 
 In the roses of the rich. 
 
HOW JOHN QUIT THE FARM 
 
 IVrOBODY on the old farm here but Mother, me 
 
 ■^ ^ and John, 
 
 Except, of course, the extry he'p when harvest-time 
 
 comes on, — 
 And then, I want to say to you, we needed he'p 
 
 about. 
 As you'd admit, ef you'd a-seen the way the crops 
 turned out! 
 
 118 
 
HOW JOHN QUIT THE FARM 
 
 A better quarter-section ner a richer soil warn't 
 
 found 
 Than this-here old home place o^' ourn fer fifty miles 
 
 around! — 
 The house was small — ^but plenty-big" we found it 
 
 from the day 
 That John — our only livin^ son — ^packed up and went 
 
 away. 
 
 You see, we tuk sich pride in John — ^his mother 
 
 more'n me — 
 That's natchurul ; but both of us was proud as proud 
 
 could be ; 
 Fer the boy, from a little chap, was most oncommon 
 
 bright. 
 And seemed in work as well as play to take the same 
 
 delight. 
 
 He alius went a-whistlin' round the place, as glad at 
 
 heart 
 As robins up at five o'clock to git an airly start ; 
 And many a time 'fore daylight Mother's waked me 
 
 up to say — 
 "Jest listen, David! — listen !— Johnny's beat the 
 
 birds to-day!" 
 
 119 
 
HOW JOHN QUIT THE FARM 
 
 High-sperited from boyhood, with a most inquirin' 
 
 turn, — 
 He wanted to learn everything on earth they was to 
 
 learn ; 
 He'd ast more plaguy questions in a mortal-minute 
 
 here 
 Than his grandpap in Paradise could answer in a 
 
 year ! 
 
 And read! w'y, his own mother learnt him how to 
 read and spell; 
 
 And "The Childern of the Abbey"— w'y, he knowed 
 that book as well 
 
 At fifteen as his parents ! — and "The Pilgrim's Prog- 
 ress,'' too — 
 
 Jest knuckled down, the shaver did, and read 'em 
 through and through! 
 
 At eighteen. Mother 'lowed the boy must have a 
 
 better chance — 
 That we ort to educate him, under any circumstance ; 
 And John he j'ined his mother, and they ding-donged 
 
 and kep' on, 
 Tel I sent him oif to school in town, half glad that 
 
 he was gone. 
 
 120 
 
HOW JOHN QUIT THE FARM 
 
 But — I missed him — w'y, of course I did ! — The Fall 
 
 and Winter through 
 I never built the kitchen-fire, er split a stick in two, 
 Er fed the stock, er butchered, er swung up a gam- 
 
 brel-pin. 
 But what I thought o' John, and wished that he was 
 
 home ag'in. 
 
 He'd come, sometimes — on Sundays most — and stay 
 
 the Sund'y out; 
 And on Thanksgivin'-Day he 'peared to like to be 
 
 about : 
 But a change was workin' on him — he was stiller 
 
 than before, 
 And didn't joke, ner laugh, ner sing and whistle any 
 
 more. 
 
 And his talk was all so proper; and I noticed, with 
 a sigh. 
 
 He was tryin' to raise side-whiskers, and had on a 
 striped tie. 
 
 And a standin'-collar, ironed up as stiff and slick as 
 bone ; 
 
 And a breast-pin, and a watch and chain and plug- 
 hat of his own. 
 
 121 
 
HOW JOHN QUIT THE FAKM 
 
 But when Spring-weather opened out, and John was 
 
 to come home 
 And he'p me through the season, I was glad to see 
 
 him come; 
 But my happiness, that evening, with the settin' sun 
 
 went down, 
 When he bragged of "a position'^ that was offered 
 
 him in town. 
 
 "But,'' says I, "you'll not accept it?'' "W'y, of course 
 
 I will,^' says he. — 
 *'This drudgin' on a farm," he says, "is not the life 
 
 fer me; 
 I've set my stakes up higher,'' he continued, light 
 
 and gay, 
 "And town's the place fer me, and I'm a-goin' right 
 away!" 
 
 And go he did! — ^his mother clingin' to him at the 
 
 gate, 
 A-pleadin' and a-cryin'; but it hadn't any weight. 
 I was tranquiller, and told her 'twarn't no use to 
 
 worry so, 
 And onclasped her arms from round his neck round 
 
 mine — and let him go! 
 122 
 
HOW JOHN QUIT THE FARM 
 
 I felt a little bitter f eelin' fooling round about 
 
 The aidges of my conscience; but I didn't let it 
 out; — 
 
 I simply retch out, trimbly-like, and tuk the boy's 
 hand, 
 
 And though I didn't say a word, I knowed he'd under- 
 stand. 
 
 And — ^well! — sence then the old home here was 
 
 mighty lonesome, shore! 
 With me a-workin' in the field and Mother at the 
 
 door. 
 Her face ferever to'rds the town, and fadin' more 
 
 and more — 
 Her only son nine miles away, a-clerkin' in a store ! 
 
 The weeks and months dragged by us; and some- 
 times the boy would write 
 
 A letter to his mother, sayin' that his work was 
 light, 
 
 And not to feel oneasy about his health a bit — 
 
 Though his business was confinin', he was gittin' 
 used to it. 
 
 125 
 
HOW JOHN QUIT THE FARM 
 
 And sometimes he would write and ast how I was 
 
 gittin' on, 
 And ef I had to pay out much fer he'p sence he was 
 
 gone; 
 And how the hogs was doin', and the balance of the 
 
 stock, 
 And talk on fer a page er two jest like he used to 
 
 talk. 
 
 And he wrote, along 'fore harvest, that he guessed 
 
 he would git home, 
 Fer business would, of course, be dull in town. — 
 
 But didn't come : — 
 We got a postal later, sayin' when they had no trade 
 They filled the time "invoicin' goods," and that was 
 
 why he stayed. 
 
 And then he quit a-writin' altogether: Not a word — 
 Exceptin' what the neighbers brung who'd been to 
 
 town and heard 
 What store John was clerkin' in, and went round to 
 
 inquire 
 If they could buy their goods there less and sell 
 
 their produce higher. 
 126 
 
HOW JOHN QUIT THE FARM 
 
 And so the Summer faded out, and Autumn wore 
 
 away, 
 And a keener Winter never fetched around Thanks- 
 
 g-ivin'-Day ! 
 The night before that day of thanks I'll never quite 
 
 fergit, 
 The wind a-howlin' round the house — it makes me 
 
 creepy yit! 
 
 And there set me and Mother — me a-twistin' at the 
 
 prongs 
 Of a green scrub-ellum forestick with a vicious pair 
 
 of tongs, 
 And Mother say in', "David! David !'^ in a' undertone. 
 As though she thought that I was thinkin' bad-words 
 
 unbeknown. 
 
 "I've dressed the turkey, David, fer to-morrow," 
 Mother said, 
 
 A-tryin' to wxdge some pleasant subject in my stub- 
 born head, — 
 
 *'And the mince-meat I'm a-mixin^ is perfection 
 mighty nigh; 
 
 And the pound-cake is delicious-rich — " "Who'll eat 
 'em?" I-says-I. 
 
 127 
 
HOW JOHN QUIT THE FARM 
 
 "The cramberries is drippin'-sweet," says Mother, 
 
 runnin' on, 
 P'tendin' not to hear me ; — "and somehow I thought 
 
 of John 
 All the time they was a-jellin' — fer you know they 
 
 alius was 
 His favorite — he likes 'em so I" Says I, "Well, s'pose 
 
 he does?" 
 
 "Oh, no thin' much !" says Mother, with a quiet sort 
 
 o' smile — 
 "This gentleman behind my cheer may tell you after 
 
 while!" 
 And as I tumt and looked around, some one riz up 
 
 and leant 
 And putt his arms round Mother's neck, and laughed 
 
 in low content. , 
 
 "It's me/' he says — "your fool-boy John, come back 
 
 to shake your hand ; 
 Set down with you, and talk with you, and make you 
 
 understand 
 
 128 
 
HOW JOHN QUIT THE FARM 
 
 How dearer yit than all the world is this old home 
 
 that we 
 Will spend Thanksgivin' in fer life — jest, Mother, 
 
 you and me !" 
 
 Nobody on the old farm here but Mother, me and 
 
 John, 
 Except, of course, the extry he'p when harvest-time 
 
 comes on; 
 And then, I want to say to you, we need sich he'p 
 
 about, 
 As you'd admit, ef you could see the way the crops 
 
 turn out ! 
 
n- 
 
 WORTERMELON TIME 
 
 OLD wortermelon time is a-comin' round again, 
 And they ain't no man a-livin' any tickleder'n 
 me, 
 Fer the way I hanker after wortermelons is a sin — 
 Which is the why and v/harefore, as you can 
 plainly see. 
 
 Oh ! it's in the sandy soil wortermelons does the best. 
 And it's thare thej^'ll lay and waller in the sun- 
 shine and the dew 
 Tel they wear all the green streaks off of theyr 
 breast ; 
 And you bet I ain't a-findin' any fault with them ; 
 air you? 
 
 130 
 
WORTEEMELON TIME 
 
 They ain't no better thing in the vegetable hne; 
 And they don't need much 'tendin', as ev'ry farmer 
 knows ; 
 And when theyr ripe and ready fer to pluck from 
 the vine, 
 I want to say to you theyr the best fruit that 
 grows. 
 
 It's some likes the yeller-core, and some likes the red. 
 And it's some says "The Little Californy" is the 
 best ; 
 But the sweetest slice of all I ever wedged in my 
 head, 
 Is the old "Edingburg Mounting-sprout," of the 
 west. 
 
 You don't want no punkins nigh your wortermelon 
 vines — 
 'Cause some-way-another, they'll spile your mel- 
 ons, shore; — 
 I've seed 'em taste like punkins, from the core to 
 the rines, 
 Which may be a fact you have heerd of before. 
 
 131 
 
WORTERMELON TIME 
 
 But your melons that's raised right and 'tended to 
 
 with care, 
 
 You can walk around amongst 'em with a parent's 
 
 pride and joy, 
 
 And thump 'em on the heads with as fatherly a' air 
 
 As ef each of them was your little girl er boy. 
 
 I joy in my hart jest to hear that rippin' sound 
 When you split one down the back and jolt the 
 halves in two. 
 And the friends you love the best is gethered all 
 around — 
 And you says unto your sweethart, ''Oh, here's 
 the core fer you!" 
 
 And I like to slice 'em up in big pieces fer 'em all, 
 
 Espeshally the childern, and watch theyr high 
 
 delight 
 
 As one by one the rines with theyr pink notches falls, 
 
 And they holler fer some more, with unquenched 
 
 appetite. 
 
 Boys takes to it natchurl, and I like to see 'em eat — 
 A slice of wortermelon's like a frenchharp in theyr 
 hands, 
 
 132 
 
WORTERMELON TIME 
 
 And when they "saw" it through theyr mouth sich 
 music can't be beat — 
 'Cause it's music both the sperit and the stummick 
 understands. 
 
 Oh, they's more in wortermelons than the purty- 
 colored meat, 
 And the overflowin' sweetness of the worter 
 squshed betwixt 
 The up'ard and the dowa'ard motions of a feller's 
 teeth, 
 And it's the taste of ripe old age and juicy child- 
 hood mixed. 
 
 Fer I never taste a melon but my thoughts flies away 
 To the summertime of youth ; and again I see the 
 dawn 
 And the f adin' afternoon of the long summer day, 
 And the dusk and dew a-fallin', and the night a- 
 comin' on. 
 
 And thare's the corn around us, and the lispin' leaves 
 and trees, 
 And the stars a-peekin' down on us as still as 
 silver mice, 
 
 135 
 
WORTERMELON TIME 
 
 And us boys in the wortermelons on our hands and 
 knees, 
 And the new-moon hangin' ore us like a yeller- 
 cored slice. 
 
 Oh! it's wortermelon time is a-comin' round again, 
 And they ain't no man a-livin' any tickleder'n me, 
 
 Fer the way I hanker after wortermelons is a sin — 
 Which is the why and wharefore, as you can 
 plainly see. 
 
THE TREE-TOAD 
 
 SCUR'OUS-LIKE," said the tree-toad, 
 "IVe twittered fer rain all day; 
 And I got up soon, 
 And hollered tel noon — 
 But the sun, hit blazed away, 
 
 Tel I jest dumb down in a crawfish-hole. 
 Weary at hart, and sick at soul ! 
 137 
 
THE TREE-TOAD 
 
 * 'Dozed away fer an hour, 
 And I tackled the thing ag'in: 
 
 And I sung, and sung, 
 
 Tel I knowed my lung 
 Was jest about give in; 
 
 And then, thinks I, ef hit don't rain now^ 
 
 They's nothin' in singin', anyhow! 
 
 "Onc't in a while some farmer 
 Would come a-drivin' past; 
 
 And he'd hear my cry, 
 
 And stop and sigh — 
 Tel I jest laid back, at last. 
 
 And I hollered rain tel I thought my th'oat 
 
 Would bust wide open at ever' note ! 
 
 "But I fetched her!— I fetched her !— 
 'Cause a little while ago. 
 
 As I kindo' set. 
 
 With one eye shet. 
 And a-singin' soft and low, 
 
 A voice drapped down on my fevered brain, 
 
 A-sayin', — 'Ef you'll jest hush I'll rain!' " 
 
A COUNTRY PATHWAY 
 
 I COME upon it suddenly, alone — 
 A little pathway winding in the weeds 
 That fringe the roadside; and with dreams my own, 
 I wander as it leads. 
 
 Full wistfully along the slender way. 
 
 Through summer tan of freckled shade and shine, 
 I take the path that leads me as it may — 
 
 Its every choice is mine. 
 
 A chipmunk, or a sudden-whirring quail. 
 Is startled by my step as on I fare — 
 
 A garter-snake across the dusty trail 
 Glances and — is not there. 
 141 
 
A COUNTRY PATHWAY ; 
 
 Above the arching jimson-weeds flare twos 
 And twos of sallow-yellow butterflies, 
 
 Like blooms of lorn primrose blowing loose 
 When autumn winds arise. 
 
 The trail dips — dwindles — broadens then, and lifts 
 
 Itself astride a cross-road dubiously. 
 And, from the fennel marge beyond it, drifts 
 
 Still onward, beckoning me. 
 
 And though it needs must lure me mile on mile 
 
 Out of the public highway, still I go. 
 My thoughts, far in advance in Indian-file, 
 
 Allure me even so. 
 
 Why, I am as a long-lost boy that went 
 At dusk to bring the cattle to the bars. 
 
 And was not found again, though Heaven lent 
 His mother all the stars 
 
 With which to seek him through that awful night. 
 
 years of nights as vain ! — Stars never rise 
 But well might miss their glitter in the light 
 
 Of tears in mother-eyes! 
 142 
 
A COUNTRY PATHWAY 
 
 So — on, with quickened breaths, I follow still — 
 My avant-courier must be obeyed! 
 
 Thus am I led, and thus the path, at will. 
 Invites me to invade 
 
 A meadow's precincts, where my daring guide 
 Clambers the steps of an old-fashioned stile, 
 
 And stumbles down again, the other side, 
 To gambol there a while 
 
 In pranks of hide-and-seek, as on ahead 
 I see it running, while the clover-stalks 
 
 Shake rosy fists at me, as though they said — 
 "You dog our country-walks 
 
 "And mutilate us with your walking-stick! — 
 We will not suffer tamely what you do, 
 
 And warn you at your peril, — for we'll sic 
 Our bumblesbees on you!" 
 
 But I smile back, in airy nonchalance, — 
 
 The more determined on my wayward quest. 
 
 As some bright memory a moment dawns 
 A morning in my breast — 
 145 
 
A COUNTRY PATHWAY 
 
 Sending a thrill that hurries me along 
 In faulty similes of childish skips, 
 
 Enthused with lithe contortions of a song 
 Performing on my lips. 
 
 In wild meanderings o'er pasture wealth — 
 Erratic wanderings through dead'ning-lands, 
 
 Where sly old brambles, plucking me by stealth. 
 Put berries in my hands: 
 
 Or the path climbs a bowlder — wades a slough — 
 Or, rollicking through buttercups and flags, 
 
 Goes gayly dancing o'er a deep bayou 
 On old tree-trunks and snags: 
 
 Or, at the creek, leads o'er a limpid pool 
 Upon a bridge the stream itself has made, 
 
 With some Spring-freshet for the mighty tool 
 That its foundation laid. 
 
 I pause a moment here to bend and muse. 
 With dreamy eyes, on my reflection, where 
 
 A boat-backed bug drifts on a helpless cruise. 
 Or wildly oars the air, 
 146 
 
A COUNTRY PATHWAY 
 
 As, dimly seen, the pirate of the brook — 
 
 The pike, whose jaunty hulk denotes his speed — 
 
 Swing's pivoting- about, with wary look 
 Of low and cunning greed. 
 
 Till, filled with other thought, I turn again 
 To where the pathway enters in a realm 
 
 Of lordly woodland, under sovereign reign 
 Of towering oak and elm. 
 
 A puritanic quiet here reviles 
 
 The almost whispered warble from the hedge, 
 And takes a locust's rasping voice and files 
 
 The silence to an edge. 
 
 In such a solitude my sombre way 
 
 Strays like a misanthrope within a gloom 
 
 Of his own shadows — till the perfect day 
 Bursts into sudden bloom, 
 
 And crowns a long-, declining stretch of space. 
 Where King Corn's armies lie with flags unfurled, 
 
 And where the valley's dint in Nature's face 
 Dimples a smiling world. 
 147 
 
A COUNTRY PATHWAY 
 
 And lo ! through mists that may not be dispelled, 
 I see an old farm homestead, as in dreams, 
 
 Where, like a gem in costly setting held, 
 The old log cabin gleams. 
 
 O darling Pathway! lead me bravely on 
 Adown your valley-way, and run before 
 
 Among the roses crowding up the lawn 
 And thronging at the door, — 
 
 And carry up the echo there that shall 
 Arouse the drowsy dog, that he may bay 
 
 The household out to greet the prodigal 
 That wanders home to-day. 
 

 WHEN EARLY MARCH SEEMS MIDDLE 
 
 MAY 
 
 WHEN country roads begin to thaw 
 In mottled spots of damp and dust, 
 And fences by the margin draw 
 
 Along the frosty crust 
 Their graphic silhouettes, I say. 
 The Spring is coming round this way. 
 149 
 
WHEN EARLY MARCH SEEMS MIDDLE MAY 
 
 When morning-time is bright with sun 
 And keen with wind, and both confuse 
 
 The dancing, glancing eyes of one 
 With tears that ooze and ooze — 
 
 And nose-tips weep as well as they, 
 
 The Spring is coming round this way. 
 
 When suddenly some shadow-bird 
 Goes wavering beneath the gaze. 
 
 And through the hedge the moan is heard 
 Of kine that fain would graze 
 
 In grasses new, I smile and say, 
 
 The Spring is coming round this way. 
 
 When knotted horse-tails are untied. 
 And teamsters whistle here and there. 
 
 And clumsy mitts are laid aside 
 And choppers' hands are bare. 
 
 And chips are thick where children play, 
 
 The Spring is coming round this way. 
 
 When through the twigs the farmer tramps. 
 And troughs are chunked beneath the trees^ 
 
 And fragrant hints of sugar-camps 
 Astray in everj^ breeze, — 
 150 
 
WHEN EARLY MARCH SEEMS MIDDLE MAY 
 
 When early March seems middle May, 
 The Spring is coming round this way. 
 
 When coughs are changed to laughs, and when 
 Our frowns melt into smiles of glee, 
 
 And all our blood thaws out again 
 In streams of ecstasy. 
 
 And poets wreak their roundelay, 
 
 The Spring is coming round this way. 
 
 <'^^ 
 
A TALE OF THE AIRLY DAYS 
 
 OH ! tell me a tale of the airly days — 
 Of the times as they ust to be ; 
 "Filler of Fi-er" and "Shakespeare's Plays" 
 
 Is a' most too deep fer me! 
 I want plane facts, and I want plane words, 
 
 Of the good old-fashioned ways, 
 When speech run free as the songs of birds 
 'Way back in the airly days. 
 152 
 

 
 f °^**«. 
 *'"^^-., 
 
A TALE OF THE AIRLY DAYS 
 
 Tell me a tale of the timber-lands — 
 
 Of the old-time pioneers; 
 Somepin' a pore man understands 
 
 With his feelin's 's well as ears. 
 Tell of the old log house,^ — about 
 
 The loft, and the puncheon flore — 
 The old fi-er place, with the crane swung out, 
 
 And the latch-string through the door. 
 
 Tell of the things jest as they was — 
 
 They don't need no excuse! — 
 Don't tech 'em up like the poets does, 
 
 Tel theyr all too fine f er use ! — 
 Say they was 'leven in the f ambily — 
 
 Two beds, and the chist, below. 
 And the trundle-beds that each helt three, 
 
 And the clock and the old bureau. 
 
 Then blow the horn at the old back-door 
 
 Tel the echoes all halloo. 
 And the childern gethers home onc't more, 
 
 Jest as they ust to do : 
 
 155 
 
A TALE OF THE AIRLY DAYS 
 
 Blow fer Pap tel he hears and comes, 
 
 With Tomps and Elias, too, 
 A-marchin' home, with the fife and drums 
 
 And the old Red White and Blue! 
 
 Blow and blow tel the sound draps low 
 
 As the moan of the whipperwill. 
 And wake up Mother, and Ruth and Jo, 
 
 All sleepin' at Bethel Hill: 
 Blow and call tel the faces all 
 
 Shine out in the back-log's blaze, 
 And the shadders dance on the old hewed wall 
 
 As they did in the airly days. 
 
A VOICE FROM THE FARM 
 
 IT IS my dream to have you here with me, 
 Out of the heated city's dust and din — 
 Here where the colts have room to gambol in, 
 And kine to graze, in clover to the knee. 
 I want to see your wan face happily 
 
 Lit with the wholesome smiles that have not been 
 In use since the old games you used to win 
 When we pitched horseshoes: And I want to be 
 At utter loaf with you in this dim land 
 
 Of grove and meadow, while the crickets make 
 Our own talk tedious, and the bat wields 
 His bulky flight, as we cease converse and 
 In a dusk like velvet smoothly take 
 
 Our way toward home across the dewy fields. 
 157 
 
ROMANCIN' 
 
 I*) B'EN a-kindo' "musin'," as the feller says, 
 and I'm 
 About o' the conclusion that they hain't no 
 better time, 
 When you come to cipher on it, than the times we 
 
 ust to know 
 When we swore our first "clog -gone-it" sorto' solum- 
 like and low! 
 
 You git my idy, do you? — Little tads, you under- 
 stand — 
 
 Jest a-wishin' thue and thue you that you on'y wuz a 
 man. — 
 
 Yit here I am, this minit, even sixty, to a day, 
 
 And fergittin' all that's in it, wishin' jest the other 
 
 way! 
 
 158 
 
ROMANCIN' 
 
 I hain't no hand to lectur' on the times, er dimon- 
 
 strate 
 Whare the trouble is, er hector and domineer with 
 
 Fate, — 
 But when I git so flurried, and so pestered-like and 
 
 blue, 
 And so rail owdacious worried, let me tell you what 
 
 I do!— 
 
 I jest gee-haw the bosses, and onhook the swingle- 
 tree, 
 Whare the hazel-bushes tosses down theyr shadders 
 
 over me ; 
 And I draw my plug o' navy, and I climb the fence, 
 
 and set 
 Jest a-thinkin' here, i gravy ! tel my eyes is wringin'- 
 wet! 
 
 Tho' I still kin see the trouble o' the presunf, I kin 
 
 see — 
 Kindo' like my sight wuz double — all the things that 
 
 list to be ; 
 And the flutter o' the robin and the teeter o' the wren 
 Sets the wilier-branches bobbin' *'howdy-do" thum 
 
 Now to Then! 
 
 159 
 
ROMANCIN' 
 
 The deadnin' and the thicket's jest a-b'ilin' full of 
 
 June, 
 From the rattle o' the cricket, to the yallar-hammer's 
 
 tune ; 
 And the catbird in the bottom, and the sapsuck on 
 
 the snag, 
 Seems ef they can't — od-rot 'em! — jest do nothin' 
 else but brag! 
 
 They's music in the twitter of the bluebird and the 
 
 jay. 
 And that sassy little critter jest a-peckin' all the 
 
 day ; 
 They's music in the "flicker," and they's music in 
 
 the thrush. 
 And they's music in the snicker o' the chipmunk in 
 
 the brush! 
 
 They's music cdl around me! — And I go back, in a 
 
 dream 
 Sweeter yit than ever found me fast asleep, — and in 
 
 the stream 
 That ust to split the medder whare the dandylions 
 
 growed, 
 I stand knee-deep, and redder than the sunset down 
 
 the road. 
 
 160 
 
ROMANCIN' 
 
 Then's when I' b'en a-fishin'! — And they's other 
 
 fellers, too, 
 With theyr hick'ry-poles a-swishin' out behind 'em ; 
 
 and a few 
 Little "shiners" on our stringers, with theyr tails tip- 
 
 toein' bloom, 
 As we dance 'em in our fingers all the happy jurney 
 
 home. 
 
 I kin see us, true to Natur', thum the time we started 
 out. 
 
 With a biscuit and a 'tater in our little "round- 
 about"!— 
 
 I kin see our lines a-tanglin', and our elbows in a jam. 
 
 And our naked legs a-danglin' thum the apern o' 
 the dam. 
 
 I kin see the honeysuckle climbin' up around the mill. 
 And kin hear the worter chuckle, and the wheel a- 
 
 growlin' still; 
 And thum the bank below it I kin steal the old canoe, 
 And jest git in and row it like the miller ust to do. 
 
 163 
 
EOMANCIN' 
 
 W'y, I git my fancy focussed on the past so mortul 
 
 plane 
 I kin even smell the locus'-blossoms bloomin' in the 
 
 lane; 
 And I hear the cow-bells clinkin' sweeter tunes 'n 
 
 "Money-musk" 
 Fer the lightnin' bugs a-blinkin' and a-dancin' in the 
 
 dusk. 
 
 And when I've kep' on ''musinV' as the feller says, 
 
 tel I'm 
 Firm-fixed in the conclusion that they hain't no 
 
 better time, 
 When you come to cipher on it, than the old times, — 
 
 I de-clare 
 I kin wake and say "dog-gone-it!" jest as soft as any 
 
 prayer ! 
 
UP AND DOWN OLD BRANDYWINE 
 
 UP and down old Brandywine, 
 In the days 'at's past and gone — 
 With a dad-burn hook-and-Hne 
 And a saplin' pole — i swawn! 
 
 I've had more fun, to the square 
 Inch, than ever anywhere ! 
 Heaven to come can't discount mine 
 Up and down old Brandywine! 
 165 
 
UP AND DOWN OLD BRANDYWINE 
 
 Hain't no sense in wishin' — ^yit 
 
 Wisht to goodness I could jes 
 "Gee" the blame' world round and git 
 Back to that old happiness! — 
 Kindo' drive back in the shade 
 "The old Covered Bridge" there laid 
 'Crosst the crick, and sorto' soak 
 My soul over, hub and spoke! 
 
 Honest, now! — it hain't no dream 
 'At I'm wantin', — but the fac's 
 As they wuz; the same old stream. 
 And the same old times, i jacks! — 
 Gim me back my bare feet — and 
 Stonebruise too ! — And scratched and tanned ! 
 And let hottest dog-days shine 
 Up and down old Brandywine! 
 
 In and on betwixt the trees 
 
 'Long the banks, pour down yer noon, 
 
 Kindo' curdled with the breeze 
 And the yallerhammer's tune; 
 
 166 
 
UP AND DOWN OLD BRANDYWINE 
 
 And the smokin', chokin' dust 
 0' the turnpike at its wusst — 
 Satiird/ys, say, when it seems 
 Road's jes jammed with country teams !- 
 
 Whilse the old town, fur away 
 
 'Crosst the hazy pastur'-land, 
 Dozed-hke in the heat o' day 
 Peaceful' as a hired hand. 
 
 Jolt the gravel through the floor 
 0' the old bridge! — grind and roar 
 With yer blame percession-line — 
 Up and down old Brandywine! 
 
 Souse me and my new straw-hat 
 
 Off the foot-log ! — what / care ? — 
 Fist shoved in the crown o' that — 
 Like the old Clown ust to wear. 
 Wouldn't swop it fer a' old 
 Gin-u-wine raal crown o' gold! — 
 Keep yer King ef you'll gim me 
 Jes the boy I ust to be! 
 
 169 
 
UP AND DOWN OLD BRANDYWINE 
 
 Spill my fishin'- worms ! er steal 
 
 My best "goggle-eye!" — but you 
 Can't lay hands on joys I feel 
 Nibblin' like they ust to do ! 
 So, in memory, to-day 
 Same old ripple lips away 
 At my "cork" and saggin' line, 
 Up and down old Brandywine ! 
 
 There the logs is, round the hill, 
 Where "Old Irvin" ust to lift 
 Out sunfish from daylight till 
 
 Dewfall— 'fore he'd leave "The Drift" 
 And give ms a chance — and then 
 Kindo' fish back home again, 
 Ketchin' 'em jes left and right 
 Where we hadn't got a "bite !" 
 
 Er, 'way windin' out and in, — 
 
 Old path th'ough the iurnweeds 
 
 And dog-fennel to yer chin — 
 
 Then come suddent, th'ough the reeds 
 
 170 
 
UP AND DOWN OLD BRANDYWINE 
 
 And cat-tails, smack into where 
 Them-air woods-hogs ust to scare 
 Us clean 'crosst the County-line, 
 Up and down old Brandy wine! 
 
 But the dim roar o' the dam 
 
 It 'ud coax us furder still 
 To'rds the old race, slow and ca'm, 
 Slidin' on to Huston's mill — 
 
 Where, I 'spect, *'The Freeport crowd" 
 Never warmed to us er 'lowed 
 We wuz quite so overly 
 Welcome as we aimed to be. 
 
 Still it 'peared-like everything — 
 
 Fur away from home as there — 
 Had more reHsWike, i jing! — 
 Fish in stream, er bird in air! 
 them rich old bottom-lands, 
 Past where Cowden's Schoolhouse stands! 
 Wortermelons — master-mine! 
 Up and down old Brandywine ! 
 
 171 
 
UP AND DOWN OLD BRANDYWINE 
 
 And sich pop-paws! — Lumps o' raw 
 
 Gold and green, — jes oozy th'ough 
 With ripe yaller — like you've saw 
 Custard-pie with no crust to: 
 And jes gorges o* wild plums, 
 Till a feller'd suck his thumbs 
 Clean up to his elbows! My! — 
 Me some more er lem me die! 
 
 Up and down old Brandywine! . . . 
 
 Stripe me with pokeberry- juice! — 
 Flick me with a pizenvine 
 
 And yell "Yip!'* and lem me loose! 
 — Old now as I then wuz young-, 
 'F I could sing as I have sung. 
 Song 'ud surely ring dee-vine 
 Up and down old Brandywine ! 
 
 fV^ 
 
 m 
 
SQUIRE HAWKINS'S STORY 
 
 I HAIN'T no hand at tellin' tales, 
 Er spinnin' yarns, as the sailors say ; 
 Someway o' 'nother, language fails 
 To slide f er me in the oily way 
 That latvyers has ; and I wisht it would, 
 Fer I've got somepin' that I call good ; 
 But bein' only a country squire, 
 I've learned to listen and admire, 
 Ruther preferrin' to be addressed 
 Than talk myse'f — but I'll do my best: — 
 173 
 
SQUIRE HAWKINS'S STORY 
 
 Old Jeff Thompson — well, I'll say, 
 
 Was the clos'test man I ever saw !— 
 
 Rich as cream, but the porest pay, 
 
 And the meanest man to work fer — La! 
 
 I've knowed that man to work one "hand" — 
 
 Fer little er nothin', you understand — 
 
 From four o'clock in the morning light 
 
 Tel eight and nine o'clock at night, 
 
 And then find fault with his appetite! 
 
 He'd drive all over the neighberhood 
 
 To miss the place where a toll-gate stood. 
 
 And slip in town, by some old road 
 
 That no two men in the county knowed. 
 
 With a jag o' wood, and a sack o' wheat. 
 
 That wouldn't burn and you couldn't eat ! 
 
 And the trades he'd make, '11 I jest de-clare. 
 
 Was enough to make a preacher swear! 
 
 And then he'd hitch, and hang about 
 
 Tel the lights in the toll-gate was blowed out, 
 
 And then the turnpike he'd turn in 
 
 And sneak his way back home ag'in! 
 
 Some folks hint, and I make no doubt. 
 That that's what wore his old wife out — 
 
 174 
 
SQUIEE HAWKINS'S STORY 
 
 Toilin' away from day to day 
 
 And year to year, through heat and cold, 
 
 Uncomplainin' — the same old way 
 
 The martyrs died in the days of old; 
 
 And a-clingin', too, as the martyrs done, 
 
 To one fixed faith, and her only one, — 
 
 Little Patience, the sweetest child 
 
 That ever wept unrickonciled, 
 
 Er felt the pain and the ache and sting 
 
 That only a mother's death can bring. 
 
 Patience Thompson ! — I think that name 
 
 Must 'a' come from a power above, 
 
 Fer it seemed to fit her jest the same 
 
 As a gaiter would, er a fine kid glove ! 
 
 And to see that girl, with all the care 
 
 Of the household on her — ^I de-clare 
 
 It was oudacioiis, the work she'd do. 
 
 And the thousand plans that she'd putt through ; 
 
 And sing like a medder-lark all day long, 
 
 And drownd her cares in the joys o' song; 
 
 And laugh sometimes tel the farmer's "hand," 
 
 Away fur off in the fields, would stand 
 
 A-listenin', with the plow half drawn, 
 
 Tel the coaxin' echoes called him on; 
 
 175 
 
SQUIRE HAWKINS'S STORY 
 
 And the furries seemed, in his dreamy eyes, 
 Like foot-paths a-leadin' to Paradise, 
 As off through the hazy atmosphere 
 The call f er dinner reached his ear. 
 
 Now love's as cunnin' a little thing 
 
 As a hummin'-bird upon the wing, 
 
 And as liable to poke his nose 
 
 Jest where folks would least suppose, — 
 
 And more'n likely build his nest 
 
 Right in the heart you'd leave unguessed. 
 
 And live and thrive at your expense — 
 
 At least, that's my experience. 
 
 And old Jeff Thompson often thought, 
 
 In his se'fish way, that the quiet John 
 
 Was a stiddy chap, as a farm-hand ought 
 
 To always be, — f er the airliest dawn 
 
 Found John busy — and ''easy/' too. 
 
 Whenever his wages would fall due ! — 
 
 To sum him up with a final touch, 
 
 He eat so little and worked so much, 
 
 That old Jeff laughed to hisse'f and said 
 
 ''He makes me money and aims his bread !" 
 
 176 
 
SQUIRE HAWKINS'S STORY 
 
 But John, fer all of his quietude, 
 Would sometimes drap a word er so 
 That none but Patience understood. 
 And none but her was meant to know ! — 
 Maybe at meal-times John would say. 
 As the sugar-bowl come down his way, 
 "Thanky, no; my coffee's sweet 
 Enough fer me!'^ with sich conceit, 
 She'd know at once, without no doubt, 
 He meant because she poured it out ; 
 And smile and blush, and all sich stuff. 
 And ast ef it was "strong enough?" 
 And git the answer, neat and trim, 
 '*It couldn't be too 'strong' fer him!'' 
 
 And so things went fer 'bout a year, 
 
 Tel John, at last, found pluck to go 
 
 And pour his tale in the old man's ear — 
 
 And ef it had been hot lead, I know 
 
 It couldn't 'a' raised a louder fuss, 
 
 Ner 'a' riled the old man's temper wuss! 
 
 He jest lit in, and cussed and swore, 
 
 And lunged and rared, and ripped and tore, 
 
 179 
 
SQUIEE HAWKINS'S STORY 
 
 And told John jest to leave his door. 
 And not to darken it no more! 
 But Patience ""^'-^d, with eyes all wet, 
 ''Remember, John, and don't ferget. 
 Whatever comes, I love you yet!'' 
 But the old man thought, in his se'fish way, 
 "I'll see her married rich some day ; 
 And that," thinks he, "is money fer me — 
 And my will's laiv, as it ought to be!" 
 So when, in the course of a month er so, 
 A widower, with a farm er two. 
 Comes to Jeff's, w'y, the folks, you know 
 Had to talk — as the f olks'll do : 
 It was the talk of the neighberhood — 
 Patience and John, and their affairs ; — 
 And this old chap with a few gray hairs 
 Had "cut John out," it was understood. 
 And some folks reckoned "Patience, too, 
 Knowed what she was a-goin' to do — 
 It was like her — la! indeed! — 
 All she loved was dollars and cents — 
 Like old Jeff — and they saw no need 
 Fer John to pine at her negligence!" 
 But others said, in a kinder way, 
 They missed the songs she used to sing — 
 They missed the smiles that used to play 
 180 
 
SQUIRE HAWKINS'S STORY 
 
 Over her face, and the laughin' ring 
 Of her glad voice — that p,vpryt]img 
 Of her old se'f seemed dead and gone, 
 And this was the ghost that they gazed on ! 
 
 Tel finally it was noised about 
 There was a weddin' soon to be 
 Down at Jeff's; and the ''cat was out" 
 Shore enough ! — 'LI the Jee-mim-nee! 
 It riled me when John told me so, — 
 Fer / was a friend o' John's, you know; 
 And his trimblin' voice jest broke in two- — 
 As a feller's voice'll sometimes do. — 
 And I says, says I, *'Ef I know my biz — 
 And I think I know what jestice is, — • 
 I've read some law— and I'd advise 
 A man like you to wipe his eyes 
 And square his jaws and start ag'in, 
 Fer jestice is a-goin' to ivin!" 
 And it wasn't long tel his eyes had cleared 
 As blue as the skies, and the sun appeared 
 In the shape of a good old-fashioned smile 
 That I hadn't seen fer a long, long while. 
 
 181 
 
SQUIRE HAWKINS'S STORY 
 
 So we talked on f er a' hour er more, 
 
 And sunned ourselves in the open door, — 
 
 Tel a hoss-and-buggy down the road 
 
 Come a-drivin' up, that I guess John knowed, — 
 
 Fer he winked and says, "I'll dessappear — 
 
 They'd smell a mice ef they saw me here V* 
 
 And he thumbed his nose at the old gray mare. 
 
 And hid hisse'f in the house somewhere. 
 
 Well. — The rig drove up: and I raised my head 
 
 As old Jeff hollered to me and said 
 
 That ''him and his old friend there had come 
 
 To see ef the squire was at home." 
 
 ... I told 'em "I was ; and I aimed to be 
 
 At every chance of a weddin'-fee !" 
 
 And then I laughed — and they laughed, too, — 
 
 Fer that was the object they had in view. 
 
 "Would I be on hands at eight that night ?" 
 
 They ast; and 's-I, "You're mighty right, 
 
 ril be on hand !" And then I bu'st 
 
 Out a-laughin' my very wu'st, — 
 
 And so did they, as they wheeled away 
 
 And drove to'rds town in a cloud o' dust. 
 
 Then I shet the door, and me and John 
 
 Laughed and laughed, and jest laughed on, 
 
 182 
 
SQUIRE HAWKINS'S STORY 
 
 Tel Mother drapped her specs, and by 
 Jeewhillikers! I thought she'd die! — • 
 And she couldn't 'a' told, I'll bet my hat, 
 What on earth she was laughin' at! 
 
 But all o' the fun o' the tale hain't done ! — • 
 
 Fer a drizzlin' rain had jest begun, 
 
 And a-havin' 'bout four mile' to ride, 
 
 I jest concluded I'd better light 
 
 Out fer Jeff's and save my hide, — 
 
 Fer it was a-goin^ to storm, that night! 
 
 So we went down to the barn, and John 
 
 Saddled my beast, and I got on ; 
 
 And he told me somepin' to not ferget. 
 
 And when I left, he was laughin' yet. 
 
 And, 'proachin' on to my journey's end. 
 The great big draps o' the rain come down. 
 And the thunder growled in a way to lend 
 An awful look to the lowerin' frown 
 The dull sky wore ; and the lightnin' glanced 
 Tel my old mare jest more'n pranced. 
 And tossed her head, and bugged her eyes 
 To about four times their natchurl size, 
 
 183 
 
SQUIRE HAWKINS'S STORY 
 
 As the big black lips of the clouds 'ud drap 
 Out some oath of a thunderclap, 
 And threaten on in an undertone 
 That chilled a feller clean to the bone! 
 
 But I struck shelter soon enough 
 
 To save niyse'f. And the house was jammed 
 
 With the women-folks, and the weddin'-stuff :- 
 
 A great, long table, fairly crammed 
 
 With big pound-cakes — and chops and steaks- 
 
 And roasts and stews — ^^and stumick-aches 
 
 Of every fashion, form, and size. 
 
 From twisters up to punkin-pies ! 
 
 And candies, oranges, and figs, 
 
 And reezins, — all the "whilligigs" 
 
 And ''jim-cracks" that the law allows 
 
 On sich occasions! — Bobs and bows 
 
 Of gigglin' girls, with corkscrew curls, 
 
 And fancy ribbons, reds and blues. 
 
 And ''beau-ketchers" and "curliques" 
 
 To beat the world ! And seven o'clock 
 
 Brought old Jeff; — and brought — the groom,- 
 
 With a sideboard-collar on, and stock 
 
 That choked him so, he hadn't room 
 
 184 
 
SQUIEE HAWKINS'S STORY 
 
 To swaller in, er even sneeze, 
 Er clear his th'oat with any ease 
 Er comfort — and a good square cough 
 Would saw his Adam's apple off! 
 
 But as fer Patience — My! Oomh-oomh!— 
 I never saw her look so sweet! — 
 Her face was cream and roses, too; 
 And then them eyes o' heavenly blue 
 Jest made an angel all complete! 
 And when she split 'em up in smiles 
 And splintered 'em around the room, 
 And danced acrost and met the groom. 
 And laughed out loud — It kind o' spiles 
 My language when I come to that — 
 Fer, as she laid away his hat. 
 Thinks I, ^'The papers hid inside 
 Of that said hat must make a bride 
 A happy one fer all her life, 
 Er else a wrecked and wretched wife!" 
 And, someway, then, I thought of John,- 
 Then looked towards Pai^ietice . . . She 
 was gone! 
 
 187 
 
SQUIRE HAWKINS'S STORY 
 
 The door stood open, and the rain 
 
 Was dashin' in ; and sharp and plain 
 
 Above the storm we heerd a cry — 
 
 A ringin', laughin', loud ''Good-by!'' 
 
 That died away, as fleet and fast 
 
 A boss's hoofs went splashin' past! 
 
 And that was all. 'Twas done that quick! . 
 
 You heerd o^ fellers ''lookin' sick"? 
 
 I wisht you'd seen the groom jest then — 
 
 I wisht you'd seen them two old men, 
 
 With starin* eyes that fairly glared 
 
 At one another, and the scared 
 
 And empty faces of the crowd, — 
 
 I wisht you could 'a' been allowed 
 
 To jest look on and see it all, — 
 
 And heerd the girls and women bawl 
 
 And wring their hands ; and heerd old Jeflt 
 
 A-cussin' as he swung hisse'f 
 
 Upon his boss, who champed his bit 
 
 As though old Nick had holt of it: 
 
 And cheek by jowl the two old wrecks 
 
 Rode off as though they'd break their necks. 
 
 188 
 
SQUIRE HAWKINS'S STORY 
 
 And as we all stood starin' out 
 
 Into the night, I felt the brush 
 
 Of some one's hand, and turned about, 
 
 And I heerd a voice that whispered, "Hushl- 
 
 They're waitin' in the kitchen, and 
 
 You're tvanted. Don't you understand?" 
 
 Well, ef my memory serves me now, 
 
 I think I winked. — Well, anyhow, 
 
 I left the crowd a-gawkin' there. 
 
 And jest slipped off around to where 
 
 The back door opened, and went in, 
 
 And turned and shet the door ag'in, 
 
 And maybe locked it — couldn't swear, — 
 
 A woman's arms around me makes 
 
 Me liable to make mistakes. — 
 
 I read a marriage license nex', 
 
 But as I didn't have my specs 
 
 I jest inferred it was all right. 
 
 And tied the knot so mortal-tight 
 
 That Patience and my old friend John 
 
 Was safe enough from that time on! 
 
 189 
 
SQUIRE HAWKINS'S STORY 
 
 Well, now, I might go on and tell 
 How all the joke at last leaked out. 
 And how the youngsters raised the yell 
 And rode the happy groom about 
 Upon their shoulders ; how the bride 
 Was kissed a hundred times beside 
 The one / give her, — tel she cried 
 And laughed untel she like to died! 
 I might go on and tell you all 
 About the supper — and the ball. — 
 You'd ought to see me twist my heel 
 Through jest one old Furginny reel 
 Afore you die! er tromp the strings 
 Of some old fiddle tel she sings 
 Some old cowtillion, don't you know, 
 That putts the devil in yer toe! 
 
 We kep' the dancin' up tel four 
 O'clock, I reckon — maybe more. — 
 We hardly heerd the thunders roar, 
 Er thought about the storm that blowed — 
 And them two fellers on the road! 
 Tel all at onc't we heerd the door 
 Bu'st open, and a voice that swore, — 
 And old Jeff Thompson tuck the floor. 
 190 
 
SQUIRE HAWKINS'S STORY 
 
 He shuck hisse'f and looked around 
 Like some old dog about half-drowned — 
 His hat, I reckon, weighed ten pound 
 To say the least, and I'll say, shore, 
 His overcoat weighed fifty more — 
 The wettest man you ever saw. 
 To have so dry a son-in-law! 
 
 He sized it all; and Patience laid 
 Her hand in John's, and looked afraid, 
 And waited. And a stiller set 
 0' folks, I know, you never met 
 In any court room, where with dread 
 They wait to hear a verdick read. 
 
 The old man turned his eyes on me: 
 "And have you married 'em?" says he. 
 I nodded "Yes." "Well, that'll do," 
 He says, "and now we're th'ough with you,- 
 You jest clear out, and I decide 
 And promise to be satisfied!" 
 He hadn't nothin' more to say. 
 I saw, of course, how matters lay, 
 And left. But as I rode away 
 I heerd the roosters crow fer day. 
 191