Swazy Folks 
 
 And Others 
 
 Poems by JOHN D. WELLS 
 
 WITH DRAWINGS BY 
 ALBERT MACK STERLING 
 
 BUF F ALO 
 
 OTTO ULBRICH COMPANY 
 
 Publishers 
 
^% 
 
 
 i.'-.^ 
 
 COPYRIGHT 1908, BY 
 
 JOHN D. WELLS. 
 
 Hausauer-Jones Printing Co 
 buffalo, n. y. 
 
4 
 
 tl|t0 book of mvBB is affiertuitt- 
 
Preface 
 
 A GOOD friend has made objections to the 
 title of this book, saying: "People don't 
 know where Swazy is!" O, but they do! 
 Every one has his Swazy — long "a," please, 
 as in "hayin'." Every one knows that 
 Swazy is any place where the population is 
 sparse, where the cider mill and the shingle 
 factory mark the line where the village leaves 
 off and the open country begins; where 
 "Town Meetin' " and Firemen's Day mark 
 the cycle of time; where quoit pitching in 
 the Methodist churchsheds and Sam Scrib- 
 ner's Wagon Circus leaven honest toil and 
 the even-tenored lives of the village "folks." 
 O, yes, almost every man, who has ever made 
 much of a success of things, came from a 
 Swazy, somewhere. 
 
 As for "the others," whose lives or stories 
 are herein rhymed, they are people whom 
 we have all met — soldiers, range-riders, 
 sailors, "gods of the open air." Lastly, 
 not a few of the verses are about children, 
 the merry little souls who stand in the fields 
 of Youth and watch us as we pass along the 
 Path of Reality, turning bright faces to us 
 for the instant and making us happier for it. 
 
These verses are assembled here to satisfy 
 a call by friends to see some of the poems in 
 permanent form. This was as much a 
 surprise to their sponsor as to his most un- 
 friendly critic, and, withal, a compliment so 
 flattering that it demands compliance. For 
 the most part, the verses have appeared in 
 a special column on the editorial page of 
 the Buffalo Evening News, called "From 
 Grave to Gay, " which it has been the author's 
 pleasure to edit for the past five years. To 
 the owner of the News, Mr. Edward H. 
 Butler, the writer is indebted for permission 
 to reprint here, as well as for many kindnesses 
 and a generous friendship that has made his 
 service on the News most enjoyable. 
 
 J. D. W. 
 
Contents 
 
 Title Page No. 
 
 Howdy 15-16 
 
 The Dreamer ....... 17 
 
 Bilin' Sap 18 
 
 At Court 19 
 
 Wishes 20 
 
 Old Letters . . .... 21 
 
 The Kettle Song 22-23-24 
 
 The Street Musician ..... 25 
 
 The Town Marshal 26 
 
 'Twixt Seasons at Swazy ..... 27 
 Leave My Dreams to Me . . 28-29-30-31 
 
 Grandpa ....... 3^ 
 
 Susan Serepty Perkins 33-34 
 
 Brother Mine 35 
 
 The Children of Poverty Lane ... 36 
 
 Old Fire Company 37-38 
 
 Lessons ....... 38 
 
 A Birthday 39 
 
 The Lonesome Time O' Night . . 40-41-42-43 
 
 The Hushed Voice . . . . . -44 
 
 Vender ....... 45 
 
 The Conversazzhony .... 46-47-48 
 
 The Blues 49 
 
 A Song 50 
 
 In the Toy Shop S^S^ 
 
 Genywine Joy ....•• 53 
 
 Triolet— To Her 54-55-5^ 
 
 Pajamas at Traverse .... 57-58 
 
 The Chanty Song . . ... . 59 
 
Title Page No. 
 
 The Windows of My Memory .... 60 
 
 The Old Tramp Printer .... 61-62 
 
 Doggone Homesick ...... 63 
 
 When the Last Trumpet Sounds , ' . . 64 
 
 Ould Barney M'Ginn 65 
 
 The Old Fishin' Hole .... 66-67-68-69 
 
 The Tale the Stage Driver Told . . 70-71-72 
 
 Discharged ....... 73-74 
 
 A Cowpuncher and Prayer .... 75 
 
 Jist Loafin' ....... 76 
 
 In Dreamland ...... 77 
 
 A Little Girl in Gingham . . 78-79-80-81 
 
 Far Apart 82 
 
 At Home 83-84-85 
 
 The Measure of a Man ..... 86 
 
 Mutterin' Joe 87-88 
 
 A Soldier's Appreciation .... 89-90 
 
 Defying Age ...... 90 
 
 Little Lost Child 91 
 
 Understanding ... . . 92 
 
 Whare's He At ? 93 
 
 The Man Who Lost . . . 94-95-96-97 
 
 When Pals Must Part .... 98-99 
 
 The Happy Man ...... 99 
 
 Shadders loo-ioi 
 
 Old Rosemont 102-103 
 
 Winter Mornin's 104-105 
 
 Fall 106-107-108 
 
 The Last Edition 109 
 
 Dan M'Carty of the Crossing Squad . iio-iii 
 
 Gone . . . . . .112 
 
Title Page No. 
 
 Romancin' ii3-"4 
 
 The Place and Time for Prayer . . 115-116 
 
 Outweighing All 1 16 
 
 Old Fashioned Flowers .... 1 1 7-1 18 
 The Folly of Superstition . . . . iiQ 
 
 Ben Tarr Opines .... 120-121-122 
 The Old Back Stoop .... 123-124 
 
 The Nursery Battle .... 125-126 
 
 The Lonely Man 126 
 
 Folks Back Home 127 
 
 Come Back Again .... 128-129 
 
 Christmas Eve in the Old Manse . . 130-131 
 
 An Investment 132-133 
 
 John Thompkins' Fiddlin' . I34-1 35-1 36-1 37 
 
 Old Ben Tarr's Idee 138 
 
 A Man i39 
 
 The Martial Band from Big Elm Flat . 140-141 
 
 or Ben Tarr's Filosofy 142 
 
 An Old Man's Deductions .... 143 
 The Old Home Town . . 144-145-146-147 
 
 Friends ....... 148 
 
 To a Boy I49 
 
 Going to Town with Pa . . 150-151-152-153 
 
 Two Songs ....... 154 
 
SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 15 
 
 "Howdy!*' 
 
 ¥'M shy on formal greetin's — as it's give me tew 
 
 ■*• observe, 
 
 Them highfalutin' kovstows in the end kin on'y 
 
 serve 
 T' make a man suspicion, vpho's been off fer quite 
 
 a dost, 
 He's jest about half welcome, er th'ee quarters 
 
 at the most; 
 I tell y' what I 'preciate if I've been off a spell, 
 An' meet some man er uther 'at I've knowed purty 
 
 well. 
 Is when he gits his bearin's and he sashays up 
 
 t' me 
 
 An' grabs me by the flipper, an' then he sez — 
 
 sezhe: . , 
 
 M owdy ! 
 
 It ain't no satisfaction, when yer back from furrin 
 
 parts, 
 T' have yer nayburs greet ye with new-fangled 
 
 delly sartes — 
 There's sumpthin' "milk-an'-watery" that goes 
 
 agin my grain 
 In them 'ere sort o' greetin's, makes me want t* 
 
 go again — 
 A sumpthin' sort o' chilly an' onhullsome, I'm 
 
 doggone. 
 That alius made me wonder if it wasn't jest put 
 
 on! 
 They ain't no fair comparison, that I have ever 
 
 heard, 
 
 Betwixt them formal things y' hear an' that one 
 
 friendly word: ., ,._ , ,„ 
 
 Howdy / 
 
i6 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 
 
 There's nuthin' pitifuller, than a man 'ats got t* 
 
 roam — 
 Er nuthin' more pathetiker than when a man 
 
 comes home; 
 I 'low there's sumpthin' simple — sumpthin' home- 
 
 lylike — in it, 
 A simple sort o' greetin' is the on'y kind'll fit; 
 Jest clasp his hand in yourn an' you give it lots 
 
 o' heft, 
 'N he'll think you've thought about him ever* 
 
 minnit since he left, 
 An' now, that he is back agin, he's welcome 
 
 as the birds, 
 Then make his joy completer with that friendliest 
 
 of words: 
 
 "Howdy!" 
 
SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 17 
 
 The Dreamer. 
 
 nr^HEY said he lived in vain, 
 ■*■ But, when he died. 
 The gentle skies shed tears of rain — 
 Those skies 'neath which he dreamed, and fain 
 Would roam and dream beneath again — 
 And children cried. 
 
 They said he lived for none, 
 
 But, when he left. 
 The buds that 'long his path had blown, 
 And all he loved and called his own. 
 Did bow their pretty heads and moan 
 
 Like souls bereft. 
 
 They cannot see, who said 
 
 He lived for none. 
 That yonder woodland stream that led 
 Along the path he loved to tread. 
 Has ceased its song and sighs instead. 
 
 For one who's gone. 
 
 They cannot know who play 
 
 There is no gain 
 In living thus each joyous day 
 In dreams of never-ending May, 
 They cannot know — or would not say 
 
 He lived in vain! 
 
SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 
 
 Bilin' Sap. 
 
 "ITITHEN Natcher's bustin' out her pod, 
 
 ' * An' thoughts stirs up a feller's chest 
 Of spring, an' hawsses turnin' sod, 
 
 O them's the days I Hke the best! 
 The days that I kin shet my noise 
 
 An' jist lay back an' pitcher pap 
 An' us an' all them Burton boys 
 
 In Gullen's woods * * a-bilin' sap! 
 
 I hain't no hand, an' never was, 
 
 T' sling air native langwidge much, 
 Ner pitcher dreams ner fancies, 'cause 
 
 Y' see I wa'n't cut out fer such; 
 An' days like this, doggone it, I 
 
 Kin see I need most every scrap 
 Of langwidge tew do jestice by 
 
 A day like this * * an' bilin' sap! 
 
 By hick'ry, I kin shet my eyes 
 
 An' see that camp ez plain, I vum! 
 It seems such mem'ries never dies 
 
 But sticks to us twell kingdom cum! — 
 An' see them pails an' kettle there. 
 
 With golden sirup bubblin' in — 
 It alius 'minded me, I sware. 
 
 That pancake time wud cum agin! 
 
 I s'pose that somewheres there's a tree 
 
 In Gullen's woods — not more'n one, 
 Fer Gullen's woods that used t' be 
 
 Air all cut down fer ages gone — 
 I s'pose that sumwheres there's a tree, 
 
 A day like this, that's running sap; 
 I like t' think it weeps fer me. 
 
 An' all them Burton boys — an' pap! 
 
SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 19 
 
 At Court. 
 
 A T court no royal splendor rules, 
 •*• ^ No ermine mantles robe the King- 
 His crown is made of mother's spools 
 Encircled on a gaudy string. 
 
 With rattle-box for sceptre he 
 Makes ready for his kingly nap, 
 
 And summons each to bend a knee 
 Before the throne on mother's lap. 
 
 For we the monarch's subjects be — 
 In servitude, abject, we kneel; 
 
 A weak and humble legion, we. 
 Oppressed beneath his rosy heel. 
 
 And I am Jester to the King! 
 
 I put aside my tricks and wiles — 
 A jumping-jack upon a string, 
 
 It takes to coax the monarch's smiles. 
 
 I shake my jester's bells and strings — 
 The monarch shouts in childish glee — 
 
 His laughter through the nursery rings 
 Far sweeter than a king's could be. 
 
 But, hold, we bore the King, I own; 
 
 "We pray the Lord his soul to keep," 
 Tread lightly here around the throne — 
 
 The King's asleep — the King's asleep! 
 
SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 
 
 Wishes. 
 
 C^TJR light, star bright, 
 ^-^ First star I've seen tonight — ■ 
 / wish I may, I wish I might 
 Have the wish I wish tonight/ 
 
 Wish, you, then, my little e!f, 
 That you always stay yourself — 
 Wish to keep each golden curl — 
 Be, for aye, a little girl. 
 
 Wish to keep your childish glee. 
 And the smiles you've smiled for mt 
 Wish to keep your bonny eyes, 
 Clear and blue as shining skies. 
 
 Wish to keep your lightened heart. 
 All your baby charms and art — 
 Keep you all your ways and wiles, 
 Dimpled hands and dimpled smiles. 
 
 Wish — I would that it could be! — 
 You might romp for aye with me. 
 Through the day from early dawn. 
 As you are — until I'm gone! 
 
 Star light, star bright. 
 
 First star I've seen tonight — 
 
 / wish you may, I wish you might 
 
 Have the wish I wish tonight/ 
 
SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS ii 
 
 F 
 
 Old Letters. 
 
 'ADED letters; How I love them! 
 Why they seem to touch a string 
 On the harpsichord of mem'ry 
 
 'Till the hosts of angels sing! — 
 Sing to me of loved ones, and the 
 
 Hands that penned each loving line, 
 Seem to reach across the chasm 
 
 And I clasp them close in mine. 
 
 Faded letters! From a sweetheart — 
 
 From a mother, dear to me — ■ 
 From a brother, and another 
 
 Far across the briny sea — 
 From a wife, she sent to cheer me 
 
 In a strange and foreign land, 
 And, the best of all, the letter 
 
 Where she traced the baby's hand. 
 
 Chubby fingers! How I loved them! 
 
 How the fleeting years efface! 
 Or, is it my tears, I wonder. 
 
 That bedim the loving trace ? 
 Though the cheerless years are many 
 
 Since we worshipped at his shrine, 
 Still I feel those little fingers 
 
 Close around this heart of mine! 
 
 Faded letters! How I love them! 
 
 Letters from my loved ones and 
 This, the best of all, the letter 
 
 Where she traced the baby's hand; 
 Little imprint on the paper 
 
 And upon my heart, I fear, 
 Sets the harpsichord of mem'ry 
 
 Playing music sweet to hear! 
 
SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 
 
 The Kettle Song. 
 
 T wish the kettle would sing again 
 
 Just as it used to do; 
 I wish it would sing of a lion slain — 
 Of a pirate crew on the Spanish main — 
 Of a clipper ship on the sea-way, high, 
 With a cabin boy and the Boy was I — 
 Just as it used to do. 
 
 I wish the kettle would sing again, 
 
 Just as it used to do, 
 Of a little girl in a bonnet, red. 
 And saved by a prince from a hydra-head 
 That lurked in the corn that towered high, 
 And the girl was She and the Prince was I — 
 
 Just as it used to do. 
 
 I wish the kettle would sing again, 
 
 Just as it used to do — 
 I wish it would sing of war's alarms, 
 The booming of cannon and clash of arms 
 Of a blue-clad boy where the strife ran high 
 With face to the steel and willing to die — 
 
 Just as it used to do. 
 
 I wish the kettle would sing again. 
 
 Just as it used to do. 
 The lyrics it crooned and the tales it told — 
 But the hearth is chill, and the years are old — 
 The fancies it whispered have all taken wing 
 And never again will the kettle sing 
 
 Just as it used to do I 
 
) 
 
 The Kettle's Song 
 
SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 25 
 
 The Street Musician. 
 
 A vagabond! A rover in the street, 
 A derelict upon a human sea, 
 And scorned by those who passed with hurried feet, 
 
 Who heeded not, nor heard, his piteous plea! 
 But, O the song from his old violin. 
 It reached the spot my mem'ries linger in! 
 
 He touched the strings as if with magic bow, 
 And sweet it crooned above the din and all; 
 
 It seemed to come from, O, so long ago, 
 Across the years, a sympathetic call! 
 
 It sang a song of fields and pleasant ways, 
 
 And faces sweet I knew in other days. 
 
 It called across the tortuous winding span 
 That I have trod so long with wearied feet — 
 
 The rocky path that leads from boy to man; 
 He sang the song, so beautiful and sweet, 
 
 That's writ for those who have to sigh and roam; 
 
 "I Wonder, Do They Miss Their Boy At Home ?" 
 
 A vagabond, 'tis true, but glorified 
 
 By those sweet strains from his old violin, 
 
 That called across Time's chasm, deep and wide. 
 And reached the spot my mem'ries linger in! 
 
 To think, this homeless soul remembers yet, 
 
 While I, who have a home, so soon forget! 
 
26 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 
 
 The Town Marshal. 
 
 nr^HE time the corkus 'lected Jim 
 
 Town marshal, fokes jumped ont' him, 
 An* 'lowed the job pervided fer 
 A man a heap more compenter 
 'N what he wuz. But I-sez-I : 
 "Well, ennyway, give Jim a try"; 
 (All thue the army him an' me 
 Wuz pardners, so I knowed, y' see.) 
 
 They 'low he hain't no great success 
 Ez marshal, an' he hain't, I gess; 
 Fokes criticize him 'cause he plays 
 "Or sledge" an* euchre stormy days 
 An' chillin' nights, with them 'ats in 
 The lockup fer some triflin' sin; 
 But they don't know, ez Jim tells me; 
 "It sort o' keeps 'em company." 
 
 When Abner cum on Widder Crumb — 
 
 Told Jim t' fo'close on her hum 
 
 Fer debts her man made 'fore he died, 
 
 There's no one knowed who satisfied 
 
 Ab's claim, er cares to, nuther, fer 
 
 It cleared an' saved her farm fer her — 
 
 But I've got strong suspicionment 
 
 Of how an' whare Jim's pension went ! 
 
 Big-hearted, hullsome, ornery Jim! 
 If fokes jes' knowed ez / know him. 
 They'd vote fer him an' vote him straight 
 Fer Keeper of the Golden Gate 
 Er 'Cordin' Angel, er, I swear, 
 Fer a'most enny place Up Thare! 
 (All thue the army him an' me 
 Wuz pardners, so I knowed, y' see!) 
 
SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS ^^ 
 
 'Twixt Seasons at Swazy. 
 
 T tell y' what I like t' do 
 
 '■ Along when March is gettin' 'thue, 
 
 Er Aprile's just beginnin' — 
 The cur'ousest time o' all the year, 
 When winter's gone an' spring ain't here, 
 
 An' snow is sort o' thinnin', 
 
 I like t' wander — romancin' — 
 I s'pose they's really no sense in 
 
 Such takin's-on an' goin', 
 But yender is the place fer me, 
 Whare ellums, oaks, an' maples be, 
 
 An' whare the southwind's blowin*! 
 
 It seems t' whisper — that's a fack — 
 O' sum ol' friend that's cummin' back, 
 
 A-bringin' loads o' treasure, 
 O' golden sunshine, greenest grass. 
 An' wortermelons, garden sass. 
 
 An' all in heapin' measure. 
 
 It hints the smallest circumstance — 
 A Bob White on the pastcher fence 
 
 A-chirpin', rich an' meller; 
 An' all the pleasures yit t' cum 
 A-straddle this southwind! I vum 
 
 It sort o' chokes a feller! 
 
 From ever' tarnal limb so bare 
 
 The sap's a-drippin', an' though there 
 
 'S no way of mortils knowin', 
 I believe them's tears o' joy, by cuss — 
 That Natcher's glad fer spring as us — 
 
 An' that's her way o' showin'! 
 
28 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 
 
 Leave My Dreams to Me. 
 
 T want but little here below, just let me have 
 
 my dreams, 
 And you may keep the gold and dross, and all 
 
 the petty schemes 
 That men conceive, in Greed and Gain, to foist 
 
 on fellow men — 
 Just let me be a pilgrim, lone, to love and dream 
 again 
 
 Of hollyhocks 
 In riot, red, 
 A puncheon floor — 
 A trundle bed — 
 And things I love and cherish now, that looked so 
 homely then. 
 
 Just place me where my easy chair shall face the 
 
 evening's glow. 
 Where pictures form with magic art as fancies 
 
 come and go, 
 And all the paths that lead away guide weary 
 
 pilgrims' feet 
 To cottages with open doors where love and 
 friendship meet — 
 
 A humble roof — 
 
 The song of birds — 
 The welcome low 
 Of distant herds. 
 And roses grow around the home and drip their 
 fragrance sweet. 
 
The Place of Dream 
 
SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 31 
 
 And open wide the ancient door, so vagrant 
 
 winds that blow 
 May bear the music back to me — the songs of 
 
 long ago — 
 And echo children's voices — songs of happiness 
 
 and glee, — 
 All silent now these many years — and for Eternity; 
 Then leave me here 
 
 To dream and rest, 
 With eyes upon 
 The dying west — 
 Take all the wealth the world affords but leave 
 my dreams to me! 
 
32 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 
 
 Grandpa. 
 
 "r\ranpa Jones has turn to stay 
 ^-^ 'Since my dranma went away- 
 Tuz it ain't so lonesome ez 
 Whare he used to Hve, he sez; 
 Tells me bestest stories, tuz 
 They's about when wartime wuz! 
 
 Wartime wuz long time ago 
 'Fore my dranpa ever know 
 Who my papa wuz, an* he 
 Didn't know my ma or me 
 When the wartime wuz, becuz 
 We wa'n't here when wartime wuz. 
 
 Sumtimes when my dranpa goes 
 Upstairs where his hat an' clothes 
 'At he weared when wartime is, 
 'S packed away with fings of his, 
 I peek through the door an' see 
 Mostest fun they ever be! 
 
 Puts his fixin's on an' nen 
 Just tromps back an' forth again 
 'Fore ma's lookin' glass becuz 
 'Ats like when the wartime wuz; 
 Nen he stops an' wipes his eyes — 
 First I know he cries an' cries! 
 
 'Nen I speak to him an' he 
 Pats my head an' says I be 
 'Staken — them wuz tears of joy; 
 "Dranpa never cries, my boy!" 
 Nen we bof git laffin' nen 
 Us two goes down stairs again. 
 
SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 33 
 
 Susan Serepty Perkins. 
 
 (A few lines of appresheashun of one of Natcher's noble- 
 wimmin that I've knowed fer quite a spell an' have wanted 
 to say sumthin about, but didn't dast. Now she's visitun 
 out to her mother's cousin in lowy and I don't cakalate 
 she'll see my humble efferts.) 
 
 'T^HEY ain't no words that's got a edge 
 
 ■■• 'At's soft enuff, in langiwedge, 
 T' tell her virtues as they be, 
 Ner give no adekate idee 
 Of Widder Perkin's dorter Sue, 
 Ner praise her as I'd Hke t' do. 
 
 It goes way back — less see — about 
 
 The 6o's when the war bruk out 
 
 An' things looked dark an' drafts begun; 
 
 The widder's husband, Sile, was one 
 
 That left his wife an' Susie, then 
 
 She wasn't more n' nine er ten. 
 
 Just thinkin' on't, seems t' me 
 
 It wa'n't but only yisterdy 
 
 I heerd the fifes cum screechin' down, 
 
 An' Himeses Guards frum Burgettstown 
 
 Marched past whare Silas' fambly wep' 
 
 An' he fell in an' caught the step. 
 
34 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 
 
 I see him yit, as plain as day, 
 A-smilin' in his happy way — 
 A-smilin' as he kissed each head 
 An' halt their hands a spell, an' said, 
 With honest tears a-streamin' thue: 
 "Take keer o' mother, won't y' Sue." 
 
 An' then he went! Fer quite a spell 
 
 They wasn't news enuflF t' tell 
 
 Er specify, er seemed t' keer 
 
 How fared our army boys frum here, 
 
 Till Petersburg, an' then it said 
 
 That, 'mongst the others, Sile was dead! 
 
 "Take keer o' mother." Then they cum- 
 Her father's words when he left hum 
 An' marched away; an', lawsy me, 
 As it's been given me t' see. 
 Rite thare her girlhood cum t' end 
 An' Susan growed t' comprehend! 
 
 "Take keer o' mother." All these years 
 I 'low them words 's rung in her ears — 
 In Susan's ears, an' there at hum 
 She's staid an' worked an' heeded 'em 
 Like me an' you an' ever'one 
 Of our acquaintance wouldn't done! 
 
 There's sum ol' maids, an' then again 
 There's sum as is that mightn't been 
 Onless, like Susan, they cud view 
 Their duty, plain, an' meet it, too; 
 An' if she's single tain't because 
 She hain't been asked — I knoiu she was/ 
 
SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 35 
 
 Brother Mine. 
 
 TUST like we used to, brother mine, 
 •^ Let's wander back again — 
 Let's turn our steps from busy mart 
 To meet there where our pathways part, 
 And then go back — my hand in thine — 
 Forgetting we are men. 
 
 Just like we used to, brother dear, 
 
 Let's Hnk our hearts with joy, 
 A-down the lanes and pleasant ways 
 We knew and loved in boyhood days — 
 Forget the world is old and drear 
 And be again a boy. 
 
 Let's wander back again, we two. 
 Beside the silvery stream — 
 Beside the wood where mystery lies — 
 Beneath the kindly summer skies 
 With sunbeams glancing dancing through, 
 And rest again, and dream. 
 
 Let's wander back again and see 
 
 The homestead, where, today 
 The flowers weep for one Above 
 And seem to breathe her mother love — 
 She cherished them so tenderly 
 Before she went away! 
 
 Let's wander back, O brother mine. 
 And never more to roam; 
 With all our boyhood shrines around 
 Let's kneel beside her grassy mound 
 And tell her, through the whisp'ring pine. 
 Her children have come home. 
 
36 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 
 
 The Children of Poverty Lane. 
 
 "D LI THE little spirits of Poverty Lane, 
 
 ■^^ Down through the years they come running 
 
 again! 
 Faces as red as the pokeberries' glow, 
 Happy and cheerful as any I know; 
 Poverty stricken and curbed, but it seemed 
 Never to darken the dreams that they dreamed — 
 Never to sadden the smiles that they smiled — 
 Want touches lightly the heart of a child! 
 
 Lived in the huts at the edge of the wood. 
 
 Back from the road where the landowners' stood; 
 
 Quaint little houses with little above — 
 
 Little within but a surfeit of love; 
 
 Happy and cheerful and careless and free. 
 
 Now through the years they come running to me — 
 
 Still they are happy, their smiles never wane, 
 
 Dear little children of Poverty Lane. 
 
 Ho, I recall them, remember them still, 
 Barefoot and happy, afoot to the mill — • 
 Grist going through, or the wheel going 'round, 
 Gave them more joy than verses can bound; 
 Ho, I can see them in ginghams that glowed 
 'Gainst the red sumachs that guarded the road — 
 Homeward and happy they trundled again, 
 Dear little children of Poverty Lane! 
 
 Dear little scions of poverty's child. 
 Blithe as a bird of the wood, and as wild, 
 Bubbling over with laughter and glee, 
 You taught a lesson 'twas lasting to me — 
 Taught me 'tis best to forgive the world's taunf — 
 Taught me "be happy in riches or want"; 
 Ho, I am happy to see you again. 
 Dear little children of Poverty Lane I 
 
SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 37 
 
 Old Fire Company. 
 
 T dreampt last night! Hain't it the beatenest 
 
 ■*■ The things a feller'U dream about, an' jest 
 
 Ez natural-Hke, an' perfeck, I declare, 
 
 A'most ez if a man was really there! 
 
 Like when I dreampt last night, I seemed t' see 
 
 Ez plain ez day, ol' fi-er company 
 
 Of volunteers we used t' have 'round here 
 
 That's been disbanded now fer twenty year. 
 
 It seemed I 'us back a-sleepin' 'neath the eaves — 
 The night was still — so still the lokus leaves 
 A-droppin' on the roof, I heerd wunct more 
 As I have heerd a thousant times before; 
 Somebody passed — I heerd 'em holler "Fi-er!" 
 I seemed t' see the flames a-leapin' higher, 
 A lurid glow, an' then I heerd the call — 
 The fire bell in air ol' Village Hall. 
 
 Well I tell you, it wa'n't no circumstance, 
 The time I spent a-gittin' in my pants 
 An' histin' up my winder, no sir-e-e-e 
 An' naybors' folks was doin' same ez me, 
 A-histin' up their winders quick ez scat, 
 An' lookin' out an' astin': "Where's it at?" 
 Till someone sed, frum where he stood it 'peared 
 "The Baptist sheds was burnin' up, he feared." 
 
 An' then, thue all my dream, cum to my ears 
 The warnin' bell of air ol' volunteers 
 With Hi ahead, an' Henry Smith an' Tup 
 An' others takin' holt, ez they ketched up 
 Of that ol' hand injine. It seemed that it 
 Fair seemed t' snort fer jist a chanct t' git 
 At one more fire! An' then cum 'Vester Ladd 
 Nigh petered out, his asthmay got so bad! 
 
38 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 
 
 I follered 'em an' legged it down the road, 
 
 Like years ago when we was boys an' go-ed 
 
 T' fires nights, an' never missed a thing — 
 
 A habit that has left us now, I jing! 
 
 An' there they was, a-fightin' flames again 
 
 An' Hi a-callin' loudly: "Water, men!" 
 ***** 
 
 Them words they woke me up an', jiminey, 
 'Twas stormin' hard, an raintn in on me.' 
 
 Lessons. 
 
 T RECKON y'U find wharever y' look 
 
 ■*■ A lesson in all that y' see. 
 
 As I alius do. That ornery 'Ras Jones, 
 
 He larned a lesson t' me 
 When he seed a beetle sprawled out on its back 
 
 *N he stopped; 'T reckon," sez 'Ras, 
 "I'll turn him over and give him a chanct 
 
 With other bugs in his class." 
 
 It's a tolo'ble world — a purty fair world. 
 
 But a heap less o' smiling than tears, 
 'N it's all our own fault. When a man sort o' fails 
 
 It seems as if nobody keers; 
 Y' cud help it a lot — jist give him yer hand 
 
 'N remember that lesson of 'Ras — 
 Stand him up on his laigs and give him a chanct 
 
 With other men in his class! 
 
SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 39 
 
 A Birthday. 
 
 SHE'S six today! She climbed my knee and 
 twined her arms about me, so. 
 And whispered to me, joyously: /'I bet you dad, 
 
 that you don't know 
 What day this is!" I feigned to think, though 
 
 well I knew what she would say, 
 And shammed surprise when she exclaimed: "I'm 
 
 growing up — I'm six today!" 
 What is it, when the years come on, that holds a 
 
 man and makes his heart 
 To soften toward a little child and makes the 
 
 tears so quick to start! 
 
 I had not noticed it before! I did not think until 
 
 today! 
 Her playroom's strangely silent now, her paper 
 
 dollies laid away! 
 The little finger marks we loved are gone from 
 
 off the window sill — 
 Beneath the blossomed apple tree the swing I 
 
 made is strangely still, 
 And silence hovers 'round the house, unbroken 
 
 by her childish glee — ■ 
 She's six today, and growing up! No more a 
 
 little babe to me! 
 
 You're six today! Come, kiss your dad and hug 
 
 him, too, you little elf, 
 And romp with him and play with him nor ask 
 
 him why he's not himself! 
 Just follow him where'er he goes and let him take 
 
 your little hand — 
 Don't ask him what he's thinking of— you wouldn't 
 
 know or understand! 
 Let's go together down the lane, a-romping in 
 
 your child-heart way — ■ 
 We cannot play like this for long! You're growing 
 
 up — you're six today! 
 3 
 
4© SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 
 
 The Lonesome Time o' Night. 
 
 nr^HERE is sometimes in the evenin' jist beyant 
 the aidge of day 
 When the whipperwills is "whipperwiUin" 
 yender in the gum, 
 An' the cattle air a-chankin' in their shif'less sort 
 o' way, 
 An' most ever'thing that's kumpany is sort 
 o' laid out dumb — ■ 
 Oh, it's then a feller's feelin's seem t' sumhow 
 gee an' haw, 
 An' there's sumpin seems t' bubble up an' 
 clog his wizzen tight — 
 Mother takes my hand in hern an' she kind o' 
 whispers: "Paw, 
 Ain't this * * * * 2. lonesome time o' 
 night." 
 
 Round the house there's shadders flittin' — we 
 can't see 'em, maw er me. 
 But there's sumpin tells the both of us they 
 hover 'round our chair — 
 Of a little brood o' childurn Heaven sent t' sich 
 as we. 
 An' we loved 'em O so happy-like untwell 
 He took 'em There ! 
 An' it left us sort o' gropin' fer the things we 
 cudn't see; 
 Though I'm past a-faultin' Providence, it 
 didn't seem jist right — 
 An' I know that maw thinks on it when she whis- 
 pers low t' me: 
 "Ain't this * * * * 3 lonesome time o' 
 night." 
 
The Lonesome Time o' Night 
 
SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 43 
 
 We are agein,' me an' mother, an' we're turnin' 
 in the lane — 
 We are reachin' what the deacon calls the end 
 o* airthly strife; 
 An' this silent evenin' hour now, strikes me purty 
 plain 
 As the correspondin' time o' day that wc have 
 reached in life, 
 An' we hain't a chick ner grandchild for t* sum- 
 how sort o' save 
 These 'ere few remainin* minits an' to smile an' 
 make 'em bright; 
 An' I know that maw thinks on it when she whis- 
 pers to me: "Dave, 
 Ain't this * * * * a lonesome time o' 
 night." 
 
44 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 
 
 The Hushed Voice. 
 
 "^TITHAT mother said — it didn't matter then, 
 
 ~ * A loving word, perchance, and then again. 
 When childish wrath came in our simple play 
 
 And little woes beset Youth's rosy way, 
 Her sweetly gentle words dispelled the wrath. 
 
 And coaxed the buds to bloom along our path; 
 Her voice was sweet to greet the morning sun. 
 
 And, sweeter still, when Golden Days were done, 
 Her soft good night that sent us to our bed — 
 
 It didn't matter then — what mother said. 
 
 It didn't matter then, but now she's gone 
 
 The world lacks all its sweetness, and, at dawn 
 The sunbeams, coming down from Heaven's dome. 
 
 But emphasize the loss from out the home; 
 No kindly smiles to cheer the passing day — 
 
 No mother-words to guide us on the way — 
 No loving arms that wait but to enfold 
 
 When world and all grow merciless and cold; 
 The Kingdom There, I think, is made of such — 
 
 What mother said! O now 'twould mean so 
 much! 
 
SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 45 
 
 **Yender." 
 
 4<TT'S better hoein' yender — 
 
 ■■■ Fer they ain't no stones t' hender," 
 The words that Silas Higginbotham alius sez t' me; 
 "Th' patch that we're a-hoein' 
 Is th' wust they is a-goin' — 
 It's better over yender, boy," Silas sez, sez he. 
 
 "Th' clouds is breakin' yender — 
 
 I was 'feared th' shower 'd hender 
 Air work t'day, ' sez Silas, kind o' happy-like, t'me; 
 
 "I thort th' rain had found us, 
 
 But I gess it's goin' 'round us — 
 A-goin' way off yender, boy," Silas sez, sez he. 
 
 Lor' bless sich men ez Silas, 
 
 Teachin' trouble not t' rile us — 
 Lor' fill 'em full o' blessin's jist ez full eztheykin be; 
 
 Them folks, so good an' tender. 
 
 That see better things off yender, 
 Th'same ez Silas Higginbotham alius shows t'me! 
 
46 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 
 
 "The Conversazzhony.'* 
 
 A "conversazzhony" is a certain line o' talk 
 ■^ ^ At which a man with work t' do is purty 
 
 apt t' balk; 
 It takes frum four t* six or eight who'd ruther loaf 
 
 than not — 
 Whose ock-y-pation principally is keepin' chair- 
 seats hot; 
 'Twas started by a poet wunct — the late laymented 
 
 Field— 
 (Of all his seeds o' trubble it has showed the 
 
 biggest yield!) 
 The which is appertainin'. Why, I'll bet Field's 
 
 heart repines 
 If he has heard of that one we pulled off at Bob 
 
 Devine's! 
 
 There was Bates, that quiet oracle of wagon 
 
 circus days, 
 An' Arlt, who has Munchausen beat in forty 
 
 different ways, 
 An' Willyums, who has frequent ranged from 
 
 here t' Timbuctoo, 
 An' Phillips, Kell of "Lunnon, West," and Joey 
 
 Murray, too; 
 But they was merely nominal, who cum t' see — an' 
 
 saw — 
 The ones who railly give our "conversazzhony" 
 
 eclaw 
 Was one named Martin Talbot, who cum here 
 
 frum County Clare, 
 An' Kempner, late of Palestine, who ock-y-pied 
 
 the chair. 
 
SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 47 
 
 We settled of the tarriff as sich meetin's alius do — 
 At 10 o'clock we'd fixed up all the worldly ills 
 
 but two! 
 The neb-u-lar hy-poth-e-sis was pendin' with us 
 
 still, 
 When suddint-like we switched an' traced the 
 
 tribes o' Israel; 
 An' then there's sumthin' happened that I cayn't 
 
 nowise explain, 
 An' ever' time I think on it, it gives me rackin' 
 
 pain! 
 Jist like a fork o' lightenin* it cum a-crashin' 
 
 through — 
 Our chairman, Simon Kempner, sed Saint Patrick 
 
 was a Jeiv ! 
 
 You've seen Missury mules that was startled in 
 
 their rest ? 
 You've set down absent-minded on a yaller-jacket's 
 
 nest ? 
 You've braved a buck-sheep stampede when they 
 
 cum in twos an' threes ? 
 You've give min-ute attenshun to the bizness 
 
 ends o' bees ? 
 If not I'm wastin' paper, fer no common ornery 
 
 pen 
 Pervides no real ideer of what happened there 
 
 an' then! ! 
 The airth it turned an' sashayed, an' the air a 
 
 greenish hue, 
 When chairman Simon Kempner sed Saint Patrick 
 was a yew ! 
 
48 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 
 
 The Dutch made fer the cellar an' us natives fer 
 
 the stairs. 
 An' left our tales behind us with our coats an' 
 
 vacant chairs, 
 The English jined the Germans,' an' the Swedes 
 
 went up above, 
 Our chairman took t' cover 'neath a cordial red- 
 hot stove! 
 Within that cleared em-por-ium, a sight fer gods 
 
 so rare, 
 We caught a glimpse o' Talbot, who cum here 
 
 frum County Clare, 
 An' swearin' by the powers that if Simon's tale 
 
 was right — 
 That Patrick was a Semite — he wud paint the 
 
 emerald white ! 
 
 ENVOI. 
 
 The certain sort o' moral that I've aimed fer in 
 
 these lines 
 Is "the place fer conversazzhonies" is not in 
 
 Bob Devine's, 
 Ner ennywhere ner ennytime, with safety, I'll be 
 
 bound, 
 When there^s a Semite in the chair an' Irishmen 
 
 around / 
 
SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 49 
 
 The Blues. 
 
 nr^ELL you what, but yesterday 
 "*■ I wuz blue! — git that-a-way 
 Jist about so often, an' 
 Lord, how it upsets a man! 
 
 When I had that tarnal fit 
 'Bout ez bad ez I cud git, 
 Heerd a man cum up behind 
 Thumpin' long the pathway — blind! 
 
 Blind 's a stun! An' durn my hide 
 He was chipper too, beside 
 What I wuz, an' cudn't see 
 Railly why the blues shud be! 
 
 To myself I sez, sez I : 
 "You're too durned ongrateful. Hi — 
 'Pears you'd orter have your pants 
 Kicked beyant all circumstance!" 
 
 Then the sun shun out on high 
 Drivin' out the blues, an' I 
 'S glad I wa'n't that man behind, 
 Thumpin' 'long the pathway — blind! 
 
50 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 
 
 A Song-. 
 
 "PAR set in all this Song of Life 
 
 "•• That thrills our hearts and tones the strife, 
 
 There is a dainty measure — 
 A pleasant, soft and happy trill 
 To match the song of Whip-o'r-Will; 
 It's sadly sweet and distant, still. 
 
 It ever sings of pleasure. 
 
 Above the ribald song of Greed, 
 Above the wail of Tears and Need, 
 
 It soars, ever higher; 
 As clear as bells or pipes of Pan, 
 It sings a song to every man 
 Of woodlands, still, where brooklets ran, 
 
 Of running vines and briar. 
 
 As wild a song as mind could dream. 
 It sings some merry, madcap theme. 
 
 Then softly dropping, toning, 
 It croons of amber autumn days, 
 Or of a cot, where childhood plays 
 By clover fields and pleasant ways. 
 
 And burdened bees a-droning. 
 
 Alone, in all this Song of Life, 
 This dainty measure tempers strife 
 
 And smooths the roughest places — 
 A strain as clear as silver bells 
 That echoes through sweet mem'ry's dells 
 And seeks us out — the song that tells 
 
 Of other days and faces. 
 
SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 51 
 
 In the Toy Shop. 
 
 T MET him alone in the toy shop, 
 
 •*■ A pixy all dimples and curls and eyes, 
 
 Reflecting there, like a dewey drop, 
 
 His cheery face and his glad surprise; 
 He took my hand and he led me through 
 
 The Land of Tinsel and Penny Schemes — 
 He didn't know, but he led me to 
 
 The cherished land of my boyhood dreams! 
 
 What wondrous sights are there to see — 
 
 The beasts and birds of the farthest climes, 
 Ferocious and stealthy, yet seem to be 
 
 All set to the music of soothing rhymes; 
 What wondrous books in the Land of Boys! 
 
 What marvelous tales of the witches told! 
 How much there is in the Land of Toys 
 
 To cheer a heart that seems growing old! 
 
 We wandered alone, we two, by ways 
 
 That led us by castles of gold and paint, 
 And on and on till the world was haze 
 
 And din of traffic was far and faint; 
 We came to a strange uncharted moat 
 
 Where leaden soldiers stood guard, and then 
 We sailed away in a pea-green boat 
 
 To lands of Never Can Be Again. 
 
52 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 
 
 We floated on 'neath the dreamiest skies, 
 
 Past islands of wood and painted grass, 
 And fishes looked up, in dumb surprise. 
 
 From sea-green depths of a looking-glass; 
 The breezes veered, and we turned our prow, 
 
 His chubby hands brought our ship to stop, 
 The anchor dropped o'er our painted bow — 
 
 At home at last in the Toy Shop! 
 
 But O what we saw in that wondrous land. 
 
 Not strange that it wearied a lad so small 1 
 He pillowed his head on my shoulder and 
 Went out of the world of tinsel and all; 
 Ah, sleep little chap, where the fairies spin gold, 
 May dreams never end and your youth never 
 stop — 
 Today you have taught me this heart isn't old! 
 Bless all little boys and the toy shop! 
 
SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 53 
 
 Genywine Joy. 
 
 "l^O-HUM, yo-hey, a lazy day 
 -*■ With sky-fleece skimmin' over 
 The fields an' trees, an' honey bees 
 
 A-dippin' in the clover; 
 Then sky an' sod's akin to God, 
 
 An' ever'thing of beauty 
 'LI smile at you — an' mean it, too — 
 
 As if it was a duty. 
 
 them's the times I live in rhymes — 
 When Natcher seems to grow 'em; 
 
 When all y' see '11 seem t' be 
 
 A part of Natcher's poem; 
 When weed an' rose an' all that grows, 
 
 An' yeller birds a-winging, 
 An' fields an' trees an' honey bees 
 
 Was fairly made fer singing! 
 
 1 alius feel I want t' steal 
 
 Out yenderwards an' waller — 
 Stretch out sum place an' squint my face 
 
 An' watch the sky-fleece foller; 
 An' loaf a bit — an' dream of it — 
 
 It makes me feel fergivin' — 
 I 'predate my happy state 
 
 y^«' much obleeged fer livin/ 
 
54 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 
 
 Triolet—tp Her. 
 
 "'fX/'HEN she comes tripping down the street 
 '^ ' I fear I lose my head a bit — 
 
 So blithely move her dainty feet; 
 
 (She is, in truth, a coquette sweet!) 
 
 It's always me she comes to meet — 
 My heart is lost — she's captured it; 
 
 When she comes tripping down the street 
 I fear I lose my head a bit! 
 
 She gives me first a dainty kiss; 
 
 To hide my joy I do not strive; 
 My word, but she's an artful miss 
 To win me thus with just a kiss — 
 No shallow, passing love-match this! 
 
 It may be bold, but, sakes alive, 
 Why should she not greet rne like this. 
 
 You see, she's mine — and only five ! 
 
The Coquette 
 
SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 57 
 
 Pajamas at Traverse. 
 
 TOE FULLER wuz a decent cuss an' good t' 
 •^ man er beast — 
 
 Abarrin' sum ascendents that was livin' in the East 
 He cudn't nowise help ner stand — he w'an't t' 
 
 blame, y' know — 
 They wa'n't no man on Stinkin' Creek more 
 
 peaceabler than Joe; 
 The eft'ete East 's what broke him — it ^^ill any 
 
 man, I gess; 
 His doom cum in a package that he got by Hank's 
 
 express. 
 He got a stock o' licker, an' with package on 
 
 his arm. 
 He lit straight out o' Traverse like he'd answered 
 
 hell's alarm! 
 
 'Tware jest th' day a-followin' 'n purty nigh ez 
 
 hot 's 
 That other place, when all us boys at Sandy Bill's 
 
 heerd shots 
 'N a cloud o' dust was cumin' down th' trail frum 
 
 Stinkin' Creek — 
 A-howlin', shootin', sumthin' that wuz actin' like 
 
 ol' Nick! 
 'N, stranger, it went by us like a striped an' check- 
 ered streak! 
 Bill Sanders (he wuz marshal then) allowed t' 
 
 take a peek, 
 'N turned so white thet common chalk wud marked 
 
 him black ez coal, 
 "Onless I'm goin' daffy, boys, that streak that 
 
 passed wuz Joel!" 
 
58 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 
 
 'N Joe it wuz! 'N, stranger, how he scandaHzed 
 
 that town 
 In them ondecent clothes of his a-ridin' up an' 
 
 down 
 An* drunk ez seven dollars, an' ashootin' every 
 
 chance — 
 'N (shameful cuss) a-wearin' of his shirt outside 
 
 his pants! 
 His outfit it wuz striped, an' thinks I : "Th' durn 
 
 galoot 
 'S been shootin' up sum China boy 'n took his 
 
 clothes t' boot!" 
 We thought he'd gone plum loco an' when Joe rode 
 
 past agin, 
 We plugged him. When we reached him why 
 
 poor Joe wuz cashin' in! 
 
 He 'lowed that he forguve us — sez: "I gess yew 
 
 boys dun right — 
 I wore these togs in daytime but I gess they're 
 
 meant fer night; 
 But bear in mind, yew fellers, if yew see their 
 
 likes agin. 
 Back East they're called "pajammers," an' with 
 
 that poor Joe cashed in! 
 We buried him at Traverse an we marked it with 
 
 sum boards — 
 Th' words w'an't literary, but th' best cowland 
 
 affords; 
 We cut 'em with a Barlow: "Here lies Highfalutin' 
 
 Joe — 
 He wore th' first pajammers west of Kansas City, 
 
 Mo." 
 
SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 59 
 
 The Chanty Song. 
 
 T watched at the tide where a good ship lay 
 ■*• So eager to be on her trackless way — 
 I heard the song of her toiHng crew, 
 The chanty her sail was lifted to: 
 
 "Yo — yo he — yo he-e-e — 
 Born of the bounding sea — 
 Clear and away 
 Of the land today — 
 Yo — yo he — yo he-e-e — " 
 And all together they hauled it home, 
 
 Till, white as snow against Heaven's dome. 
 It spread to the breeze for the homeward run 
 On the golden path of the setting sun. 
 
 That men, the spawn of this worldly strife, 
 Might take the chanty-men's way of life! 
 And make the road, as they go along, 
 An easier one with a chanty song: 
 "Yo — yo he — yo he-e-e — 
 Each a brother be. 
 Ever to seek 
 And help the weak — 
 Yo — yo he — yo he-e-e — " 
 And pull each man for the other's good, 
 
 Till life is one sweet brotherhood. 
 And we hoist our sails for the Homeward run 
 In the Golden Path of the Setting Sun! 
 
6o SVVAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 
 
 The Windows of My Memory. 
 
 *" I "'HE windows of my mem'ry, overlooking gar- 
 
 ■*• dens fair 
 Where dear old friends and faces live among the 
 
 blossoms there — 
 Where all the recollections that I've cherished 
 
 tenderly, 
 Have lived in tinted roses and are blooming just 
 
 for me. 
 
 They look out on the mountains tops, the valleys 
 
 and the streams, 
 Where childhood, O so happy, lived that distant 
 
 day of dreams — 
 Where things so poor and homely, all became a 
 
 cherished part 
 Of Love, and lingered ever in a weary wand'rer's 
 
 heart. 
 
 They look out on the passes, and the lanes and 
 quiet ways. 
 
 Where daisies kissed my weary feet in those all- 
 golden days — 
 
 The pathway, so seductive, leading to the world 
 of men — 
 
 Another, leading homeward, that I'll never trod 
 again! 
 
 The windows of my memory! Each precious little 
 
 square 
 Reflects some cherished picture that I knew and 
 
 loved Back There — 
 Fair visions that I fain would keep, but gradually 
 
 they wane — 
 I cannot see beyond the tears that splash the 
 
 window pane! 
 
SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 6l 
 
 The Old Tramp Printer. 
 
 (The reflections of a country editor.) 
 
 'T^HE old tramp print! What's come o* him, 
 -*■ Who dropped around 'bout wunst a year 
 In times gone by? That cherubim 
 
 We use t' see, half full o' cheer 
 An' railroad cinders — land o' love 
 
 He's tail's a pole an' jest as ga'nt, 
 And looked like sixteenth cousin of 
 
 Sum boardin' house, er rest-er-rant! 
 
 He'd walk right in an' git t' biz 
 
 An' choose sum absent feller's case 
 Ferever like the shop was his 
 
 An' that was his pre-empted place. 
 An' never say a word! But then 
 
 It alius seemed he'd timed it so'st 
 He'd git to us most usual when 
 
 We seemed t* want an' need him most. 
 
 The dust of many climes lay brown 
 
 Upon his shoes; he used t' say 
 That some was there from every town 
 
 From Maine t' Cal-i-forn-i-a; 
 Perhaps his morals want the best, 
 
 Ner enny speshul good t' us, 
 But we could overlook the rest 
 
 In such an' interestin' cuss. 
 
62 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 
 
 There has been times, in twilight, when 
 
 He felt right lonesome here, I gess, 
 'Mongst strangers, when he'd take my pen 
 
 An' write rare lines of tenderness, 
 Of mother, home an' faces fair 
 
 An' fadin' dreams of other days, 
 An' then I've knowed some good was there 
 
 Behind his wild an' rovin' ways! 
 
 But now he's gone, an' sometimes when 
 
 The paper's out an' all is still, 
 I seem t' hark back there again, 
 
 An' my ol' wizzen seems t' fill; 
 He wa'n't just what a man should be — 
 
 No doubt o' that — but when I look 
 There's sumthin' hurts me when I see 
 
 That "30" 's missin' off his hook! 
 
SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 63 
 
 Doggone Homesick! 
 
 (Lines written on the final leaf of James Whitcomb Riley's 
 " Farm Rhymes.") 
 
 THE book is shet! I've closed the kivers down, 
 It seems t' me on friends ez real an' true 
 Ez them I knowed afore I moved t' town, 
 
 An' nigh fergot — the simpul fokes 'at you 
 Have set t' rhyme without no jarrin' soun'. 
 So keerlesslike — an' sweeter fer it, too. 
 
 The book is shet, an' still the rhyme child romps 
 Acrost each page, ez happy-like ez when 
 
 He belt my hand, an' ol' Ben Johnson tromps 
 His fiddle strings, ez dreamylike ez then; 
 
 An' Hst'nin' I kin hear 'em callin' Thomps, 
 An' paw an' maw, frum Bethel Hill again! 
 
 The book is shet! I feel jist like I feel 
 When evenin' ends a shinin' Apurl day — • 
 
 There's sumpthin' in it alius seems t* keel 
 My feelin's down, like dolls on circus day 
 
 At three fer five; I swan, I want t' steal 
 Back home again, an' never cum away! 
 
64 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 
 
 When the Last Trumpet Sounds. 
 
 T wunder when the bugle blows its last endurin* 
 
 •*■ blast, 
 
 'N every man has answered — that is, every man 
 
 that dast — 
 'N the angel band is waitin' for the final word to 
 
 march, 
 Who'll be the men t' lead us through the portals 
 
 of the Arch ? 
 
 Will it be them that alius was conspicous here 
 
 below — 
 The presudents 'n statesmeners 'n such as them 
 
 y' know ? 
 P'r'aps it will, but, durn it, it won't seem a fair 
 
 divide — 
 It 'pears t' me that their reward come 'fore they 
 
 up an' died. 
 
 I've pitchered that 'ere spirit host an' alius there 
 
 has been 
 Away in front, a-leadin' 'em, a band o' joyous 
 
 men — 
 Them patient chaps that waited fer reward till 
 
 they was dead — 
 Who lived their lives an' done their best an' never 
 
 got ahead. 
 
SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 65 
 
 Ould Barney M'Ginn. 
 
 A JOLLY ould man was Barney McGinn! 
 '*' His spharklin' blue eyes had the blarney in — 
 
 A bit of a poipe hangin' over his chin — 
 
 An' an ould white hat, 
 
 An* a woide cravhat, 
 An' there yez have loikes of ould Barney McGinn. 
 
 He sorreyed wid naybours whose hours was sad, 
 
 An' sharin' the joys of thim thot was glad; 
 
 He looked on the good and looked over the bad; 
 
 An' the divil a wurrd 
 
 Has a man iver hurrd 
 Agin the ould man since he grew from a lad. 
 
 His greetin* was glad as the flowers of June, 
 
 As cheerful in mornin' as night or at noon; 
 
 "The top of the morn t' yersilf, gossoon — 
 'Tis a sphlendid day," 
 Thin he'd go on his way, 
 
 The tap of his cane always playin* a chune! 
 
 A storm sthruck the church an' burned it wan day- 
 An' paypul moved out an' the priest wudn't sthay, 
 An' naught in the parish but wint to decay, 
 
 But the divil, I'm blist, 
 
 Was a bit of it missed. 
 Till pore ould Barney McGinn wint away! 
 
 The happy ould fellah wid poipe on his chin, 
 
 His jolly blue eyes wid the sun shinin' in; 
 
 The childer cry for him, an' wimin an' min, 
 An' the place ain't the same 
 Since the Black Hunter came 
 
 An' tuk off the shmile of ould Barney McGinn. 
 
66 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 
 
 The Old Fishing Hole. 
 
 You sing the song of the meadows who will, 
 The songs of the sumach and daisies and clover. 
 
 Songs of the pathway, the highroad and hill 
 Where clouds of the summer drift lazily over — 
 
 I'll sing a song of the old "fishin' hole" 
 And a wishing string on the end of a pole. 
 
 Deep in the heart of the woodland it lies 
 At the end of the pathway the boys have made 
 to it, 
 Still as the woods or the overhead skies 
 And deep as the hearts of the youngsters who 
 knew it. 
 Ho, it's a throne for a towheaded king 
 With a scepter of elder and bobber and string! 
 
 Place where we wandered in Youth's rosy dawn 
 
 Unmindful of life and its sweet necromancies — 
 Spot where in manhood we've stolen and gone 
 And fished with indifference and dwelt with our 
 fancies, 
 Ever alert that our line should be taut 
 To catch the "old sett'ler" that never was 
 caught. 
 
The or Fishin' Hole 
 
SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 69 
 
 You sing the songs of the meadows who will. 
 The songs of the sumach, the daisies and clover, 
 
 I'll sing the song of the "fishin' hole" still 
 With old recollections all hovering over — 
 
 Throne in the woods where we loitered in state 
 And learned to be patient and hopeful — and wait. 
 
70 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 
 
 The Tale the Stage Driver Told. 
 
 "VTIT'HY, he was as straight as a Hmb, sir, 
 
 ' ' Slim wus; 
 His name? Well we called him "Slim," sir. 
 
 Well — cuz 
 He never had no name around hare, 
 As frequently happens to men fair an' square — 
 We never ast questions of such, do y' see ? 
 The same 's apt to happen t' you or to rne. 
 
 Do y' savvy ? 
 
 'Twas thus ran the tale of the driver, as, hugging 
 the road by the canyon, he pointed to a grave on 
 the hillside, the goal of some luckless wand'rer — 
 
 An' the gal who cum with him was fair, sir, 
 
 At least 
 As any, I reckin, back thare, sir. 
 
 Back East 
 Where you hail, I take it — with a face like a rose; 
 She purty nigh worshipped that feller, I 'spose! 
 Her eyes used to thank him like a fawn's alius will 
 That's saved by a hunter from, dogs or the kill — 
 
 Understand ? 
 
 And here the man flicked his wheel-horse, gently, 
 as if quite unconscious, and softly deplored the 
 passing of gallantry there in the Westland. 
 
SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 71 
 
 They lived in a cabin, up yon, sir, 
 
 I expect 
 Fer six months er more, cum an* gone, sir, 
 
 I reck'lect 
 The stranger I brung along this same trail — 
 A Yankee, I tuk it, sort o' dudish an' pale; 
 He ast whare she lived an' described her fair — 
 I p'inted the place an' I left him right thare — 
 
 Right yender! 
 
 And then the sharp eyes of the driver seemed 
 to scan the grey path in the mountains that led 
 to the two lovers' cabin, clinging there on the 
 edge of the canyon. 
 
 But "Slim" saw him first — saw the stranger, 
 
 I ersume. 
 An* I reckin, too, scented sum danger 
 
 I persume. 
 For he goes t' the cabin an' he fills up his gun 
 An' he kisses the gal like he alius had dun, 
 Then goes to the rock t' the left o' yon riff, 
 'N blows out his brains an' goes over the cliff — 
 
 A thousan feet / 
 
 Then he told of the meeting of sister and brother 
 — the latter the stranger — who marveled much at 
 a woman who would live thus alone in those moun- 
 tains. 
 
 We perjured airselves, like sin, sir, 
 
 Fer "Slim"; 
 Fer ever' dogged man that cum in, sir. 
 
 Liked him; 
 
72 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 
 
 We told him — her brother — she'd lived alone — see ? 
 That nary a word cud be sed agin she! 
 He took her back East. We buried our pal 
 Who'd blowed out his brains t* perteck a poor gal, 
 
 Out yender; 
 
 Game man ! 
 
 The driver pulled up his horses and lashed 
 them into a fury, roundly cursing society for press- 
 ing its foolish indictments. 
 
SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 73 
 
 "Discharged.** 
 
 'T^HEY'VE drawed the shades behind me where 
 -^ the free land rolls away. 
 They've took my kit an' Betsy an' they've fig- 
 gered up my pay. 
 They've gived me just a bloomin' bit o' paper, 
 stamped an' signed. 
 An* when the troop goes out again — I've got t* 
 stay behind! 
 
 No more o' sleeping 'neath the stars along with 
 horse an' men — 
 I'll never hear our trumpeter blow "reville" 
 
 agam 
 
 No more I'll stretch my achin' limbs an' drink 
 the mornin's dew — 
 O Lordy, how they'll miss me when the cavalry 
 goes through! 
 
 I 'spose sum bloomin' rooky 's straddle Betsy! 
 Like as not 
 He don't know "boots an' saddles" from the 
 "stable call" or "trot" — 
 An' her the best-trained trooper's mare in this 
 division, sir! 
 It hain't so much for me I whines, as what it 
 is for her! 
 
74 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 
 
 I hain't been decorated fer no speshul gallant stunt, 
 Except a saber cut behind and one or two in 
 front, 
 But it don't seem but yesterday that them G. O.'s 
 was read, 
 "We mention Trooper Jackson for his gal- 
 lantry," they said. 
 
 It seems but just a week ago, along that ornery trail 
 That me an' Betsy crawled at night apast old 
 Spotted Tail 
 An' brought the Seventh up at dawn in time t' 
 save 'em all — • 
 An* now a rooky 's ridin' her an' I'm shoved 
 in the stall! 
 
 It's marvelous how grateful Uncle Sam is (in his 
 
 mind) — 
 «w Now when the troop goes out again he lets me 
 
 stay behind! 
 But there's one grain o' comfort, an' I'm thankful 
 
 for it, too — 
 ^It's knowin that they'll miss me when the cavalry 
 
 goes through! 
 
SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 75 
 
 A Cowpuncher and Prayer. 
 
 T AIN'T much a prayerful man, 
 
 I'spose it's 'cause I'm all alone; 
 I've heerd some prayers, tho', off an' on,- 
 
 A padre down t' San Antone 
 Wunst prayed fer me, but hell-a-mile, 
 
 I didn't feel no different when 
 He'd ended up, as I cud see. 
 
 Than when the geezer fust began! 
 
 An' wunst I heerd a feller pray 
 
 Who'd stole a hawss at Eagle Nest, 
 But shucks, when we-all strung him up 
 
 He hollered jist like all the rest; 
 I've heerd a feller pray t' live — 
 
 I've heerd another pray t' die; 
 But, shoo, the fust one died that night, 
 
 An' 'tother lived — an' that's no lie! 
 
 But 'tother night whilst ridin' in 
 
 I stopped at Dollar Billy's place — 
 Bill's got a parcel, now, o' kids — 
 
 He's married now fer quite a space; 
 An' thar I heerd a prayer that was. 
 
 That changed my prayer idees a heap! 
 Have y' heerd a dad-burned little tad 
 
 Pray "Now I lay me down t' sleep" ? 
 
76 SWA'ZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 
 
 Jist Loafin*. 
 
 np^HEY hain't no sense, ez I kin see, 
 
 Of workin* on etarnally 
 'Ithout no stops t' think er dream, 
 Er study Natcher's parfect scheme 
 That's lyin' all around ye, jest 
 Her happiest an' lov'liest! 
 I swan, I like t* jist fergit, 
 Occasional, the work in it, 
 An' leave my hawsses standin' there 
 In yender furrow — 'bandon care, 
 An' sort o' loaf a spell an' loll 
 Agin some ol' snake-fence that's all 
 Nigh busted down, an' listen to 
 What Natcher's got t' say t' you 
 In way o' cheer, an' think on it — 
 Jist loaf a bit! 
 
 I like t' look beyant the woods 
 To other farms an* nayborhoods, 
 An' speckylate on what there is 
 In all this hullsome world o' His; 
 It cums t' you in consequence 
 Of leanin' on a old snake-fence — 
 They hain't no view o' Life so rare 
 Ez what y' git whilse leanin' thare! 
 Jist try it wunct an' take a rest — 
 You'll find that it'll pay the best, 
 Fer him who 'complishes the most 
 Is him who stops an' ponders so* st 
 He'll value, when he plows agin, 
 The fertile soil he's workin* in — 
 Jist try it wunct, an* think on it — 
 Jist loaf a bit! 
 
SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 77 
 
 In Dreamland. 
 
 O WHERE do you go, little Curlylocks— 
 Where is it you wander and what to see ? 
 O where do you ride when mother rocks, 
 
 And what are the wonders denied to me ? 
 So tightly your eyes close, dreamily. 
 
 When chirp the birds from the cuckoo clocks 
 And softly and sweetly they summon thee — 
 O, where do they call you, Curlylocks f 
 
 Across a bridging of silvery strands. 
 
 And thence, by a path, to a laughing stream; 
 And then, like a wish, into Fairylands 
 
 I go my way on a golden beam; 
 There's nothing for me but to play and dream, 
 
 And join my song with the angel bands, 
 And pluck the flowers that nod and seem 
 
 To grow in the skies for a baby's hands. 
 
 And what do you see in the Dreamland nooks, 
 
 What fairy pictures are there to see ? 
 ****** 
 The little shepherds with dainty crooks 
 
 Who leave their flocks to play with me; 
 A prince in velvet who bends his knee; 
 
 A gnome that lives by the laughing brooks; 
 Away in our Dreamland fields I see 
 
 The little friends of my picture books. 
 
78 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 
 
 A Little Girl in Gingham. 
 
 "^^iTHEN, outside, the winter's mantle kivers up 
 
 ' ' the tired earth, 
 An' within the glowin' embers conjure fancies 
 
 'round the hearth, 
 O it's then whilse idly musin' that it seems, ez if 
 
 on wings, 
 All the years turn back to yender an' the other 
 days an' things — 
 
 Thoughts so tender. 
 Way off yender — 
 An' y' hain't no real ideer of the sentiment it brings. 
 
 Hands I 'low that God pervided fer an' old man's 
 
 foolish whim 
 Seem t' take his mem'ry-pitchers an' to polish 'em 
 
 fer him 
 'Twell he jist can't help but see 'em an' believe 
 
 they're really there! 
 An' there's one that's more heart-pleasin' than 
 
 most enny ennywhere — 
 One o' many. 
 Best o' enny — 
 Of a little girl in gingham with sum daisies in her 
 
 hair. 
 
A Little Girl in Gingham 
 
SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 
 
 Seems t' me, by jist a-squintin', I kin see her jist 
 
 ez plain 
 Flittin' 'round among the flowers er a-swingin' 
 
 down the lane — 
 Purty cheeks with blush o' roses, heart ez free an' 
 
 light ez air — 
 An' a little bit o' feller tendin' to her smallest care — 
 Bashful lover, 
 Freckled lover 
 Of a little girl in gingham with sum daisies in her 
 
 hair. 
 
 'Crost the shadders wife is settin' with her knittin' 
 
 in her lap, 
 An' her hair in snow-white ringlets creeps frum 
 
 underneath her cap — 
 Age is tellin', time is spellin', yit I never, I declare, 
 Seem t' git the knack o' seein' that it's mother 
 
 settin' there — 
 
 Seems t' me 
 I on'y see 
 Jist a little girl in gingham with sum daisies in her 
 
 hair! 
 
82 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 
 
 Far Apart. 
 
 'TPWO seekers for the Polar climes 
 ■■• Both left from the Equator — 
 One north, one south, they went, agreed 
 To meet and recount later. 
 
 The first one found the North Pole, and 
 
 The second found the other, 
 And, as agreed, they met; one said: 
 
 "What found you there, my brother?" 
 
 "Beside the North Pole," he replied, 
 
 "A wanderer abided." 
 "Your name ?" I asked. " My friend, my name 
 Is Theory," he confided. 
 
 "And what found you?" the second asked; 
 
 "It's passing strange, but fact is, 
 I found a like chap at the South, 
 
 Who said his name is Practice!" 
 
SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 83 
 
 "At Home.'* 
 
 "AT Homes" are most pecoolyur, not t' say 
 
 •^^ they're even quaint, 
 Fer, though "at home" most ever'one attendin' 
 
 of 'em hain't. 
 The which is appertainin' an', as I set out t' do. 
 Gives sumthin' of a idee of the one we anty-ed to; 
 The cyards wa'n't delt permiscus-Uke, but only to 
 
 the pick — 
 T' jist the soshul fav-er-ites up here on Skillin's 
 
 Crick. 
 
 The cyards they plainly specified "on Mondays, 
 
 8 t' 10," 
 The which wuz first misleadin' to the hull of us, 
 
 but then 
 We sort o' kind o' figgered out, though down in 
 
 black an' white, 
 That she'd miss-delt an' didn't want us every 
 
 Monday night! 
 To which conclusion we agreed, resolved t' see 
 
 it thue, 
 An' so we togged in joy clothes an' Sunday slickers, 
 
 too. 
 
84 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 
 
 A greaser met us at the door a-hissin': "Parlezvoo"; 
 We answered, pert an' proper-like; "An* thanky, 
 
 same t' you"; 
 An' showed our cyards (which we opined we'd 
 
 really orter take 
 T' show the man a-tendin' door they wuzn't no 
 
 mistake); 
 He sized 'em up an' let us pass with nary slip er 
 
 hitch, 
 An' showed us whare t' shed our coats an' check 
 
 our guns an' sich. 
 
 The real elite had gethered thare sum little time 
 
 before — 
 I won't fergit the looks o' things when I cum in 
 
 the door! 
 The gals! I cayn't describe 'em an' do justice, ner 
 
 I won't. 
 With twict ez much of clothes behind ez what they 
 
 had in front! 
 An' ez fer men, why sum of 'em appeared in 
 
 "huntin' case," 
 But most of 'em wuz togged in what the boys called 
 
 "open-face." 
 
 They talked of Elbert Hubbard and of Wilde an' 
 
 even wuss, 
 An' lots o' poet fellers that are antedatin' us; 
 An' then a vis'ter poured sum tea — sum mixed 
 
 Oolong an' Jap — 
 In little cups like thimbles that y' balanced in yer 
 
 lap. 
 An' jist a-summarizin', as it's given me t' see, 
 They dealt too much of poets an' a little too much 
 
 tea! 
 
SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 85 
 
 But this is incidentul — why, they wuzn't enny fun 
 Till jist about the quittin' time an' then the fun 
 
 begun, 
 When Dollar Bill an' Ornery Ike an' Big Topeka 
 
 Red 
 Got playin' three-card monte on the aidge o' some 
 
 one's bed; 
 They'd delt around an' Dollar Bill wuz jist t' deal 
 
 again 
 An' banked t' git his losin's, when the tarnal clock 
 
 struck ten/ 
 
 Well, say, 'twas most amazin', not t* say etarnal 
 
 queer 
 
 We told him that the deal was closed, but Dollar 
 
 wudn't hear; 
 The way he shot that bedroom up wuz sure a 
 
 shame t' own — 
 The pillars looked like peekaboos y' see at San 
 
 Antone! 
 I hain't no moralizer, but frum this y' sure kin see 
 What cums o' talkin' poetry an' drinkin' too much 
 
 tea! 
 
 We know when we have got enough, an' we're 
 
 content t' stick 
 An' court our greasy deck o' cyards right here on 
 
 Skillin's Crick! 
 They hain't no way t' gentle men as rough an' 
 
 gruff ez we 
 An' hold 'em down t' poetry an' Jap an' Oolong 
 
 tea! 
 Hereafter all our cyards '11 read, if you'll jist take 
 
 a peek: 
 "At Home on Mondays, 8 t' 10 — an all the rest 
 
 the week!" 
 
86 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 
 
 The Measure of a Man. 
 
 TT'S no place to measure the soul of a man 
 
 Out here in the markets of Malice and Greed, 
 Where men live the slogan "Survive if you can" 
 
 And hear not the cries of the weaker — or heed; 
 It's no place to measure the soul of a man 
 
 Where Strife lives to stifle each kindlier deed. 
 
 It's no time to measure the heart of a man 
 
 When drums beat to arms and he answers the call, 
 
 And goes forth to battle to slay if he can, 
 
 And gloat o'er the sorrows of others, who fall; 
 
 It's no time to measure the heart of a man 
 With duty and valor o'ershadowing all. 
 
 It's no time to measure the faith of a man 
 
 When darkness abounds and the terrors prevail — 
 
 We mortals are happy to believe if we can, 
 But Doubt is a giant and humans are frail; 
 
 It's no time to measure the faith of a man 
 When doubt rages high and the strongest will 
 quail. 
 
 Be just to your brother and measure him well. 
 Not out in the markets of Greed and of Woe, 
 
 But there in the home, in the twilighted spell. 
 With children and wife, 'neath the lamp's mellow 
 glow. 
 
 Where all of his virtues and qualities tell — 
 
 Where, if he's a man, all his manhood will show. 
 
SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 87 
 
 "Mutterin' Joe." 
 
 ' *'"|Vf UTTERIN' Joe" is shot— an' dead! 
 •*■'■■■ Cudn't believe 'em when they sed 
 It was so! Still Joe's been gone 
 Forty years now, off an' on, 
 T' all intents an' purposes, 
 'Cept sum lucid spells o' his. 
 
 When the "Bucktails" marched away — 
 Sixty-one — ol' res'dunts say 
 Wa'n't a man on Broken Straw — 
 Ennywhere — they ever saw. 
 Shot ez straight an' true ez Joe — 
 Sure ez Jedgment Day, y' know! 
 
 'Fore he left the townfokes run 
 Bullets fer him; give him one 
 Fer each loyal State that staid 
 In the Union, an' they say-ed, 
 Ez they reckoned up the 'mount; 
 "Joe make every bullet court." 
 
 Then he went an', lawsy, son, 
 
 You know what them " Bucktails" dun! — 
 
 Fredericksburg an' Richmond-way, 
 
 Back t' Spotts-yl-van-i-a — 
 
 Fer the war! An' how they fit! — • 
 
 Gess they hold the ry-cord yit! 
 
88 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 
 
 Finally Appamattox cum — 
 Brung the "Bucktail" boys back hum, 
 'Cludin' Joe — er Joe that was — 
 Not the same young man because 
 He was changed; his comrades sed 
 War had sort o' "teched" his head. 
 
 Greeted 'em an' speechyfied, 
 Townfokes did; Joe drew aside — 
 Didn't seem t' know er keer — 
 Wasn't even bein' here! 
 Just wud mutter 'ternally: 
 "Yes, I made 'em count," sez he. 
 
 "Made 'em count," Fer forty years 
 That's been ringin' in his ears; 
 Sumtimes when there'd be a day 
 That his head was clear, he'd say: 
 "One fer every ball I had — 
 ^n' the last was jtst a lad!" 
 
 Townfokes alius humored Joe — 
 Harmless sort o' man, y' know; 
 Never begged er stole, but dun 
 Odd jobs fer most ever' one; 
 "Friend t' all" he alius sed — 
 Only war had "teched" his head. 
 
 Wa'n't upsettin' when I saw 
 Found him dead on Broken Straw, 
 Cold an' dead agin a tree — 
 Joe had planned it carefully; 
 
 Seemed he never cud fergit ! 
 
 Gess the war hain't over yit! 
 
SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 
 
 A Soldier's Appreciation. 
 
 (The Philippine Service.) 
 
 T'VE had a swell dame on the Bowery; I've 
 
 ■*• fondled a gal in St. Paul; 
 
 I've had 'em, Caucasian an' yeller, an' told the 
 
 same story to all; 
 I've broke with a gal back in Denver; I left a 
 
 case pendin' in Nome; 
 I had one — but that doesn't matter — she's married 
 
 an' settled at home; 
 I've had 'em of various morals, in various parts 
 
 of the earth, 
 But I had t' cum out t' the Islands t' find what a 
 
 woman is worth! 
 
 A-lyin' here like a heathen, 
 A fever-chart over my bed 
 
 T' git me my pay while I'm breathin' 
 An' check me up when I'm dead; — 
 
 (Say, nurse can't y' give me sum water ? 
 Aw, please, jist a little bit more!) 
 
 — ^Y'll learn lots o' wimin — or oughter — 
 Y' never have reckined before! 
 
 She sits by my cot in the evenin', fer then's when 
 
 the fever is high. 
 An* sort o' smooths out the riffles in the path we 
 
 all travel who die; 
 She tells me the tales o' th' Homeland, an' settles 
 
 old scores with my soul. 
 An' squares me up with my conscience, against 
 
 the Sergeant's Last Roll; 
 
90 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 
 
 An' t' think of all of the females I've coppered 
 
 all over the earth 
 That I had t' cum out t' the Islands t' find what a 
 woman is worth! 
 (What does he say-the perfesser ? 
 
 Now don't be afeered, mam, t' tell!) 
 She lies like a lady, God bless her! 
 
 She knoivs that I'll never git well! 
 An' the rest of 'em always was lyin' — 
 
 They strung me all over the earth — 
 An' here at last when I'm dyin' 
 
 I find what a woman is worth! 
 
 Defying Age. 
 
 THAT'S the story I am tol': 
 "Gittin' ol'! Gittin' ol'!" 
 Well, mebbe so, but seems t' me 
 I'm spry as what I uster be! 
 
 Git yer fiddle — draw yer bow — 
 
 Rosum up an' let 'er go — 
 Louder! Faster! Let 'er sing! 
 Watch this ol' time pigeon wing! 
 
 What's the matter — air y' dun ? 
 
 Cracky, I have jist begun! 
 
 Whare's that weazened up oV soul 
 Teh me I wuz gittin ol' ? 
 
SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 91 
 
 Little Lost Child. 
 
 TV^ITE, on the curb of the city street, 
 ■*■'■*• With quivering voice and helpless feet, 
 No one to soothe you, caress or bind. 
 Or kiss your curls, but the vagrant wind! 
 No one to strengthen your faltering hand 
 And lead you back into Happier Land; 
 Poor little mite with your heart so wrung — 
 Your sadness and sorrows begun so young! — 
 Little lost child! 
 
 "Mike, the crossing cop," sheds a tear 
 And hurrying people pause to hear — 
 Pause to pity you, lost — alone — 
 Then hurry on to their home and own; 
 Even a teamster slacks his pace 
 And wipes a tear from his honest face; 
 Coddled by women so kind and good 
 Who lavish the pity of motherhood — 
 Little lost child! 
 
 Poor little thing, with your curls wind-tos't. 
 You make me pine for a child I lost — 
 Make me long for a baby face 
 That shines Up There in the angel's place! 
 Cease your tears and your fears so wild, 
 For all the world loves a little child — 
 Touched are the hearts of all who see 
 And all the world is a parent to thee, 
 Little lost child! 
 
92 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 
 
 Understanding. 
 
 T met a man today who understood 
 
 And loved the Httle things I love so w^ell, 
 Who, charmed by songs of birds in field and wood, 
 Could tune his ear to what they had to tell; 
 Who chose the paths that led through vale and 
 dell- 
 Let others stroll the crowded streets who would — 
 
 And walked where lilies struck their tiny bell 
 In greeting, and — I knew he understood. 
 
 We walked along a quiet country road, 
 
 And flanked by scenes we both left long ago — 
 Past many a little, humble, quaint abode 
 
 Where dwelt the simple folks we used to know; 
 
 He greeted honest faces, all aglow. 
 With loving words and kindnesses that showed 
 
 He'd not shut out those friends he used to know 
 Who staid behind — along the Quiet Road. 
 
 He knew the paths that led by stream and wood, 
 
 And loved the little things I love so well, 
 And cherished all, so homely yet so good. 
 
 And knew the homely tales they had to tell; 
 
 He felt the silent forest's mystic spell — 
 The quiet charm — quite as no other could. 
 
 And loved it much, and then I knew full well 
 At last I'd met a man who understood. 
 
SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 93 
 
 Where's He At? 
 
 "VITHERE'S the feller we used t' know ? 
 ' ' First name was Sam, er mebbe 'twas 
 Joe, 
 Mebbe 'twas Bill — an' the 'tother was Joy- 
 Never got cure't of bein' a boy! 
 Yew reckolect him like he was then ? 
 Alius was smilin' an' bald ez a wen — 
 Had a big fambly — five, more er less't, 
 Last one, alius, he cottoned th' best — 
 — ^Where's he at ? 
 
 Alius used t' cum hum at night 
 Hist off his coat an' light up the light, 
 Flop over int' his big webbin' chair. 
 Never would stop fer combin' his hair, 
 Ease off his gallus — an' remember, by jocks, 
 Kicked off his shoes an' tromped in his sox, 
 Romped with them kids till he mos' cudn't 
 
 see — 
 They liked it purty nigh much ez he ? — 
 — Where's he gone ? 
 
 Then when he sot t' the evenin' repast 
 Nothin' was finer than hearin' him ast 
 Blessin' fer all, with a smile that was meant: 
 "Lord, we are thankful fer what y' have 
 
 sent — 
 All of our enemies we freely fergive — 
 We're thankful t' yew fer lettin' us live — " 
 Where's he at ? Well, wherever he be. 
 Here's th' respecks of one humble ez me — 
 — Good luck t' him! 
 
94 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 
 
 The Man Who Lost. 
 
 It's easy enough when a man has gained 
 The great success that the gods endow, 
 
 To take his hand and, as fate ordained 
 To place the laurel upon his brow; 
 
 But what of the man who has paid the cost ? — 
 
 The wand'ring one of the Host That Lost ? 
 
 For each who wins there is one who fails — 
 For every smile there's a teardrop shed; 
 
 The scroll of fame, in the final scales. 
 Will underweigh all the woes it bred; 
 
 There is no path to the goal but's crossed 
 
 By scores of those of the Host That Lost. 
 
 His hands are palsied, his wounds are sore! 
 
 When, deep in his heart, sweet memories stir. 
 What blame to him if he lingers o'er 
 
 The cup that hides all the days that were — 
 The brimming cup that will shut from view 
 The happier days that the Failure knew ? 
 
 Though bleared his eye, in its light there is 
 A longing, deep, for a child's caress — 
 
 An humble wish for a child of his 
 To lavish his treasured tenderness — 
 
 A mute appeal for a word — a sigh — 
 
 From one of them all who pass him by! 
 
•?»*., _-°^'; 
 
 '^n^ 
 
 The Man Who Lost 
 
SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 97 
 
 The laurel wreath is a fair reward 
 
 For him who won and who fought so well, 
 
 Then why not save, from your liberal hoard, 
 A word of cheer for the man who fell ? — 
 
 A thought for the man who has paid the cost — 
 
 A hand for those of the Host That Lost ? 
 
SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 
 
 When Pals Must Part. 
 
 TTITHEN two strong men, who've passed the 
 
 ^ ' bowl and laughed at quip and jest — 
 Who've smoked their pipes, believed in life and 
 
 looked upon its best — 
 Who've e'er been true when Failure claimed the 
 
 toll it takes from men — • 
 Who've given each the other's hand and helped 
 
 him up again — 
 The world must turn aside nor heed the honest 
 
 tears that start. 
 When two such men shall reach the forks where 
 
 best of pals must part! 
 
 "Old pal" — there lurks within the words a mean- 
 ing more than friend — 
 
 A pledge, a trust, a fellowship that only men can 
 blend; 
 
 They've shared their woes, their cheer and smiles, 
 alike the worst and best, 
 
 And pledged the world for what it's worth and 
 overlooked the rest; 
 
 They've drunk in silence 'round the board, and 
 seen, with heavy heart. 
 
 The time when they shall reach the forks where 
 best of pals must part. 
 
SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 
 
 99 
 
 They've passed the bowl and ever made of Fate 
 
 a happy jest, 
 But, comes a time when cheer departs and Death 
 
 becomes the guest — ■ 
 Then two strong men shall clasp their hands and , 
 
 ere the final ban, 
 Can look into each other's eyes and each can see 
 
 —a Man! 
 It is no woman's heart that quails, nor childish 
 
 tears that start, 
 When two such men stand at the forks where 
 
 best of pals must part! 
 
 The Happy Man. 
 
 T do not toil that I may hoard 
 
 •^ The tithe my labor brings to me — 
 
 The sweetest draught comes from a gourd, 
 
 And happiness from poverty; 
 I toil because I've hands to do. 
 
 And love of men within my heart. 
 And, when my sands have all run through, 
 
 I want it said I did my part. 
 
 The scanty tithe that men can give 
 
 Is but a puny prize at best — 
 It is enough that I should live 
 
 In happiness and peace and rest; 
 I give my toil in humble pride. 
 
 To merit, when its end shall come, 
 The love that waits at eventide 
 
 Within the open door of Home. 
 
loo SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 
 
 Shadders. 
 
 "pUD Sennett, where be you t'day 
 ■^ That you can't hear a feller, say, 
 'Ithout him shoutin' 'nuff t' wake 
 The tarnal universe ? Less take — 
 I stump y', Pud — take off these things, 
 Air watch an' chains an' these 'ere rings, 
 They're nuthin' needful, if y' please — 
 They're jist a Growed-up's vanities! 
 Less peel air store-made coat an' vest. 
 Air patent shoes an' all the rest, 
 'N wear a cap an' roundabout 
 'N a woolun scarf fer keepin' out 
 The chisley air, an' I suppose 
 We'd orter have sum "copper toes"; 
 Less put hoss-ches'nuts 'round air neck 
 T' stave the measles off, I 'speck, 
 'N wipe air nose, fer all we keer, 
 Acrost air sleeve, there's no one here 
 That knows er cares fer us, I vum. 
 We're boys agin — us two — back hum! 
 'N now cum on, fer I'm doggoned. 
 There's skatin' down on Green's old pond! 
 
 Of course we can't! I wish we cud! 
 My words is fig-ger-a-tive. Pud, 
 A sort of dream, an' every day 
 The past gits more an' more that way! 
 
SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS loi 
 
 Occasional I seem t' see 
 
 The boys we knowed, an' you an* me, 
 
 A-startin' top o' Millses Hill 
 
 T' slide clean down t' Scouller's Mill, 
 
 Then double back t' Green's old pond 
 
 Where, over night, sum magic wand 
 
 Had waved, it seemed, with gen'rous poise 
 
 With jist a mind t' please us boys! 
 
 The girls an' boys of boys we knew 
 
 Air skating like we used to do; 
 
 I wonder if they ever feel 
 
 The shadders 'round them gently steal, 
 
 Er take 'em by the hand and spin 
 
 Acrost the pond an' back agin ? 
 
 I wonder do they know er care 
 
 That 'mongst them shadders flittin' there 
 
 Are shadders. Pud, of you an' me — 
 
 Er of us as we used to be ? 
 
SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 
 
 Old Rosemont. 
 
 (Rosemont, Near Winchester, Virginia.) 
 
 '' I ""HERE'S something in the magic of the gentle 
 evening haze 
 
 That seems to conjure visions of your past for- 
 gotten days — 
 
 A time 'twixt day and darkness when the shades 
 dispel the glov?, 
 
 A subtle something vphispers of the days so long 
 ago. 
 
 I hear the hunter's tocsin sound, and, ere its call 
 
 has died, 
 Comes Chivalry upon a steed with Beauty by his 
 
 side; 
 A smile to greet, a hunting song and then away — 
 
 away — 
 Across the blue grass meadows where the quarry's 
 
 courses lay. 
 
 I see the packs return again, the huntsmen, at their 
 
 ease. 
 Tell tales of those old hunting days beneath your 
 
 spreading trees; 
 I see your open portals shed a golden path, and 
 
 then 
 Your friends of olden, olden times pass through 
 
 your doors again. 
 
SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 103 
 
 Your festal boards are spread once more and 
 
 Beauty banters Wit, 
 And favored is the ruby wine by ruby lips to it; 
 The sighing evening zephyrs that across the blue 
 
 grass steal, 
 Bring music of the dance again — the old Virginia 
 
 reel. 
 
 The picture sadly vanishes beyond the evening 
 
 haze — 
 Your silence but a mockery of those forgotten 
 
 days! 
 Your portals wide have closed upon your last 
 
 departing guest. 
 And Death has met him at your gate and led him 
 
 toward the West. 
 
 Your thatch is hoary now, as mine, your comfort, 
 
 as my own. 
 Is looking back and living in the joys you have 
 
 known, 
 And cherishing old memories — a smile — a face — 
 
 a name — 
 The winters of our lives, old manse, are very much 
 
 the same! 
 
I04 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 
 
 Winter Mornings. 
 
 '' I "'HERE'S mornin's when my roomatiz is worse 
 than ordinary, 
 An' wakes me up 'bout four o'clock, er mebbe 
 nigher three. 
 An' here I lay an* think an' dream, all soul alone, 
 with nary 
 A thing except my roomatiz t' keep me 
 company; 
 It somehow seems t' soothe the pain, jest lookin* 
 out the wender. 
 The lights from Mem'ry's candles come a- 
 gleamin' 'cross the snow 
 An 'luminate a pitcher that I see again, off yender, 
 Them good old winter mornin's in the Long 
 Time Ago. 
 
 Them frosty winter mornin's, how I reckolect 
 an' love 'em, 
 As peaceful as the mornin's was before a 
 woe was born; 
 As crispy as the ling'rin'stars a-twinklin' above 'em. 
 An* every sound was carried like 'twas blasted 
 from a horn! 
 I see 'em in the kitchen there, my mother, father, 
 brother. 
 The hired hand a-dozin' in a straight-back 
 kitchen chair. 
 An' 'Lizebuth, the orphant girl, our fambly used 
 t' mother, 
 A-turnin' golden buckwheats on the smokin' 
 griddle there. 
 
SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 105 
 
 Acrost the mantled medder lot the nayburs' lights 
 come shinin', 
 A twinkle here, another there, a-gleamin' 'cross 
 the way. 
 They seem t' call in gentle voice, that's way beyant 
 definin', 
 "Good mornin', naybur, God has spared us 
 fer another day." 
 An' lyin' here, jest musin'-like, an' watchin* 
 Mem'ry's prism, 
 An' seein' lights of other days cum shinin' 
 'cross the snow, 
 I swanny, seems t' have the knack o' killin' 
 roomatism. 
 Jest thinkin' on them winter mornin's Long 
 Time Ago! 
 
io6 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 
 
 Fall. 
 
 "DRUSHWOOD burnin'- 
 ■^ Leaves a-turnin' 
 Yaller, gold and red; 
 
 Wind's a-singin' — 
 
 Birds a-wingin* 
 South'ards, overhead. 
 
 Geese a-honkin' — 
 
 Cattle chawnkin* 
 'Round th' pastur gate; 
 
 Trees stopt gummin' — 
 
 Fall 's a-cummin' 
 Jist 's sure *s fate. 
 
 Corncrib 's heapin' — 
 
 Grainbin 's keepin' 
 Fuller than two ticks; 
 
 Turkeys bluffin' — 
 
 Right fer stuffin' 
 'Bout th' Twenty-six. 
 
 Crops all tended — 
 
 Work all ended — 
 We're right snug at hum; 
 
 Fall 's a-cummin' 
 
 Jist a-hummin' — 
 Durn it, let 'er cum. 
 

 
 
 ^ 
 
 ■V' 
 
 v'-^ 
 
 3 
 
 ■ 
 
 
 
 
 " 
 
 
 *■ 
 
 
 n 
 
 Fall 
 
SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 109 
 
 The Last Edition. 
 
 WHEN the last of Life's Copy is finished 
 And edited, baring the sin; 
 When the stress of the toil is diminished, 
 
 And final forms wait to go in; 
 When the types are locked fast in their places — 
 
 Our lives written there, and their sum — 
 And we're gathered 'round here in our places 
 
 All waiting for "30" to come; 
 When the Master Hand touches the lever 
 
 To run the edition That Day — 
 Then, my brothers of Ever and Ever, 
 
 Then what will our printed page say ? 
 
 Will the Chief edit each little error ? 
 
 Each minor mistake will He see ? 
 Will He visit the punishing terror 
 
 On mortals as helpless as we ? 
 Will He see the turned-rule in the column 
 
 Each marking a task left undone ? 
 Will He note with a mien, grave and solemn, 
 
 Good works that were never begun ? 
 When the Master Hand touches the lever 
 
 To run the edition That Day, 
 Then my brother of Ever and Ever 
 
 Look well to what your pages say! 
 
no SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 
 
 Dan M'Carty of the Crossing 
 Squad. 
 
 A man of emotions and various notions is Officer 
 Danny McCarty, 
 He's always bossing the jam at the crossing — 
 
 with some an unpopular party; 
 He's a heart that is swelling beyond a man's 
 
 telling, but in spite of all of his bossing, 
 He's a saint, he's a lamb, when he holds up the jam 
 for a Little Babe at the Crossing. 
 
 "Hold up yer car! 
 
 Sthop where y' are — 
 You wid the dumpin' cyart, see^U 
 
 Er I'll bump y' with this! 
 
 Come on, little miss. 
 Over the crossin' wid me." 
 
 He's hale and he's hearty, is Danny McCarty 
 
 a tower 'midst greatest confusion. 
 He's like to be laughing and joking and chaffing, 
 
 and often he swears in profusion! 
 'Till there comes a child with eyes blue and mild, 
 
 with ringlets of gold all a-tossing. 
 And traffic must pause for a minute, because, 
 
 there's a Little Child at the Crossing. 
 
 "Sthop! That's enough! 
 
 Nun o' yer guff, 
 Er I'll run yez in, d' y' see ?!! 
 
 You — go — to — Well, 
 
 Come on, little gel, 
 Over the crossin' wid me." 
 
SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS in 
 
 His hand clasp is tender, his Hfe is a fender, 
 
 keeping all harm from the baby — 
 (Why, Danny, you're blinking; something, I'm 
 
 thinking, has blown in your eye, sir, 
 
 maybe!) 
 She crosses the street and kisses him sweet 
 
 and leaves him there, standing alone — 
 (Those are tears in your eyes ! Ah, Dan, I surmise, 
 
 you've babies at home of your own!) 
 
 Then here's to you, Dan, 
 
 You've no medals, man, 
 Nor do they bedeck you in flowers — 
 
 But, if danger e'er lures, 
 
 May the Lord care for yours 
 As safely as you've cared for ours! 
 
SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 
 
 Gone. 
 
 T^HE house is strangely silent now, 
 
 ■*■ And not the same to me — 
 It lacks the joy and sunshine that 
 
 Its chief charm used to be; 
 It's like unto a golden crown 
 
 That's lost its richest jewel — 
 The brightest part of home is gone 
 
 Since baby went to school. 
 
 Her playthings ? Yes, we keep them here 
 
 In orderly array, 
 But they but seem to emphasize 
 
 The truth that she's away! 
 They used to be all strewn about 
 
 Without regard to rule, 
 But O, they are so orderly 
 
 Since baby went to school! 
 
 Beneath the tree the garden swing 
 
 Sways sadly in the wind. 
 And all the place fair seems to weep 
 
 With us she left behind; 
 There is no glint of golden locks. 
 
 Like flashes from a jewel. 
 But all about it's lonely now. 
 
 Since baby went to school. 
 
 She didn't know how hard it was 
 
 To break those ties that bind 
 The day we started her to school 
 
 And bade the world be kind! 
 She couldn't feel the sorrow pangs 
 
 As she passed out our door! 
 It seemed the babe — we loved her so! — 
 
 Was gone for evermore! 
 
SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 113 
 
 Romancin*. 
 
 '' I ''HERE'S sumtimes when the gloamin' sort o* 
 * gets the best o' me — 
 A time when silent shadders makes the choicest 
 
 kumpany — 
 When ol' time fokes an' faces seem t' steal from 
 
 out the gloom 
 An' wait here at my elbow whilse 1 shift Life's 
 
 creakin' loom; 
 It's then I git t' musin' an' I rosum up my 
 
 bow 
 An' take down my ol' fiddle an' caress her soft 
 
 an* low — 
 She seems to git the speerit, an' I coax her 
 
 'twell she jest 
 Swells out her th'oat an' sings 'em — sings the 
 songs I love che best. 
 
 I foUer her in rapshure whilse she leads me on 
 
 an' thue, 
 Beside the "Swanee River" an' "In Ole Vir- 
 
 ginny," too; 
 I peer thue storms o' teardrops ez her voice 
 
 drops soft an' low 
 An' fairly seems t' whisper to me "01' Black 
 
 Joe"; 
 There's one more sympathetiker than what the 
 
 others air. 
 An' when she starts t' sing it I kin see them 
 
 shadders there 
 Draw closter 'round the fiddle fer to' hear 
 
 it— "Nellie Gray"— 
 They hain't no other music ever teched me 
 
 that-a-way! 
 
114 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 
 
 I love 'er — how I love 'er! — every soul en- 
 
 durin' note — 
 I love her from her tailpiece to the latch around 
 
 her th'oat! 
 They hain't no other music short o' what the 
 
 angels sings 
 That's nowhere nigh ez purty ez th' music of 
 
 her strings — 
 I swanny, 'tisn't music — really music — that she 
 
 plays, 
 It's actool conversation with the past and other 
 
 days! 
 If I cud have my ruthers when I die I 'low 
 
 I'd jest 
 Perfer t' hear my fiddle play the songs I love 
 
 the best! 
 
SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 115 
 
 The Place and Time for Prayer. 
 
 nr*HEY met down there at Lonesome on the 
 
 "*■ Spittin' Adder Crick — 
 They was Ike an' Humpy Larkin an' — in fack 
 
 the ch'ice an' pick 
 Of all the men an' wimin in the Basin that p'tend 
 They're ennywise religus. I cut in about the end 
 
 As our old Parson Highbee give the floor t' Izzy 
 
 Say re 
 Ter talk about the ethics an' the time an* place 
 
 fer prayer; 
 Iz 'lowed he was pertickler 'bout the way he 
 
 chose t' pray — 
 Perfurred ter kneel beside a bed most enny time 
 
 o* day. 
 
 The Parson an' Bill Thompkins an' Catamount 
 
 Tom Lesch 
 Allowed they'd dun their prayin'est prayer out 
 
 in th' bresh 
 With no one there to listen, an' ol' Stinkin' 
 
 River Rice 
 Maintained, fer bang-up prayin', why the cow 
 
 range was his ch'ice. 
 
 An' then I reckoleckted of a time out in the hill 
 Whilse chasin' of a rustler known as Silver Dollar 
 
 Bill; 
 I'm purty tarnal handy with a gun, but I'll 
 
 be cuss't 
 The rustler saw me cumin', an' he drawed his 
 
 cannon fust! 
 
n6 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 
 
 I riz rite up in meetin' an', sez I, rite then an' 
 
 there, 
 "Now I hain't hell fer prayin' enny time er enny 
 
 where, 
 But I have prayed sum off 'an' on an' the best I 
 
 ever dun 
 Was wunct I 'us lookin' crosseyed into Silver 
 
 Dollar's gun." 
 
 Outweighing All. 
 
 "lY^OST every man, on reaching fame 
 ^'- And fortune, be it good or bad, 
 Doth meditate at times upon 
 
 The helps and hardships he has had; 
 The fellowship of men is much 
 
 As shaping ends, but, back of it 
 His life and all depends upon 
 
 A mother's love — or lack of it. 
 
 The Paths to There are rough at best, 
 
 And tortuous, we're apt to find. 
 And yet, in spite of what men say. 
 
 The world and all is good and kind; 
 There's less of sorrow and of tears 
 
 Than pleasure in this life-long quest. 
 And cheering words are plentiful. 
 
 But mother love outweighs the rest. 
 
SWAZY FOLK S AND OTHERS 117 
 
 Old-Fashioned Flowers. 
 
 T fer one, hain't over-het 
 
 'Bout new-fangled things, jist set 
 That down in yer book! I jinks, 
 Ever' half-baked man that thinks 
 Things is better, as a rule. 
 Than they used t' be 's a fool — 
 (Course, friend, I'm exceptin' you) — 
 Tell him that I sed so, too. 
 
 More improvement, seems t' me. 
 In things as they used t' be; 
 Flowers in par-tick-i-ler 
 Growed a heap site purtier 
 Then as now, is my surmise; 
 Land o' livin', close my eyes — 
 See them flowers maw set out — 
 Je-e-emuny, I wanna shout! 
 
 Climbin' roses! — lawsey day — 
 Runnin' this and thataway, 
 Reechin' out an' smilin', too, 
 Twistin' 'round the heart of you, 
 Breathin' tender words o' love 
 Underfoot and up above — 
 Sweetest things I ever saw — 
 Alius 'minded me of maw! 
 
ii8 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 
 
 Slips from maw's ger-a-nium 
 Growed us out o' house an* hum; 
 Wa'n't a bare spot, I declare, 
 But maw planted flowers thare! 
 Hollyhawks an' pinys, too, 
 Smilin' through the years at you — 
 Wunder, do y', that one sings 
 'Bout the good ol'-fashioned things ? 
 
 Whare's yer new-style orchids at ? — 
 Cyclmuns an' sich as that, 
 'Side o' these ? Why I kin see 
 More real beauty, seems t' me. 
 In a rose er clover-tops 
 Than in them 'ats growed in shops. 
 You take them — I'll take the rest! 
 Old-time posies I love best! 
 
SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 119 
 
 The Folly of Superstition. 
 
 A S it's give me to percieve 
 •*^^ Pokes that hold, er tend t' b'lieve, 
 That hawss-chessnuts he'p, er is, 
 Cuore fer, the rheumatiz, 
 Er that things more foolisher 
 'N chessnuts, wuz invented fer 
 Cuorin' an' p'ventin' death, 
 Better hold their doggone breath; 
 Them fokes alius seemed t' me 
 'Bout the foolishest they be! 
 
 Take fer instunce Mylo Bee, 
 Dumbdest fool I evur see; 
 Wa'n't a pocket in his vest, 
 Coat er pants that wuzn't jest 
 Crammed with vegetables an' sich 
 Keepin' ever'thing frum itch 
 Clean 't black dipthery frum 
 Mylo, an' I gess they's sum 
 Doctors nevur heerd of, sir, 
 Mylo had pervided fer! 
 
 Wore sum fetty 'round his neck 
 Fer the janders, I expeck; 
 Toted taters all about 
 Fer t' keep numony out; 
 Buckeyes fer the rheumatiz 
 Wuz a fool idee o' his! 
 
 * * * 
 Nevur dun a bit o' good — 
 Knowed they wa'n't no liklihood — 
 Mylo got — perhaps you've seen — 
 B I owed up by a thrash in' 'chine/ 
 
120 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 
 
 Ben Tarr Opines. 
 
 '' I ""HERE'S nuthin' I know, er that ever I see. 
 
 That's half 's contrary ez human fokes bel 
 They're sartin an' sure t' put plans out o' j'int — 
 An* right here in Swazy 's a sample in p'int. 
 
 Why, ever since I cum t' Swazy, I gess, 
 
 Sam Davis 's been purrin' t' Myra Ann Kress — 
 
 Jist lookin' at others neither one cud abide, 
 An' ever'one said it was all cut an' dried. 
 
 An' Myry wus pert-like an' purty an' bright, 
 Whilse all 'at Sam knowed wudn't last over 
 night; 
 
 Yit Sam went t' Congerss, contrary t' plan. 
 An Myry run off with a lightenin rod man! 
 
Ol Ben Tarr 
 
SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 123 
 
 The Old Back Stoop. 
 
 T^^ELL, yes, the house is finished an' it's 
 bigger 'n creation! 
 There's nuthin' in the township that is half ez 
 big er fine; 
 The wimin folks kep' naggin' fer t* build it, till, 
 darnation, 
 I jist plumb had t' build it t' presarve my 
 peace o' min'. 
 We moved the old place backurds, tew the orchard 
 over yender; 
 It's purty, hain't it, stranger? How them 
 mornin' glories droop, 
 An' see that mountain ivy how it clings s' soft an' 
 tender 
 Around the ellum timbers of the old back 
 stoop. 
 
 Air new house is more competint an' cost a heap, 
 by towhitt — 
 A sta-shun-ary wash trofF an' them fixin's 
 ever'where — 
 But sumhow, jist betwixt us {hut I luuJn'i have 
 them know it /) 
 I feel jist twict as happy in the old house over 
 there! 
 We built it when we married an* we cleared the 
 oak an' beegum — 
 Around it all air babies uster romp an' play 
 an' troop; 
 They're mostly sleepin' yender an' the only time 
 I see 'em 
 Is whilse I set an' romance on the old back 
 stoop! 
 
124 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 
 
 It seems — I 'low I'm foolish — but it seems t' me 
 the flowers 
 Grow sweeter 'round the old place than the 
 new place over there; 
 It seems the vines clings closer, and I believe the 
 evenin' showers 
 Fall softer on that mossy roof than mostly 
 ennywhere! 
 It seems the birds sings sweeter an' that Natchur 
 is more tender 
 An', O them old man's fancies that, so soft 
 an' silent troop, 
 Acrost an' old man's eyesight an' jist fade away 
 off yender, 
 Look sweetest frum the settle on the old hack 
 stoop ! 
 
SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 125 
 
 The Nursery Battle. 
 
 'T^HERE'S a battle that's waged without 
 glory. 
 Away from cantonments of men; 
 No heroes to figure in story 
 
 Or claim the historian's pen; 
 The battlefield ? Here by the fire. 
 
 The time ? When the shadows creep out, 
 Then I hear the soldiers conspire 
 And hear their chief officer shout: 
 "Forward, kids, guide right — 
 Let's have a tickle fight!" 
 
 They come pajama-ed and nighty-ed, 
 
 I hear their soft tread in the hall — 
 (But, of course, they mustn't be sighted 
 
 At risk of spoiling it all!) 
 Their chieftain, he is the oldest, 
 
 His aide is the next little lad 
 And the army — God bless it! — is boldest. 
 
 The baby, the pet of its dad! 
 Still on, "Guide right — 
 Now to have a tickle fight!" 
 
 The onslaught is more than I bargain! 
 
 No martyr more freely has bled! 
 But I 'm caught by the narrowest margin — 
 
 The army sits down on my head! 
 And they torture their captive outrageous 
 
 When once they subject him like this, 
 Till the clock calls the soldiers courageous 
 
 And the army's dismissed with a kiss. 
 "Night, dad, good-night — 
 We won the tickle fight!" 
 
126 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 
 
 To your rest and God keep every laddie, 
 
 Each brave, curly head of the line; 
 Ho, you think that you vpon from your daddy 
 
 But the spoils of the battle are mine! 
 And the fruits I shall cherish forever, 
 
 And down through the haze and the years, 
 I shall see your bright faces v^henever 
 
 Your battle-cry sounds in my ears: 
 "Forward, kids, guide right — 
 Let^s have a tickle fight!" 
 
 The Lonely Man. 
 
 T^ON'T want t' be no prince ner king, 
 -■-^ Ner armurd knight ner anything 
 'Ats got a title hitched tew it — 
 
 Don't hanker after that a bit! 
 Don't want no flunkies standin' 'roun' 
 
 'T bow an' scrape an' mop the groun' 
 
 'N call me "king" er sumpin wuss; 
 
 I 'low I wudn't give a cuss 
 T' be a "jedge" er even "squire," 
 
 Er "Congersmun," er mebbe higher. 
 But— (durn thet sweat-bug in my eye!) — 
 There's times I jist swell up an' cry 
 
 T' have sum dad-burned little tad 
 
 Look up at me 'n' call me "Dad!" 
 
SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 127 
 
 Folks Back Home. 
 
 TT'S mighty good a-gittin' back to see 
 
 The fokes an' things familyur-like to me, 
 Espeshully since I've been gone away 
 Fer quite a spell o' years; I want t' say 
 There's nuthin' does me nowhere nigh sich good 
 Ez gittin' back in air ol' naybur-hood 
 Where I wuz born, brung up an' orter staid; 
 "It makes a feller young," I alius say-ed. 
 
 I like to loaf around the ol' hotel 
 
 'N gas Grip Martin, mebbe — hear him tell 
 
 Them ol'-time stories like he alius does 
 
 An' how things looked afore the fire was 
 
 In '84; an' how, afore it got 
 
 Cooled off a bit Nobe Terrell went an' bought 
 
 Sum hemlock boards an' built a new store where 
 
 The Soldiers Monyment stands now — rite there! 
 
 I like t' sort o' stretch my hide an' hoof 
 
 In Billy Ross's store an' talk of Rufe 
 
 An' Billy Braden, too; they played — less see — 
 
 The tuba horn an' drum, respectively. 
 
 In air old band — O years an' years ago! — 
 
 But sumtimes when I listen, soft an' low 
 
 I seem t' hear their music, an' I get 
 
 The idee in my head they're playin' yet! 
 
 I like t' meet 'em all, but seems t' me 
 
 There's sum o' them whose blunt veracity 
 
 I can't endorse — I mean the ones who say: 
 
 "I swan, my boy — I swanny! — but you're gray!" 
 
 But others of 'em — them I like t' hear — 
 
 Say, "Sakes alive, you're younger every year!" 
 
 The tarnal liars! But sumhow, when I jest 
 
 Get thinkin' on't, / like them liars best/ 
 
128 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 
 
 Come Back Again. 
 
 ^^OME, grand-dad, please come back agin, and 
 ^^ all you old-home fokes. 
 
 You Wigginses an' Bannisters, an' Marv Ellen, 
 too, 
 Less set around the livin' room an' have charades 
 an' jokes 
 And gas about the nayburhood jest like we used 
 t' do; 
 I want t' hear again about the bear Hi Burden shot, 
 Whare Himses house is standin' now, an' when 
 y' finish, jest 
 Switch off an' tell 'bout Herkimer whare you lived 
 'fore y' got 
 The idee in your head that you wud like t' 
 come out West. 
 
 An' tell us 'bout your journey here, an' when the 
 army was 
 An' how you marched t' Richmond with the 
 1 6th Illinoy, 
 How grandma hauled the cordwood after you 
 enlisted, 'cause 
 They's no one here t' do it durin' the army — 
 man er boy; 
 Y' mind that Hampshire feller that y' used t' tell 
 about 
 They captured after Gettysburg along with 
 'Bige an' you, 
 An' he dug out o' Libby an' went back an' he'ped 
 you out. 
 An' all o' you was safe and sound ? Well, tell 
 that story, too! 
 
SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 129 
 
 An' tell us 'bout the doin's here when you come 
 marchin' home, 
 An' all that you remember of the speech 
 Jedge Acker made 
 'Bout copperheads an' stay-at-homes, an' then 
 recite that pome 
 That Lidy wrote when you come back; "The 
 Soldiers' Last Parade"; 
 Come, tell us all you used t' tell, when we was 
 gethered here, 
 'Bout fokes an' things that used t' be in that old 
 airly day — 
 I'll call 'em back, the Wigginses an' all them 
 nayburs dear — 
 They're only jest beyant a spell — beyant the 
 evenin's grey. 
 
 An' when the talk an' embers drap t' jest a glow, 
 er less, 
 We'll gether 'round the organ here, jist like we 
 used t' do, 
 An' sing the songs that mother loved, that spoke 
 her tenderness, 
 "The Gipsy Boy," "Kentucky Home, "an' "I 
 Shall Wait Fer You," 
 An* all them songs! O please come back, it's 
 only jest a step. 
 An' take my hand an' speak t' me an* clear my 
 dimmin* sight, 
 An' let these golden mem'ries that I've cherished 
 an' I've kep' 
 Fer all these years, be real again, an' mine — fer 
 jest t' night! 
 
I-50 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 
 
 Christmas Eve in the Old 
 Manse. 
 
 ^r^HE flame burns low in the friendly grate 
 ■*• And, as in dreams, from the magic haze 
 They step with a carriage gallant, sedate, 
 
 The maids and men of the olden days; 
 The manse is silent and drear within — 
 
 The embers drop to a throbbing glow — 
 *Tis midnight strikes, and then begin 
 
 The Christmas revels ,of Long Ago. 
 
 Fair maids look down from the ancient walls, 
 
 Milady steps from her golden frame 
 To join her lord in the musty halls 
 
 In minuet or a madcap game; 
 Bright eyes repeat what the roses said 
 
 And upturn under the mistletoe 
 Till lips meet lips that are cold and dead 
 
 And turned to dust since the Long Ago. 
 
 From out the nooks of the years they come, 
 
 The soldiers, brave, in their trappings gay — 
 Come back from the trumpet and throbbing drum 
 
 To eyes that wept when they marched away; 
 Their dreams of valor have fled tonight. 
 
 And now when the shadows softly steal. 
 Each clasps the one of his heart's delight 
 
 To dance his love in the Christmas reel. 
 
SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 131 
 
 And then to the board, to the festal place, 
 
 A feast of beauty and wine and wit, 
 Where quip meets quip and each smiUng face 
 
 Reflects the joy that beams on it: 
 A moment the revels cease; each glass 
 
 Is raised and vies with the lips it nears — 
 A sparkling toast from gallant and lass 
 
 To Christmas Eves of the future years. 
 
 But see, a queen with a silver staff 
 
 Stills Christmas cheer and marshals all — 
 Bids host and guests, with a mocking laugh. 
 
 To follow on through the hollow hall; 
 The fairy tread of their slippered feet 
 
 Sounds faint beyond where the embers glow. 
 As back they dance to the grave's retreat. 
 
 The Christmas sprites of the Long Ago! 
 
 L'ENVOI. 
 
 Old manse, how lonely it is tonight! 
 
 How far it seems to tomorrow's dawn! 
 The embers die and, from out my sight. 
 
 Fade Christmas revels of Days Long Gone! 
 
132 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 
 
 An Investment. 
 
 ¥ bought some stock upon the mart, no sordid 
 ■*■ money-bearer, 
 
 With coupons on and countersigned and sealed 
 with careful heed. 
 That I must hold by lock and key and suffer con- 
 stant terror 
 For fear some person purloins it and leaves me 
 poor indeed! 
 Ah, no, the stock I bought today was not that kind 
 of treasure, 
 I have no means by which to get that special 
 class of fee, 
 Nor do I care! My stock is in the Bank of 
 Children's Pleasure. 
 That always pays the greatest rate of dividends 
 to me! 
 
 My purchase was a woolly dog, a drum, a cart and 
 dolly, 
 A Beau Brummell in gaudy vest upon some 
 magic strings, 
 A manikin in red, and crowned with mistletoe and 
 holly, 
 A wond'rous book, an expose of fairy queens 
 and kings; 
 A toy boat with luffing sail for strange, uncharted 
 oceans, 
 With rudder true and fearless crew and cables 
 always taut, 
 A prancing horse and building blocks, and hosts 
 of childish notions. 
 All struck my reckless fancy as investments and 
 I bought. 
 
SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 133 
 
 Ah, poor, indeed, is he who gets his chief or only 
 pleasure 
 From clipping coupons from his bonds that lie 
 in musty piles! 
 So poorly is he recompensed, and, O how small 
 the measure 
 Of gain he gets when it's compared to child- 
 hood's happy smiles! 
 I pity him! I envy ? No, all envy dies aborning — 
 All doubt concerning which of us the wisest 
 choice has made 
 Will disappear on Christmas — in the nursery 
 Christmas morning — 
 Amid the joy of children where my dividends 
 are paid! 
 
134 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 
 
 "John Thompkins' Fiddlin*." 
 
 TOHN Thompkins take yer fiddle down — 
 •^ It's been so long ago 
 I seed y' wrassle her aroun' 
 
 An' heerd y' tromp her bow, 
 'At all the notes y' conjured then 
 Sound further off each day, an' when 
 I ast ye, John, t' play again, 
 
 Yew understand, I know. 
 
 I want t' hear y' take an' play 
 
 Them tunes I understand. 
 That "Ryestraw" jig an' "Trainin' Day" 
 
 An' "Far Frum Native Land." 
 An' that "My Saylor's On the Sea," 
 An' "Nellie Gray" an' "Hummin' Bee" 
 O, them's the tunes t' play fer me, 
 
 John Thompkins, try yer hand! 
 
 Jes' tune her up untwell she screams 
 
 Fer them 'at's livin', John, 
 Then drap her 'twell she chords with dreams 
 
 Fer them we knowed 'at's gone; 
 Jes' take her down frum off the shelf 
 An' rosum up her bowstring 'twell 'f 
 She's let alone she'll play herself, 
 
 Jes' on — an' on — an' on — 
 
John Thompkins Fiddlin' 
 
SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 137 
 
 It's long ago I heerd y', John, 
 
 There's ages passed since then, 
 But still yer notes jes' linger on 
 
 In Memory, an' when 
 The bluebirds sing, it seems their vent 
 Is nuthin' but the notes unspent 
 Persarved frum your ol' insterment — 
 I wish y'd play again! 
 
138 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 
 
 Old Ben Tarr's Idee. 
 
 *" I "'HE man who smiles an' sez "Amen" 
 ■■■ When rain's a-fallin', same ez when 
 The sun is shinin', seems t' me 
 
 Hez got about th' right idee — 
 Who's never faultin' Providence 
 
 Fer things it sends. In consequence, 
 I reckin he is God's own ch'ice, 
 
 An' fair well on to'rds Paradise. 
 
 I b'lieve th' plainest man, whose plumb 
 
 Hangs true along his life at hum — 
 Who's square with men in day's affairs 
 
 An' fair with God in even in' prayers — 
 Who sleeps an' leaves his latch unslung 
 
 Fer ennything he's ever done — 
 Now such a man, it seems t' me, 
 
 Ain't needin' much filosophy! 
 
 I argy he who duz his best 
 
 An' trusts in Him fer all th' rest — 
 Who don't doubt Jonah and the whale 
 
 But b'lieves it cuz it's God's own tale — 
 Though humble is thet man, and may 
 
 Have failed in every airthly way, 
 Yet, peer he is to you an* I, 
 
 An' fit as saints t' up an' die! 
 
SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 139 
 
 A Man. 
 
 T^ON'T tell me that his faith was true, 
 ■*-^ Nor that his trust was firm, nor laud 
 His virtues, as they seem to you, 
 
 Nor praise his honesty with God. 
 
 For praise of these is small indeed; 
 
 The while he lived his earthly span 
 He only kept a given creed. 
 
 And God expects as much of man. 
 
 But tell me, was it in his heart 
 
 To leave his beaten path, and seek 
 
 Less happy souls and take their part ? — 
 To give his might to help the weak ? 
 
 Was he the man who measured life 
 
 In dollars, cents and days and years? 
 
 Or gauged, beyond the sordid strife, 
 
 In joys and sorrows, smiles and tears ? 
 
 Did he perceive, and love to read, 
 
 The message, sweet, each flower brings ? 
 
 And did he pause in life to heed 
 
 And learn to love God's little things ? 
 
 Was woman's faithful love the best 
 Of all his life gave him of good ? 
 
 And what found he the tenderest ? — 
 The soft caress of babyhood ? 
 
 The while his sands are ebbing low 
 
 And earth and all around grow dim, 
 
 Please tell me, friend, so I may know 
 
 A man greets death, and weep for him. 
 
I40 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 
 
 The Martial Band from Big Elm 
 Flat. 
 
 "VXT^ELL, mebbe they don't, jist as yew say, 
 
 ' ' Trill their cadenzers 'n whirligigs. They 
 Ain't up t' it, mebbe — 'tain't zackly their kin', 
 
 'N mebbe yer idee is duffurnt 'n mine; 
 Their music sounds sweet t' my tarnal old ears — 
 It carries me back'urds fer forty-odd years — 
 'N I'll tell y' aforehandt, I'll wallop y' one 
 If y' don't stop bedevilin' an' pokin' yer fun 
 At the "rooty-toot- toot," 
 'N the"ratty-tat-tat" 
 Of the marshul band frum Big Ellum Flat! 
 
 I 'low they ain't straight on the "p" an' the "q" 
 
 'N don't ack as pert as yer city bands do. 
 But they got the knack o' playin' t' please 
 
 'N puttin' the limber juice back in yer knees — 
 "TheCamptown Races" an' "Rye-straw," tew, 
 
 *N all them old ones that ferever is new; 
 An* if it ain't music, whatever it be. 
 
 It's tarnation pleasin' t* fellers like me — 
 Is that "rooty-toot-toot," 
 'N the " ratty-tat-tat " 
 Of the marshul band frum Big Ellum Flat. 
 
SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 141 
 
 Another reason I lean tew 'em for, 
 
 Is 'cause I follered 'em all thru the war — 
 An' fit t' their music more'n wunct, I declare — 
 They was more of *em then — hain't all of 'em 
 there; 
 Most of 'em's gone. Eh ? Never mind, son, 
 
 Y' needn t apolergize fer pokin' yer fun, 
 I knowed y' wudn't if ye'd jist understand 
 
 'N knowed what I knowed 'bout that little 
 band — 
 
 With its "rooty-toot-toot," 
 'N its "ratty-tat-tat" — 
 The marshul band frum Big EUum Flat. 
 
142 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 
 
 Ol* Ben Tarr's Filosofy. 
 
 "DLESSED is thet mortul who 
 ■*^ Has lived his life, an', gittin' thue, 
 Kin wander back'urds in his mind 
 T' whare a cottage stands, all vined 
 With trumpet flowers, red an' white, 
 Er mornin' glories after night — 
 
 Blessed is thet man, I say. 
 
 Blesseder by far is he. 
 Still havin' her, who tenderly 
 He's loved an' kep' frum passin' harm, 
 Kin take her by the willin' arm 
 An' lead her tew them joys again — 
 The joys made fer simple men — 
 Blesseder by far is he. 
 
 But blesseder than all is he. 
 Who, closin' of his eyes, can see 
 Th' evening sun kiss golden hair 
 Of youngsters 'round his cottage thare, 
 'N have sum dad-burned little chap 
 Cum thru th' years an' whisper: "Pap"- 
 Blesseder than all is he! 
 
SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 143 
 
 An Old Man's Deductions. 
 
 T dunno, but it seems ter me, 
 
 Things ain't like they uster be — 
 Folks wuz diffurnt, too, I 'low, 
 Years ago than they be now! 
 
 Uster be sum kindness showed — 
 Folks y' mebbe never knowed 
 
 Wa'n't s' stuckup-like an' classed — 
 Bowed t' ever' soul they passed! 
 
 Skies don't shine one hafF s' blue 
 'Pears-like, as they uster do; 
 
 Each fermilyur field an' nook 
 
 'S changed frum how it uster look. 
 
 Gals hain't haff s* shy an' pert 's 
 When they wore them flarin' skirts, 
 
 Pantelets an' all the rest — 
 
 Old time gal's what I like best! 
 
 Weather's got the same idee — 
 Great jemmimy, seems t' me, 
 
 Orgust hain't one haff the git 
 Up an' git it had to it! 
 
 I dunno, but thinkin' 'long, 
 
 Mebbe 'tain't the things that's wrong- 
 After all, perhaps it's me 
 
 Changed frum what I uster be! 
 
144 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 
 
 The Old Home Town. 
 
 'T^HE thoughts of home, they seem to bloom 
 **■ and grow 
 As faithfully as blossoms used to blow 
 And drop away, to follow in the fall 
 With ripened fruit aplenty and for all; 
 So thoughts of home will linger for a bit, 
 Then fade, and we are happier for it. 
 
 The village street that came a-winding down 
 Since stage coach days, whence gypsies came to 
 
 town, 
 The fright and fear of children there at play — 
 They stopped to "feed" then on its creaking way. 
 Their caravan went, its white tops showing still 
 For miles away, beyond the tow'ring hill 
 That rose abrupt, obscuring from our eyes 
 The world beyond and all its glad surprise. 
 The "Old Main Road" 'twas called and, wending 
 
 down. 
 Audaciously, it cleft the little town 
 To two quaint streets where village merchants 
 
 thrived. 
 And where — it seemed — the care free people hived 
 On summer days or cheated summer showers. 
 And whiled away, and talked, the blessed hours. 
 A tinshop here, and there, with cheery ring, 
 The blacksmith toiled and did his part to sing 
 The day away; and stealing o'er the hill. 
 O'er clover bloom and fields, the ancient mill 
 Sent out its song, a crooning soft and low — 
 It sang at work and let the village know; 
 
«j e 
 
SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 147 
 
 And yet 'twas still — the sounds of toil were few — 
 Familiar sounds that all the village knew! 
 'Round open doors were grouped the patriarchs, 
 The older men — the group that ever marks 
 The village life — and talked of other years 
 When war was rife and all was woe and tears; 
 And oftentimes their fancies, turned to mirth, 
 Some new device, some new-found trick gave birth — 
 By subtle twist their crooked canes made fast 
 'Round sunburned legs of freckled boys who passed! 
 The freckled boys who found the path unseen 
 That led away, through pasture and ravine, 
 To Scouller's Mill where youngsters got their dole 
 Of boyhood fun beside the swimming hole. 
 ******* 
 
 And this was home, where evening stars looked 
 
 down 
 Their kindliest and blessed the Old Home Town — 
 The place of dream that we remember yet 
 And cherish still and never can forget! 
 
148 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 
 
 Friends. 
 
 TTITHEN Fortune smiled 
 
 " ' And days were bright, it seemed 
 I had more worthy friends than I had dreamed, 
 Who clustered 'round, felicitating me, 
 Whose joy at my good fortune seemed to be 
 Without an end. 
 
 When Fortune frowned! 
 
 I know what you would say: 
 "They shunned you then and let you go your 
 
 way." 
 Not so! Not one of them but heard my call 
 Of dire distress, and came, for after all 
 A friend's a friend! 
 
SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 149 
 
 To a Boy. 
 
 /^OME, a little freckled kid, 
 ^^ Let us go together 
 Swingin' down a lane again, 
 Smilin' as the weather. 
 
 Let us go beyond the wood, 
 Where there's nun t' bother — 
 
 Whilse we smoke some mullin-leaf, 
 Keep an eye on father! 
 
 Take me to yer swimmin' hole — 
 Lemme have my "ruthers" — 
 
 Don't fergit t' dry our hair — 
 Mothers will be mothers! 
 
 Take me home again at night, 
 When the cricket 's crickin' — 
 
 Lemme go today with you. 
 An' I'll take the lickin'! 
 
150 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 
 
 Going to Town With Pa. 
 
 T TELL you what I liked to do 
 ■*■ When I was 'bout as big as you, 
 
 Was go t' town with pa! 
 They ain't been nuthin' 'fore or sence, 
 Of nigh one half the consequence, 
 Nor half s' full of pure joy 
 As when my mother'd holler: "Boy, 
 It's brekfus time, nigh five o'clock — 
 'F y'll hurry up an' feed the stock 
 
 Y' kin go t' town with pa." 
 
 Beyond the ridge the white road bent — 
 The furthest then I'd ever went ! 
 
 An' then went leadin' down 
 Past Jackson's Crick an' Possum Gap, 
 Through woods so dark I hung t' pap. 
 An' ever' step showed more an' more 
 The world I'd never knowed before; 
 Past fields o' wavin' wheat an' flax 
 An' then across the railroad tracks. 
 
 An' then — t' Burgettstown! 
 
 Ah, Burgettstown! Me-trop-o-les 
 Of all my youthful dreams, I gess, 
 
 Nun half so great cud be! 
 The biggest millwheel ever wrought 
 Was turned to grind the grist we brought! 
 The biggest things the world aroun' 
 I saw right thare in Burgettstown — 
 No buildin's half so big an' tall! 
 It seemed that there was nuthin' small — 
 
 Exceptin' pa an' me! 
 
' Beyond the ridge the white road bent," 
 
SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 153 
 
 The sun'd be edgin' to'rds the West 
 When pa'd allow: "Well, bub, you best, 
 
 Climb up here with yer pa," 
 An* out from 'neath the seat 'ud cum 
 The snack that pa had brought from hum- 
 Sum hard-biled eggs an' ginger snaps 
 Was alius fa-vor-ites o' pap's — • 
 An' I'd eat, too, till I cudn't see. 
 An* be plum glad, as glad cud be, 
 
 T* git back hum t' ma! 
 
154 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 
 
 Two Songs. 
 
 A singer touched a lofty note — 
 ■*• ^ An eerie something far from me — 
 That seemed through broadest space to float 
 
 And echo back from land and sea; 
 It was so rich and full and clear, 
 It pleased my heart and made me cheer. 
 
 Then through the years another rang — 
 A song borne up on mem'ry's wings, 
 
 A lullaby my mother sang 
 
 Of cradle time and homely things; 
 
 It roused the memories that sleep 
 
 And touched my heart and made me weep!