LIIUUMIIOWIM atiSfc W$t TLibvaxv 0(tl)C SJnibersrttpcf JSortf) Carolina ;<>•» &*^ «***> W ^ ^ Cnbotoeti bj> ®fje Bmlecttc anb ^Jjilantfjroptc H>orietteg extension Btbteicm 908.5 WAq -ft-al c^1 _ Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2012 with funding from University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill http://archive.org/details/dialectselection21phel Werner's Readings and Recitation: No. 21 COMPILED AND ARRANGED BY PAULINE PHELPS NEW YORK EDGAR S. WERNER & COMPANY Copyright, 1S99, by Edgar S. Werner Publishing & Supply Co. CONTENTS. PAGE Account of a Negro Sermon— John B. Gough 131 " Along the Line." — Irwin Russell 31 Annie O'Brien.— Mary Kyle Dallas 17 At Aunty's House. — James Whitcomb Riley 190 Aunt Hannah's Letter— Elsie Malone McCollum 173 Average Boy. — Pauline Phelps 119 Bide a Wee, and Dinna Fret 99 Bimi. — Rudyard Kipling 166 Born Inventor. — Harry Stillwell Edwards 96 Brudder Jones's Heterodoxy 75 Cabin Philosophy 64 Caller Herrin' 127 Casey's Little Boy. — Nixon Waterman 90 " Ceptin' Jim." — Lewis R. Clement 42 Demon Lover 57 " Didn't Think o' Losin' Him." — Frank L. Stanton 41 Don't. — Nixon Waterman 84 Fair Helen 172 Firetown's New Schoolhouse. — Pauline Phelps 77 Foreign Views of the Statue. — Fred Emerson Brooks 47 Frontier Picture. — Edward Singer 188 Fulfilment 89 Getting to Be a Man. — S. E. Kiser Ill Hard Times 54 Heart of Old Hickory. — Will Allen Dromgoole 156 He Wanted to Know.— S. W. Foss 22 I Kissed the Cook 40 Italian's Account of George Washington 162 Italian's View on the Labor Question. — Joe Kerr 23 "It War Crackit Afore."— Gath Brittle 81 " Jest A-Thinkin' o' You." — Ella Higginson 154 Jim Bludso.— John Hay 100 Jim Lord's Cat. — Edward Byron Nicholson 70 Jim's Story. — H. S. Tomer 38 Jolly Brick.— Pauline Phelps 86 Leading the Choir. — Edith M. Norris 112 Little Mabel at Long Branch 37 Lumber Camp Romance. — Harriet Francene Crocker 43 Mass' Crawford, Isam, and the Deer. — Harry Stillwell Edwards 122 [3] Werner's Headings No. 21. 4 CONTENTS. page Miss Maloney Goes to the Dentist 55 .Miss Witchazel and Mr. Thistlepod. — Robert J. Burdette 49 My Pa.— Marion Short 186 No Science for Him 136 No Telephone in Heaven 171 Old Boys in the Dance. — Frank L. Stanton 189 Old Darky's Defense 109 Ole Pine Box. — Frank L. Stanton 95 Oor Wee Laddie. — William Lyle 39 Orthod-ox Team. — Fred Emerson Brooks 164 Over the Divide. — Marion Manville 178 " Pardnership." — Eleanor Kirk 73 Playing Entertainment. — Anna Hopper 52 Ponchus Pilnt. — James Whitcomb Riley 191 Rise up Early in de Mawnin' — Paul Laurence Dunbar 182 " Scallywag." — Caroline B. Le Row 134 " Sence Sally's Been to Europe." — Herbert Laight 183 Sent Back by the Angels. — Frederick Langbridge 139 " Settin' Up with Elder McK'ag's Peggy." — Henry Christopher McCook '. 144 Sheriff of Cerro Gordo. — Fred Emerson Brooks 91 Sod House in Heaven.^-Harry E. Mills 65 Sons of the Widow. — Rudyard Kipling 83 Stickit Minister.— S. R. Crockett 115 Story of Hard Times. — Pauline Phelps 7 Story of the Yorkshire Coast 60 Telling Tales. — Ana Barnard 85 Thae Auld Laird's Secret. — Mrs. Findley Braden 15 Thankful Soul. — Frank L. Stanton 25 That Fire at the Nolans' 128 That Settled It 185 This is April.— Frank L. Stanton 184 Through the Flood. — Ian Maclaren 26 Tildy. — Frederick W. Loring . 53 Tired Old Woman 82 Tommy Brown. — L. C. Hardy 176 Uncle Isrul's Call. — Caroline H. Stanley 102 Watermelon Season. — E. N. Baldwin 114 Wen Ma's Away. — John Tracy Jones 188 What Dooley Says. — Findlay Peter Dunne 68 When Jim Was Dead. — Frank L. Stanton 184 When the Teacher Gets Cross 133 Young America 137 Werner's Readings No. 21. INDEX TO AUTHORS. PAGE Baldwin, E. N 114 Barnard, Ana 85 Braden, Mrs. Findley 15 Brittle, Gath ' 81 Brooks, Fred Emerson 47, 91, 164 Burdette, Robert J 49 Clement, Lewis R 42 Crocker, Harriet Francene 43 Crockett, S. R 115 Dallas, Mary Kyle 17 Dromgoole, Will Allen 156 Dunbar, Paul Laurence 182 Dunne, Findlay Peter 68 Edwards, Harry Stillwell 96, 122 Foss, S. W 22 Gough, John B 131 Hardy, L. C 176 Hay, John 100 Higginson, Ella 154 Hopper, Anna 52 Jones, John Tracy 188 Kerr, Joe , 23 Kipling, Rudyard 83, 166 Kirk, Eleanor 73 Kiser, S. E Ill Laight, Herbert 183 Langbridge, Frederick 139 Le Row, Caroline B 134 Loring, Frederick W 53 Lyle, William 39 Maclaren, Ian 26 Manville, Marion 178 McCollum, Elsie Malone 173 McCook, Henry Christopher 144 Mills, Harry E 65 Werner's Readings No. 21. [5] 6 INDEX TO AUTHORS. PAGE Nicholson, Edward Byron '. 70 N orris, Edith M 112 Phelps, Pauline 7, 77, 86, 119 Riley, James Whitcomb 190, 191 Russell, Irwin 31 Short, Marion 186 Singer, Edward 188 Stanley, Caroline H 102 Stanton, Frank L 25, 41, 95, 184, 184, 189 Tomer, H. S 38 Waterman Nixon 84, 90 "Werner's Readings No. 21. Werners Readings and Recitations No. 21 A STORY OF HARD TIMES. PAULINE PHELPS. [From the Independent by permission of the publishers.] OF course, ye read about it in the papers, sir ; an' may be ye've imagined how the workin' class felt about the hard times ; but I tell ye, there can't no imaginin' nor newspapers nor hearsay — nothin' but jest havin' been there yerself can make ye realize the feelin' that comes over a man when he walks up to git his Saturday night pay, an' in the envelope is a slip sayin' the force must be cut down an' he won't be needed there any more. It don't so much matter if he's alone in the world, but it generally happens he ain't. An' when I read that slip, the first thing I thought wa'n't about gittin' another place, or bein' disappointed myself, but the way my wife would look when I broke the news to her. There was the little girl, too. I tell ye, sir, I never had many chances, an' my wife's education ain't much to boast of, either ; but we talked it over between us, an' made up our minds our Nell should have a show, go through the high school an' through college, too, if she wanted, an' keep on jest as long as we was able to work for her. "Never mind," says my wife. "You ought to git an- other place, an' if ye don't, the shops will start up in a week or two, an' a little vacation will do ye good." 8 WERNER'S READINGS I wa'n't so sure about the shops startin' up, but I'd al- ways held that a strong, able-bodied man, that kep' away from rum, could find work somewhere; an' the next Mon- day mornin' I started out to look for it. I tried the machine- shops first. They was all runnin' short, an' some of them jest laughed when I asked for a job. " Ye're the seventh that's been here this mornin'," one boss said. ' ' What do ye suppose we want of you when we can't keep our own hands employed?" Times was hard, I knew, an' that wa'n't much more than I expected; but I hadn't reckoned on gittin' the same an- swer at every other place. I wa'n't particular after a while. I tried them all, — grocery stores an' butcher shops an' ex- pressman's an' wood yards. An' every time I come home my wife would ask, meanin' to make her voice sound as if she wa'n't much concerned : " Well, did ye find any work to-day?" An' I'd answer, cheerful as I could, because of little Nell takin ' in every word : "No, didn't seem to git along very well to-day. Presume, likely, I'll strike soinethin' to-morrow." But the next day things would go on jest the same, an' I be- gun to feel discouraged. We hadn't much laid by. I'd taken out a three-thousand-dollar life-insurance, in case anvthino- should happen ; but when times arc prosperous folks git into the notion of thinkin' they're goin' to continue that way, an' spendin' the money as it comes. An' there was the rent to pay, the same as if I was to work. An' the grocer sent in word he'd got to have the cash hereafter. I pawned my watch — a silver one, but it brought a little — an' the ring I gave my wife once for her birthday, an' a locket of little Nell's. An' one night ye might have seen me sneakin' out of the back door with my winter overcoat done up in a bundle ; an' another time it was my wife's silk dress, an' then the rug from the parlor. Always at night, though ; for, however poor a man gits, it hurts his pride to have his neighbors know he hain't had foresight to provide for a day like this. Ye remember that hot spell we had the last part of July? AND RECITATIONS No. SI. 9 I come home one of them days when I'd been lookin' for work, to find Nell lyin' on the sof y with hardly strength to raise her head ; an' then my wife let on she'd been sort of ailin' fur a week or two, but made her promise not to tell, because papa would want to get her a doctor, an' she was sure he couldn't afford it. There was jest two dollars in my pocket, but she had that doctor in less than half an hour. He laughed an' told her he guessed she'd been play in' too hard, an' a little medicine would make her all right; but when he got me out in the hall he sobered down. "I find considerable trouble with the heart," says he; "no settled disease, but she seems much run down. Has she been frcttin' over anything? Anything on her mind?" I told him I was out of work, an' I pcrsumed she was botberin' about that. "Oh, yes; she sees you lookin' gloomy, I suppose, an' it reacts on her. Now I am goin' to speak plainly with }'e. Cheerfulness is one thing yer daughter must have. Send her into the country for a month; or, if ye can't afford to do that, keep her from frcttin' about things she can no*, help. As for the hard times, most people are worry in' themselves unnecessarily. Business will be in full swing again by the middle of October. Good day." I stood there an' looked after him, an' wondered rrhat dif- ference it would make what happened by the middle of Oc- tober, if a man couldn't see his way clear to liviu' through August. I went down to look for work again that afternoon. I tried the barrooms this time, an' the livery-staMes, an' tried to get a job sweepin' streets; an' when all that failed, I sat down on a curbstone an' looked at the people ridin' by in their carriages, an' wondered if 'twas the wsj the Lord in- tended it, that some should have everything an' others noth- in' ; an' almost scared myself with the curse- that kep' com- in' into my mind, when I thought how eapy it would have been for them to help me — an' they wouldn't. About four o'clock, as I was slouchin' along the street, I heard the fire-bell ring-; an' the next minute the engines 10 WERNER'S READINGS come puffin' through the street. There was a crowd of boys, an' women with shawls over their heads, an' men ; an' I fol- lowed with the rest. The fire was in a barn, an' by the time the engines got there the downstairs was a solid mass of smoke. I asked a man if the horses were all out, an' when he said "Yes," stood an' watched the firemen fix on the hose. Jest as the water begun to play, a woman standin' near give a cry. "Oh," says she, "see that little dog lookin' out of the Avindow ! There, upstairs! " He was a little yellow, half-starved thing, an' he stood an' pawed at the glass as if he knew his only chance was to break it an' jump. " It's jest a stray dog," says a hostler. " Followed some- body up there, I s'pose, an' got the door shut on him. Poor duffer! " A girl about as big as jSTell commenced to cry. " Oh," she says, " can't somebody git 'im out? The fire hasn't caught in that room at all yet. See 'im look! He's thinkin' some of us could run up an' unfasten the door, only we won't. Please, mister, can't you — ? " An' I started. It might have been jest her say in' it, but it seemed to me that dog had the same thought in his mind as I'd had when I sit an' watched the people go by in their carriages. In gen'ral, I'm an every-day, common-sense man, an' hold a man's life, with a wife an' child dependin' onliim, too precious to be risked for the suke of a mongrel yellow dog. But jest for that minute it seemed the little critter had a soul, like folks; an' I took one long breath an' started in to save it. The smoke was so thick I couldn't see the stairs. I stumbled over 'em, an' then climbed up on my hands an' knees; an' when I got to the top I remember thinkin' I wouldn't ever live to git back. But it was a little clearer in the room where the dog was, an' as soon as I opened the door the little thing seemed to know what I come for, an' give a run rio-ht into my arms. I broke a winder with my fist an' got a taste of fresh air, an' then started back, a-gropin' my way down the stairs, blind an' dizzy an' gaspin', an' 'most AND RECITATIONS No. 21. 11 givin' up at the last, till I felt a breath not quite so thick with smoke, an' knew the door was close by. A few of the men raised a cheer as I come out, but the biggest part of the crowd didn't pay much attention ; an' when the lire died down they went away, an' left me sittin' on a pile of blankets that had been thrown out; for I'd breathed so much smoke it made me feel queer. After a while I heard someone speak, an' looked up. There was a fleshy, good-lookin' man standin' by me. "Well, 5 ' says he, "ye come mighty near gcttin' caught in that buildin', my man. Do ye save dogs for fun or from a sense of duty ? ' ' I told him that I wa'n't fond of seein' animals suffer, if I could prevent it. "Well, I'm not, either," says he, "but I didn't think I could prevent it. Ye look played out. Anything I can do for y e ? " An' then, of course, I asked him for work. I'd said the words so often they rolled off from my tongue like somethin' I'd learned by heart. But I knew from the start I wouldn't git anything from him, an' I had a queer feelin' as if I'd never say them again, either. " No," he said, " I don't believe we can take ye. One of our men was taken sick a day or two ago, but we've de- cided we can git along without hirin' till he's better. Ever worked in a grocery store? " I told him, "No; I was brought up on a farm. Late years I've worked in a shop." "Oh, yes, one of Colton's hands. There's been two or three around lately ; but ye see we should want a man who understood the business, an' I've made up my mind to git along without extry help for a time, anyway. I'm sorry I haven't anything for ye. It can't be very pleasant to be turned out of a job through no fault of yer own." He was nice enough, ye see ; an' folks will tell ye how much good a sympathetic word does. But I watched hiin walkin' away, an' felt as if I'd got to the end of my rope, — nothin' to fall back on now, but that life-insurance policy. It 12 WERNER'S READINGS give me a creepy feelin' at first, when my thoughts kep' strayin' around to that ; but after a little the idea was sort of pleasant to me. May be my wife would feel worse at first about her husban's dyin' than she would about bein' on the town books as a pauper ; but there wouldn't be anything to be ashamed of in the first kind of grief. An' when my little Nell grew up, her dad havin' made a misstep one night an' fell into the river wouldn't be nothin' for people to find out an' fling in her face. I sit there with my head in my hands, thinkin', till the clock struck six. I had it all decided then, an' I got up an' started for home. It wa'n't till I opened the door at the foot of our stairs that I felt somethin' snuffin' at my heels, an' saw the little dog I saved from the fire had followed me. I picked him up in my arms, an' opened the sittin'-room door with a rush. " Any news? " asks my wife, all in a tremble, comin' out to meet me. "News! I should think so ! " I yelled, flinging up my hat. "Why, Nell, yer dad's a hero! Saved a dog's life! Cheers an' applause ! Asked to call around to-morrow an' see about a job ! Good times ahead ! Hurrah ! ' ' It wa'n't very well done. I never had much practice in lies ; ye see, but Nell brightened up in a minute. She made me sit over on the sofy by her, an' tell her all about the fire, an' how the little doggy looked, an' what the man I was goin' to work for said ; an' I told her not to bother her little head with notions. The matter wa'n't decided yet, but the next day I'd tell her all about it. An' when I asked about supper, an' my wife said the butter was all out, an' she hadn't bought any meat that day, I commenced to laugh, an' kep' it up so long she got frightened an' thought I was losin' my mind. But somethin' I saw in her face quieted me. When — that — happened the next day, I couldn't have my wife always thinkin' I acted strange the last night, an' won- derin' if I did it on purpose. I pushed my chair back from the tabje. " Come now," I says, " let's all take a ride on the elec- AND RECITATIONS No. 21. 13 trie cars. We've been mopin' long enough; a little outin' will be good for us. Ye'd like to go, Nellie, wouldn't ye?" " Oh, yes," says she, as pleased as if I'd offered her a for- tune, "an' I'll take the dog. lie's so little I can hold him right in my lap, an' the carman won't see him. Can't I take the dog, papa ? ' ' I told her " Yes," an' we started. Two women got on the crossin' after we did, I remember, an' we all shoved along to make room. ' ' See how full the car is, ' ' says one, ' ' an' mostly workin' people. I was sure the reports of the sufferin' among them were exaggerated." She was holdin' a long, knit purse, an' the thought come into my mind to snatch it away from her an' run. For a minute I had to grip my hands together ; then I remembered the steppin' off the bridge would be surer, may be, an' there couldn't nobody call that a disgrace. An' all the while I was thinkin' it over I was talkin' with Nell, tell in' about the way I used to do on a farm: How I drove the cows, an' plowed, an' raked the hay. The air blew cool in her face, an' sent a pink flush there. On the way back my wife roused up a little, too, an' commenced to talk of the times when we went to school together, an' what everybody said an' did. An' I laughed an' joked as if I hadn't a care in the world. But when we got to the house I helped 'em off, an' then stepped back onto the car. " I'm a little nervous to-night," says I. " Guess I'll ride up here a ways, an' then walk back to quiet me. ' ' My wife looked queer. "Never mind, Jack," says she. " Something will hap- pen," an' I see it all hadn't deceived her any. As the cars started someone touched me on the shoulder. It was the man who had talked with me that afternoon. "Thought I'd seen ye before," says he, "but I couldn't think who it was till I noticed the dog. Found a place yet ? " I said: " No, an' don't expert to." "Say, I was thinkin', after ye'd gone, that I didn't know what was the use of us doin' all that extry work while the clerk was sick, as long as there was plenty anxious to take it 14 WERNER'S READINGS off our hands. Now ye'renew to the business, an', of course, I can't pay fancy prices. But if ye want to come an' try it for a while — probably till the shops open — it's only seven dollars a week, but — " I turned round, then, an' caught hold of his hand. I told him what he said had saved my life — an' then felt ashamed of myself for saying it. "Oh, ye'd found a place somewhere, " says he. "That yer little girl ye had with ye ? She don't look very strong. Ought to send her out into the country for a while." " "We'd been plannin' on it," I said, " but the hard times had stepped in to prevent. ' ' The cars come to the terminus then, an' we got off. "Well, good night," says he. "I suppose I'll see ye at six to-morrow — 527 Main, the place is." An' then he added, a little as if he was ashamed of it : "If yer girl wants country air, there's my brother's folks live down Sconset way — big farm, plenty of milk, lots of children. My Jennie's goin' down next week. One more won't make any difference. Ye'd better plan it so yer little girl can go along with her, an' they'll have all the better fun — Why, hang it all, what ails ye? Come, I say, don't do that; brace up an' be a man! " for when I tried to thank him there was a lump in my throat that choked me, an' I jest stood there, with the tears runnin' down my face. I've been thinkin' a good deal about it since; an' it sort of seems — though I ain't a preachin' man nor a perfersor of re- ligion — as if some trouble was jest sent to show what poor, niiser'ble failures of livin' we'd make if there wa'n't nobody to oversee us. There I was, gropin' away by myself for weeks, growin' more an' more desprit every day, an' plannin' to git out of the world ; an' all the time the Lord was seein' to ev'rything, even to our goin' to ride an' takin' jes that car. There's a story how our shops start up next month, an' the country's seen the worst of it. But what I started to say, an' what I believe, sir, is that there can't none of them writers nor editors nor folks that are fond of givin' advice tell how the workin' men feel over the hard times unless they've been through it themselves. AND RECITATIONS No. 21. 15 THAE AULD LAIRD'S SECRET. MES. FIND LEY BKADEN. HERE their portraits hang together — Glide Laird Mar an' Jean, his wife; Side by side, below thae heather, Were they laid at close o' life. . . Yet for lang years were they pairtit, She wa' drooned wi'in thae burn; Lie jurist lived on, broken-heartit, Till thae death-king's late return. 'Tis a tale o' jealous passion, Handid doon frae sire to son, Aften told i' awesonie fashion, Since that night's dark deed wa' done. Geld thae gude laird had i' plenty, Juist a shepherd's lass wa' Jean. When they wedded she wa' twenty, Bonnie as Charlotte, thae queen. An' love came wi' gracious blessings, Daily linking hearts an' ban's, Dearer gude Laird Mar's caressings Than his bra' boose, geld an' lan's. Frae thae Lowlands Jock, thae shepherd, Jean's am fayther, hameless, cam' — Spotted wi' sin like a leopard, Noo sair sickit, puir an' lam'. Aften she wud gang to meet him, I' the gloaming by thae burn, There wi' tender kiss wud greet him — His unworth she couldna spurn. Ance Laird Mar fair spied them standing, 36 WERNER'S READINGS She wi' breclit head on his breast; Love, hate, jealousy, a' banding, Brought his sair heart mooch onrest. When Jock left her, he oupbraided. ' ' Thou art false ! ' ' \va' his fierce cry, Anger a' his faith owershaded — " Thou art false, an' thou shalt die ! " A' i' vain puir Jean ontreated, Quick he flung her i' thae burn. " She maun- die ! " he aft repeated. " If she lived, I wud but spurn! " Then awa' he madly hurried, While the water hid her face ; By nae shame-thochts wa' he worried, He cud see but Jean's disgrace. A' too late he knew her faithful, An' he rued by her low grave. Aft she cam' back', white an' wraithful; Mony a fright the puir laird gave. Forty year an' mair he sorrowed, Aye, it wa' but death i' life, Wi' sma' pleasure to be borrowed, Alway thinkin o' his wife. Fu' weel wa' his secret hidden, But it f rcttid juist the same, An' by nane wa' ho e'er chidden, Keeping grip o' his gude name. At his death he left confession, How puir Jean died by his hand, An' the laird's kin took possession O' his bra' hoose, geld an' land. Juist two mounds among the heather Left to prove thae tale to-day. Here their portraits hang together ; Aberdeen haulds their puir clay ! AND RECITATIONS No. 21. 17 ANNIE O'BRIEN. MARY KYLE DALLAS. THE Connaught Castle had arrived in New York. The cabin passengers had gone ashore. The steerage people were being carried away by their friends or by the boarding- house keepers who always he in wait for them. Those yet uncalled for sat about the decks. Wistful eyes turned shore- ward, anxious to see a familiar face and form among all those strange ones. Pat Nolan had. come aboard in all his bravery — a new blue coat flung open, that it might not conceal tlie shining watch- chain dangling from his vest pocket, his hat tipped to one side, and his boots for once polished by an " Eyetalian. " Didn't he come aboard to bring his sweetheart home, and wasn't she the " purtiest " girl in ten counties, and hadn't she crossed the ocean for his sake? Pat felt as though everyone who saw him must know his business there. " Sure an' wouldn't she be as anxious to mate him as he would be to mate her?" But strange to say he could not see her. He was a little late, for there had been a delay of the train in which he came down. But surely Annie would never have gone ashore without him. He walked about for full ten minutes, look- ing everywhere, but still missing the face he wanted. At last he made up his mind that she had gone ashore; but in that case she had left word for him, of course — word where she had betaken herself. " I beg pardon, sir," he said, stepping up to a man who wore a gold band upon his cap, and was presumably an officer, " I'm Pat Nolan. Is there a bit of message left for me, do you know, sir?" " Not that I'm aware," the officer answered. " It was Annie O'Brien," said Pat. " She came over on this steamer; she expected me to mate her, and she'd lave word where she is gone — Annie O'Brien." 18 WERNER'S READINGS The officer turned a curious, startled gaze upon him. "Annie O'Brien," he repeated. "A steerage passenger ! " "In coorse, sir," said Pat. " She's coinin' over to marry me, an' she's a workin' girl. We're nayther of us rich." The officer looked at him again. "I know the name," ho said. "You couldn't help noticin' the girl," said Pat. "She's a purty crayther, is Annie, — a little jewel. You'd not fail to notice her." "Sit down a moment, Mr. Nolan," said the officer. "I will make some inquiries. Wait here for me." "A mighty polite gentleman, though he's as solemn as a funeral," said Pat, to himself. "I hope he'll not delay long. I'm wild to see Annie. Oh, the divil fly away wid the cars that kept me from her ! It was what she had a right to expect — the first one aboord." The officer was returning. He looked more serious than ever. "Mr. Nolan," he said, gravely, "the captain would like to speak to you. We have had a very stormy voyage, as winter voyages often are. ' ' " But you've come into port on as pleasant a day as there is in the calendar," Pat said, cheerfully. "A Christmas couldn't be brighter." " But we have had a very unpleasant voyage," said the officer, gravely. He opened the door of the captain's cabin. Pat entered with his hat in his hand. The captain, a grave, bronzed man, with iron-gray hair, sat at the table before an open book, on which his hand lay. " Sit down," he said. " Thank you, sir. It's as easy standin'," said Pat, with a bow. " You had better sit down," said the captain. "I may have to talk to you for some minutes. I have something very particular to say if you are the right man. Your name is — " "Pat Nolan," said Pat, beginning to feel astonished; but then, perhaps, it was the way of the captains of ocean steamers AND RECITATIONS No. 21. 19 to be slow and solemn, not thinking how they kept people from their sweethearts. Pat sat down, put his hat on the floor, and cracked all his knuckles, one after the other, as he waited. " Your name is Patrick, " said the captain again, "and you came on board to find a young woman — a friend of yours?" " My sweetheart promised to me. "We are to be married to-day, ' ' said Pat. ' ' The good Lord above and Father Dunn will help me; but I'll do the best I can to further it myself . " The captain looked down upon the pages of the book before him. "And the name of the young girl you are asking for?" he said. "Annie O'Brien," said Pat, beginning to think the cap- tain very stupid — "Annie O'Brien. She's the Widdy O'Brien's daughter — a dacent woman is the widdy, and well respected. They are neighbors there at home in the ould counthry." The captain ran his finger down a long column of names, and stopped at last and looked at Pat again. " We had a very unpleasant voyage," he said, slowly, "a very, very unpleasant voyage. ' ' "The other gentleman was tellin' that, sir," said Pat. " Bad weather must be a threat on the say," he added, in order to be polite. "An' wid all thim passengers to be watchin' an' carin' f er — worse than a stablef ul of bastes ! ' ' " Yes," said the captain, " we try to care for our passen- gers, but the steerage is a little crowded. They are often very sick." "Yes, sir. I was that sick myself I thought I be dyin'," said Pat. " Some are severely ill," said the captain. This time Pat made no answer, but stared at him with a hot flush rising to his face. "Sometimes they are so very ill that they die," the cap- tain went on. ' ' Delicate women, you know — little children and delicate women." 20 WERNER'S READINGS Pat still looked at him in silence. " AYhen I said that we had a very unpleasant voyage, I meant," said the captain, "that we had a serious illness — that we hid death on board. Two steerage passengers died. One was William O'Bourke, an old man coming over to live with his son." " God rest his soul!" said Pat, crossing his forehead. "The other who was very ill was a woman," said the captain, "a young woman, and very pretty. Mr. ISTolan we have to prepare for storms in this life — we have to brace up and bear them as well as we can. They are hard to bear. I am very sorry to say that I am afraid you are about to suffer a terrible shock. It is a painful task to tell you. The other passenger was a young woman, and her name, as we have written it here, was Annie O'Brien." All the color had gone out of Pat's face by this time. It was white, lips and all. lie dropped his arms on the table and hid his face on them, and great sobs shook his frame. The captain wiped the tears from his own eyes. "Talk does no good," he said. "Time only can comfort ? ou '" "It seems as if I could not believe it, captain," Pat cried, lifting his tear-swollen face. "Annie — my little Annie! Are you sure it was Annie?" "There was but one Annie O'Brien on our list," said the captain. " She gave her name just before she breathed her last. The only steerage passenger of the name of O'Brien died on the voyage of a fever. The doctor cared for her as well as he knew how. The women nursed her kindly. We buried her at sea, and the burial service was said by a Cath- olic clergyman who was on board. You might like to know that, so I tell you." ' ' My Annie — my Annie at the bottom of the say ! ' ' moaned poor Nolan. " And I'll niver see her again; niver kiss her red lips ; niver feel her two arms about me neck ! Ah, Annie, I won't live after you — I won't live after you! Life is too hard to bearwid that to think of. It's turned me AND RECITATIONS No. 21. 21 to a woman, sir, I'm tliinkin' — but we was goin' to be mar- ried to- day, sir." There was a knock at the door just then. Pat hid his tear-stained face again- "No admittance just now," cried the captain. " I didn't mane to come in, plase, sir," said a sweet voice, "but I'm waitin' this long time till me friend comes aboord to bring me home, and I'm gettin' anxious, fearin' something has happened him. What will I do, sir? He'd be askin' for Annie O'Brien, and he'd be Pat Nolan, that I'm promised to. "Would ye " But the captain had flung wide the door, and Pat was on his feet, and with a roar like that of a buffalo, had flung his arms about her. " Glory be to God and all the saints !" he cried. " You're not dead at all ! You're alive ! I've got you safe and sound ! God help the man that put the thrick on me, for I'll lave but the bones of him!" " Quiet, there!" shouted the captain. "Down with your fist, or I'll put you in irons ! What did yon mean by asking for Annie O'Brien, a steerage passenger, when you wanted Annie Bailey, a first-cabin passenger? That is the girl that stands there. That is the name she gave us — Annie Bailey. " "Captain dear," cried Annie, clutching her Pat by the coat-tails, " captain, darlin', Pat niver knew — he did not. Since writin' him, my mother married again wid Mr. Peter Bailey that kapes a foine tavern in our town. And he, havin' money to spare, said I should come like a lady, and paid me passage ; and out iv compliment to him — being my mother's husband and so generous to me — I sailed as Annie Bailey. That is the way it was, captain ; and indade all the throuble arose from it — for I wanted Pat to find me sated in the ile- gant saloon, and stayed there waitin' for him." "You'll excuse me, sir," said Pat, bowing low, "on account of what I've been through." "All right, my man," the captain answered; and then Pat threw his arm about his Annie and led her away, — the happiest fellow alive. 23 WERNER'S READINGS HE WANTED TO KNOW. S. W. FOSS. HE wanted to know how God made the worl' Out er nothin' at all ; Wy he didn't make it square, like a block or a brick, Stid er roun' like a ball ; How it managed to stay held up in the air, An' w'y" it didn't fall; All sich kin' er things, above an' below, He wanted to know. He wanted to know who Cain had for a wife, An' if the two fit; Who hit Billy Paterson over the head, If he ever got hit ; An' where Moses wuz w'en the candle went out, An' if others were lit. If he couldn't find these out, w'y his cake wuz all dough, An' he wanted to know. An' he wanted to know 'bout original sin, An' about Adam's fall; If the snake hopped aroun' on the end of his tail Before doomed to crawl ; An' w'at would hev happened if Adam hedn' et The ol' apple at all; These ere kin' er things seemed to fill him 'ith woe, An' he wanted to know. An' he wanted to know w'y some folks wuz good An' some folks wuz mean ; Wy some folks wuz meddlin', an' some folks wuz fat An' some folks wuz lean, An' some folks wuz very learned an' wise An' some folks dern green ; All these kin' er things they troubled him so That he wanted to know. An' so he fired conundrums aroun', AND RECITATIONS No. 21. 23 For ho wanted to know ; An' Lis nice crop er taters did rot in the groun', An' his cabbage wouldn't grow; For it took so much time to ask questions like these, He'd no time to hoe. lie wanted to know if these things were so; Course, he wanted to know. An' his cattle they died an' his horses grew sick, 'Cause they didn't hcv no hay; An' his creditors pressed, him to pay up his bills, But he'd no time to pay, For he had to go roun' askin' questions, you know, By night an' by day. He'd no time to work, for they troubled him so, An' he wanted to know. An' now in the poorhousc he travels aroun' In jest the same way, An' asks the same questions right over ag'in, By night an' by day ; But he hain't foun' no fellow can answer 'em yit, An' he's ol' an' he's gray ; But these same ol' conundrums they trouble him so That he still wants to know. AN ITALIAN'S VIEW ON THE LABOR QUESTION. JOE KERR. ONE man looka at da labor quest' one way, noder man looker noder way. I looka deesa way : Longa time ago I gitta born in Italia. Fret' quecck I gitta big 'nough to know mya dad. I find him one worka man. Him worka hard in da hotta sun — sweat lika da wetta rag to maka da 'nough mon' to gitta da grub. Mya moth' worka, too — worka lika da dog. Dey make alia da kids work — mea, too. Dat maka me tired. I see da king, da queen, and da richa peop' driva by in da swella style. It maka me sick. I 24 WERNER'S READINGS say : " Da world alia wrong. Da rich have too mucha mon', too muclia softa snap. Da poor have too mucha work, too much a dirt, too much tougha luck." Dat maka me one dago anarchista. I hear 'bout America, da freak countra, where da worka man eata da minca pie and da roaea beef. I taka da skip — taka da ship — sail ova da wat' — reacha Hewa York. Ya ! It reminda me of Naples — beautifula bay, blue sky, da plenta lazaroni and mucha dirta streets. I looka r-round for da easy job. It noa go. Da easy jobs alia gone. It mora work to gitta da work dan da work itself. I gitta down on da richa peop' more anda more alia da time. Geea whiz ! Dat f reea countra maka me sick ! Well, aft' while I strika da job — pounda da stone on da railroad. It near keela me, but I eata da ver' lit' grub, weara da olda clothes, and socka da mon' in my a sock eacha day. I learna da one thing : Da mon' maka da mare go. I catcha da spirit ofa da town : I maka what you calla da progress. I find da man what maka da mon' nev' do da harda work. I quit. I buya da buncha banan', putta da banan' ina da bask ona my arm, sella him ona da street. Ilnlla Gee ! I maka da twenty-fi' cent a day clear. Yer' soon I have da gr-rata lotta mon'. I buya one handa org' ; maka da moos, playa " Ta-ra-ra boom " alia over da countra; maka more mon' ; den I buy Jocka da monk'. Da monk' is likadabusinessaman — ver' smart. I maka him my cashier. Him passa da contribution box like da deacon in da church. Him maka da face, him dance. Da biz grow. Wo sella da org'— buy one street piano. I hira one 'sistant. Da 'sistant posha da j)iano, I grinda da crank, da monk' taka da mon'. We gitta da ver' wella off. I gitta mar-r-d. Buya me one home, sweet home. I investa ma mon' — buy da fruita stands on da sidewalk — hire da cheapa dago chumps to runna da stands. De labor quest 1 ver' simp'- — ver' plain. When I poor I AND RECITATIONS No. SI. 2fi say: " Shoota da monopola! Keela da r-r-richa man! ?' Alia da same like when you in Roma do lika da Roma peop'. .Now I one r-ricba man. I weara da fine clothes, pickamy teeth with da golda pick, weara da diamond stud, driva my team and snappa my fingers. It maka alia da dif ' in da worl' which sida da fence you stana on. A THANKFUL SOUL. FRANK L. STANTON. T TAKE life jest as I find it. J. If it's hot I never mind it; Hunt around fer shady trees An' jest whistle up a breeze ! If it's snowin', — why I gc Jest a-skiminin' 'crost the snow! (Ever try how good it feels In a wagon off the wheels?) Spring or winter, summer, fall, I'm jest thankful fer 'em all ! Folks say this world's full o' strife; That jest livens up my life ! "When the good Lord made it He Done the best fer you an' me, — Saw the sky had too much blue, An' rolled up a cloud or two. Give us light to sow an' reap, Then throwed in the dark fer sleep. Every single drop o' dew Twinkles on a rose fer you. Tell you ! this world's full o' light, - Sun by day an' stars by night ; Sometimes sorrow comes along, But it's all mixed up with song. 26 WERNER'S HEADINGS Folks that always make complaint They ain't healthy, — that they ain't! Some would jest live with the chills If it warn't fer doctors' bills! Always findin' fault with things,— Kill a bird because it sings. I take life jest as I find it, — Hot or cold, I never mind. it. If it's a sunshiny day That's my time fer makin' hay; If it's rainin', fills my wish, — Makes the lakes jest right fer fish. "When the snow falls white as foam, Then I track the rabbits home. Spring or winter, summer, fall, I'm jest thankful fer 'em all ! THROUGH THE FLOOD. IAN MACLAREN. "TS'T as bad as yir lookin', doctor? Tell's the truth; J_ wall Annie no come through?" Tammas Mitchell looked Dr. MacLure straight in the face, who never flinched his duty or said smooth things. ' ' A' wud gie onything tae say Annie hes a chance, but a' daurna; a' doot yer gaein' tae lose her, Tammas." ' ' A' wesna prepared for this, for a' thocht she wad live the langest. She's younger than me by ten years and never wes ill. "We've been mairit twal year laist Martinmas, but it's juist like a year the day. A' was never worthy o' her, the bonniest, snoddest,* kindliest lass in the Glen. A' never cud mak' oot hoo she ever lookit at me, 'at hesna aef word tae say aboot her till it's ower late. . . She didna cuist J up tae me that a' wasna worthy o' her, no her, but aye she * Neatest, t One. % Cast. AND RECITATIONS No. SI. 27 said : ' Yir ma ain guidman, and nae cud be lander tae me. ' An' a' wes minded tae be kind, but a' see noo mony little strokes a' mielit hae dune for her an' noo time is by. . . . An' we never had ae cross word, no ane in twal year. "We were mair nor man and wife, we were sweethearts a' the time. Oh, my bonnie lass, what' 11 the bairns an' me dae withoot ye, Annie?" " Ye needna plead wi' me, Tammas, tae dae the best a' can for yir wife. Man a' kent her lang afore ye hived her; a' brocht her intae the warld; a' closed her mither's een, and it was me nad tae tell her she wes an orphan. Did ye think a' widna save Annie if I cud? If there wes a man in Muirtown 'at cud dae mair for her, a'd have him this verra nicht, but a' the doctors in Perthshire are helpless for this tribble." " It's God's wull an' maun be borne, but it's a sair wull for me an' a'm no ungrateful tae you, doctor, for a' ye've dune an' what ye said the nicht." Tammas went back to sit with Annie for the last time. Jess, the doctor's horse, picked her way through the deep snow to the main road with a skill that came of long experi- ence and, according to his wont, the doctor held converse with the mare. ' ' Eh, Jess, yon wes the hardest wark a' hae tae face, to tell Tammas Mitchell his wife was deein'. A' said she cudna be cured, and it wes true, for there's juist ae man in the land fit for't and they micht as weal try tae get the mime oot o' heaven. But it's hard, Jess, that money wall buy life after a'. If Annie wes a duchess her man wudna lose her; but bein' only a puir cotter's wife, she maun dee afore the week's oot. Gin we had him the morn there's little doot she wud be saved. It's oot o' the question, Jess, but it wud be the grandest thing that wes ever dune in the Glen in oor time, if it could be managed by hook or crook." "Come in by, doctor; a' heard ye on the road. Ye 'ill hae been at Tammas Mitchell's. Hoos the gude wife?" " Drumsheugh, Annie's deein' an' Tammas is like tae brak his hert. ' ' 28 WERNER'S READINGS " That's no liclitsome, no lichtsome ava.* A' dinna ken ony man in Drumtochty sae bund up in Lis wife as Tammas, and there's no a bonnier wumman o' her age crosses oor kirk door than Annie. Man, ye'll need tae pit yir brains in steep. Js she clean beyond ye?" "Beyond me and every ither in the land but ane, and it wild cost a hundred guineas to bring him tae Drumtochty.' 5 " Certes, he's no blate.f It's a fell chairge for a short day's wark, but hundred or no hundred we'll hae him!" " Are ye meanin', Drumsheugh?" MacLure turned white below the tan. "Weelum MacLure, a'm a lonely man, in' naebody o' ma ain blude tae care for me livin' or tae lift me intae ma coffin when a'm deid. A' fecht awa at Muirtown market for an extra pund on a beast or shillin' on a quarter o' barley, an' what's the gude o't? Ilka man in the kildrummie train has some bit fairin' in his pooch for the fouk at hame that he's bocht in the siller he won. But there's naebody tae be lookin' oot for me, an' comin' doon the road tae meet me and damn' ^ wi' me aboot their fairin' or feelin' ma pockets. Oo, ay, a've seen it a' at ither hooses, though they tried tae hide it frae me for fear a' wud lauch at them. Me lauch, wi' ma cauld empty hame! "Weel, a' we can dae noo, "Weelum, gin we haena mickle brichtness in oor ain hames, is tae keep the licht frae gaein' oot in anither hoose. Write the telegram, man, and Sandy '11 send it aff frae Kildrummie this vera nicht and ye '11 hae yir man the morn." Next morning a figure received Sir George on the Kil- drummie platform, whom that famous surgeon took for a gillie, § but who introduced himself as "MacLure of Drum- tochty." The two stood together, — the one in traveling furs, handsome and distinguished, with his strong, cultured face and carriage of authority ; the other more marvelously dressed than ever, for Drumsheugh's top-coat had been forced upon him for the occasion ; his neck and face one redness with the bitter cold ; rough and ungainly, yet not without some signs * At all. + Indeed he is not bashful, not modest in his demands. X Joking. § Highland man-servant. AND RECITATIONS No. 21. 29 of power in his eye and voice. MacLure compassed the pre- cious arrival with observances till he was seated securely in Drumsheugh's Jog-cart, with two full-sized plaids added to his equipment and another wrapped round a leathern case with such reverence as might be given to the Queen's regalia. MacLure explained, when they were in the fir- woods, that it would be an eventful journey. Four times they left the road and took their way over fields, twice they forced a pas- sage through a slap in a dike, thrice they used gaps in the paling that MacLure had made on his downward journey. "The bridge has been shakin' wi' this winter's flood, and we daurna venture on it, sae we hev tae ford. It micht be safer tae lift the instruments oot o' reach o' the water. ~W"ud ye mind haudin' them on yir knee till we're ower, and keep firm in yir seat in case we come on a stane in the bed o' the river?" They had come to the edge, and it was not a cheering sight. The Tochty had spread out over the meadows, and while they waited they could see it cover another two inches on the trunk of a tree. There are summer floods, when the water is brown and flecked with foam, but this was a winter flood, which is black and sullen, and runs in the centre with a strong, fierce, silent current. Upon the opposite side Hill- ocks stood to give directions by word and hand, as the ford was on his land, and none knew the Tochty better in all its ways. They passed the shallow water without mishap, save when the wheel struck a hidden stone or fell suddenly into a rut ; but when they neared the body of the river MacLure halted, to give Jess a minute's breathing. " It'll tak ye a' yir time, lass, an' a' wud raither be on yir back; but ye never failed me yet, and a wumman's life is hangin' on the crossin'." With the first plunge into the bed of the stream the water rose to the axles, and then it crept up to the shafts, so that the surgeon could feel it lapping in about his feet, while the dog-cart began to quiver, and it seemed as if it were to be carried away. 30 WERNER'S READINGS Sir George was as brave as most men, but lie had never forded a Highland river in flood, and the mass of black water racing past beneath, before, behind him, affected his imagina- tion and shook his nerves. He rose from his seat and ordered MacLure to turn back, declaring that he would be condemned utterly and eternally if he allowed himself to be drowned for any person. "Sitdoon!" thundered McLure. "Condemned ye will be, suner or later, gin ye shirk yir duty, but through the water ye gang the day ! ' ' Jess trailed her feet along the ground with cunning art, and held her shoulder against the stream ; MacLure leaned forward in his seat, a rein in each hand, and his eyes fixed on Hillocks, who was now standing up to the waist in water, shouting directions and cheering on horse and driver. " Hand tae the richt, doctor; there's a hole yonder. Keep oot o't for ony sake. That's it; yir daein' fine. Steady, man, steady. Yir at the deepest ; sit heavy in yir seats. Up the channel noo, and ye'ill be oot o' the swirl. "Weel dune, Jess ! weel dune, auld mare ! Mak straicht for me, doctor, an' a'll gie ye the road oot. Ma word ye've dune yir best, baith o' ye, this mornin' ; ' ' cried Hillocks, splashing up to the dog-cart, now in the shallows. " Sail, it wes titch an' go for a meenut in the middle; a hielan' ford is a kittle * road in the snaw time, but ye're safe noo. " Two hours later MacLure came out of Annie's room, laid hold of Tammas, carried him off to the barn, spread some corn on the threshing floor and thrust a flail into his hands. "Noo we've tae begin, an' we'ill no be dune for a 'oor an' ye've to lay on without stoppin' till a' come for ye an' a'll shat the door tae baud in the noise. Keep yir dog beside ye, for there maunna be a cheep about the hoose for Annie's sake." "A'll dae onything ye want me, but if — if — " " A'll come for ye, Tammas, gin there be danger. But what are ye feared for, wi' the Queen's ain surgeon here?" * Hazardous. AND RECITATIONS No. SI. 31 Fifty minutes did the flail rise and fall, save twice when Tammas crept to the door and listened, the dog lifting his head and whining. Then the door swung back and MacLure filled the way, preceded by a burst of light, and his face was as tidings of great joy. "A' never saw the marrow* o't, Tammas. It's a' ower, man, without a hitch, an' she's fa' in' asleep as fine as ye like. " " Dis he think Annie'll live?" " Of coorse, he dis, and be aboot the hoose inside a month — Preserve ye, man ! What's wrang wi' ye? It's a mercy a' keppit ye, or we wud hev anither job for Sir George. . . Ye're a' richt noo. Sit doon on the strae. Ye can see Annie juist for a meenut, but ye manna say a word." Tammas said nothing then or afterward, but Annie whis- pered : " Ma' ain dear man." When the doctor placed the precious bag of instruments beside Sir George in the train next morning, he laid a check beside it. " No, no. I know the whole story about you and your friend. You have some right to call me a coward, but I'll never let you count me mean and miserly, ' ' and the check fell in fifty pieces on the floor. As the train began to move, a voice called out from the carriage, so that all the station heard : "Give me another shake of your hand, MacLure. I am proud to have met you. You're an honor to your profession. Mind the antiseptic dressings ! ' ' ALONG THE LINE. IRWIN RUSSELL. WHAT say? A song or a story? Draw up a box 'r a chair, All them that is wantin' to listen, — but, boys, I'm a-teliin' you fair ! * Mate. 32 WERNERS READINGS You didn't know Jim — of course not — I'm tellin' you now of him, A fearful chap on his muscle, a wild old boy was Jim ; But, boys, now don't you forgit it — he was as good and square As any man that his country held — and plenty of men was there. Jim was a lightnin'-jerker — of course you know what I mean; He sat at his little table, and rattled the Morse machine. And didn't it rattle? I bet you! He'd studied it down so fine, There wasn't a one that could "send " with him, not all along the line. One time Jim sat in his office, a-singin' and gazin' out, When in come a feller was lookin' skeered, and 'nuff to be skeered about ! He told his news in a minnut and, man as he was, got cryin', And " Yaller fever is broken out! " went clickin' along the line. I think that line was connected with every soul in the land, From what was sent to us Howards — I'm one, d' you under- stand ? Of all the parts of the Union, no tellin' which helped us most; And we was a-workin' — we was, sir, and Jim he kep' to his post. All day long he was sittin' pushin' away at the key, Or takin' off from his sounder, just as the case might be ; And most of the night a-nursin', and what was breakin' his heart, Was knowin' his only sister and him was seventy miles apart. The air got full of the fever ; grass growed up in the street. ^Travel the town all over, and never a man you'd meet, AND RECITATIONS No. SI. 32 'Copt may be some feller a-nursin', who'd say, as he passed you by : " I'm tryin' to find the doctor,' 1 or, " Billy is bound to die." When folks went under, they might be the very best in the land. We throwed 'em into a white pine box, and dumped 'em out, offhand, To wait their turn to be planted — without a word or a prayer. There wa'n't no chance and there wa'n't no time fer pray in' er preachin' there. Well, Jim he minded his duty, and stuck to the work — oh! yes ; But, boys, one Saturday night, when he was busy sendin' the press, Then come a break, and his office call, and, soon as he'd time to sign, " Your sister's took the fever and died " come flash in' along the line. Throw up the window and let in air ! How can I breathe or speak With — Jim? Oh, certainly, news like that was bound to make him weak. But Jim sot straight at the table — he wasn't the man to shirk ! And calm and cooler than I am now, he finished the com- pany's work. But then he dropped — and in four days more all that was left of him Was the wasted body that once had held the noblest soul — poor Jim ! Oh ! bo) 7 s, that brother anil sister was Tjrother and sister night. Hang your coat up by the door, then come to the lire — that's right — Things is kinder untidy — haven't much furniture yet; But the shack is shelter, at least, from the wind, and snow, and wet ! Yes, times is hard, an' I rec'on there won't be much to show For our last year's work on the farm, with the price of wheat so low. An' the wife's bin sick a long time — had the lay-grip real bad. Got kinder all tuckered out — bin workin' too hard she had. I've jist bin fetchin' the doctor — that's him now gone up- stairs. He didn't ask for cash right now, or inquire about my af- fairs. Ef he had, the Lord knows what I'd 'a' done- -we haven't any, you see. There's no one here to do the work but Sue an' baby an' me. Hadn't no money to hire a girl. She tried to manage alone. Terr'ble hard on her, it was — she's just wasted to skin an' bone. She'd a good home in Ontairy — never had to work so hard; Not to work, as she's done out here, in house an' stable an' yard. It's rough on a man, this climate, when poorly clothed an' fed, AND RECITATIONS No. 21. 55 An' housed in a shack so cold that the breath smokes round your head. Gosh! an' I couldn't help it. I would have to go to town With a load of wood er hay for Smith er Jones er Brown. Tryin' to earn a dollar er two, to keep the wolf from the door An' buy the things we needed, cos we couldn't git tick at the store. An' while I was away she'd have to look after the stock, Chop out the water-hole at the crick when 'twas frozen up like a rock. Drive the cattle to water — an' she only a little thing — Hardly up to my shoulder, yet she would laugh an' sing An' try to make light of her labor, because it worried me ! But it told on me, all the same, an' now she's down, you see. I'm terr'ble anxious to hear what the doctor'll have to say. 'Course, it's only a cold — she'll be up in another day. But it's so queer not to see her round — nervous-like, I feel. Ef times jis wasn't so hard, I'd make some kind of a deal .An' git her East to her folks — jis wouldn't that be a surprise ! But I'm helpless with these mortgages — chattel and otherwise. Well, doctor, how does she seem? Guess I was wrong in my head To be so scared this mornin', doctor. My God, she's dead!" MISS MALONEY GOES TO THE DENTIST. SURE, an' did I tell yez how I wint to the dintist yister- day? Be aisy now, will yez, an' wait a bit, an' I'll tell yez all about it. Says I : "Och, docthur, docthur dear, it's me tooth that, aches intirely, sure it is, an' I've a mind to have it drawn out, av yez plaze, sur. ' ' " Does it hurt ye?" says lie till me. "Och, mnrther, can ye ax me that, now, an' me all the way down here to see ye about it?" says I. " Sure I haven't slept day or night these three days. Bedad, haven't I tried all the manes to quiet the jumpin' divil? Sure didn't they 56 WERNER'S READINGS tell me to put raw whiskey intil me mouth ; but would it stay there, jist tell me now? JSTo, the divil a bit could I kape it up in my mouth, though it's far from the likes o' me to ba dhrinkin' the whiskey widout extrame provocation, or by ac- cidint." So thin the docthur took his iron instrumints in a hurry, wid as little consarnment o' mind as Barney would swape the knives an' forks from the table. "Be aisy, docthur," says I, " there's time enough ; sure ye'll not be in such a hurry," says I, "whin your time comes, I'm thinkin'." " Och, well," says the docthur, "an' av yez not ready now, Miss Maloney, yez may come on the morrow. " " Indade, docthur, I'll not sthir from this sate wid this ould dead tooth alive in me jaw," says I"; " so yez may jist prepare, but yez nade not come slashin' at a j^oor Christian body as av yez would wring her neck off first, an' dhraw her tooth at yez convaynience, mebbe a quarther of an hour or so aftherward. Now clap on yer pinchers — bad luck to thim — but mind yez git hould av the right one — sure, yez may aisily see it by the achin' an' jumpin'," says I. " Och," says he, " I'll git hould av the right one," an' wid that he jabs a small razor-lookin' weapon intil me mouth, an' cuts up me gooms as av it was nothin' but cowld mate for hash for breakfast. Says I : " Docthur, thunder an' turf ! " for me mouth was full av blood, "f what in the divil are yez afther? D'yez want to make an anatomy av a livin' craythur, ye grave- robber, ye?" says I. " Sit sthill," says he, jammin' somethin' like a corkscrew intil me jowl, an' twistin' the very soul out av me. Sure I sat still, bekase the murtherin' thafe held me down with his knee an' the grip av his iron in me lug. If yez'll belave me, the worrest av all was whin he gave me an awful wring, hard enough to wring a wet blanket as dry as gun- powdher. Arrah ! didn't I think the Judgmint Day had come till me? Holy fathers ! may I niver bratho another breath if I didn't sec the red fire in the pit! Sure I felt me AND RECITATIONS No. 21. 6? head fly off me shoulders, an', lookin' up, saw somethin* mon- sthrous bloody in the docthur's wrenchin' iron. " Is that me head yez have got thare? " says I. " No, it's only your tooth," says he. " Yez lie," says I. "God bliss yes," says he. " Mebbe it is me tooth," says I, as me eyes began to open, an' by puttin' me hand up, troth I found the outside av me face on, tho' I felt as if all the inside had been hauled out, barrin' the jumpin' pain in the tooth, which had grown to fill the gap. Och ! miy the divil take the tooth, an' the bad luck, too, if I iver think av it any more. Sure I've had enough of its company, bad cess to the little divil ! THE DEMON LOVER. [To be given with weird musical accompaniment.] S~\ WHERE have ye been, my long, long love, V_^/ This long seven years and mair ? " " O I'm come to seek my former vows, Ye granted me before." " O hold your tongue of your former vows, For they will breed sad strife ; O hold your tongue of your former vows, For I am become a wife. ' ' He turned him right and round about, And the tear blinded his e'e. tt t vrrr,^ pf.^^" b^tccd^qn on Irish ground, If it had not been for thee. " I might have had a king's daughter, Far, far beyond the sea; 58 WERNERS READINGS I might have had a king's daughter, Had it not been for love o' thee." " If ye might have had a king's daughter, Yersell ye had to blame; Ye might have taken the king's daughter, For ye kend that I was nane. ' ' " O faulse are the vows o' womankind, But fair is their faulse bodie; I ne'er would hae trodden on Irish ground* Had it not been for love o' thee." * J If I was to leave my husband dear, And my two babes also, O what have ye to take me to, If with ye I should go ? " " I have seven ships upon the sea, The eighth brought me to land; With four-and-twenty bold mariners, And music on every hand." She has taken up her two little babes, Kissed them baith cheek and chin. " O fare ye weel, my ain two babes, For I'll never see ye again." She set her foot upon the ship, No mariners could she behold; But the sails were o' the taffetie, And the masts o' the beaten gold. She had not sailed a league, a league, A league but barely three, « , When dismal grew hisc '^^'^^"? " " — Deiavb jui,, ., a r & „,, oi'^^iitenanco, Ana urulU ; o grew his e'e. The masts, that were like the beaten gold, Bent not on the heaving seas; AND RECITATIONS No. 21, 59 And the sails, that were o* the taffetie, Filled not in the eastland breeze. They had not sailed a. league, a league, A league but barely three, Until she espiec his cloven foot, And she wept right bitterlie. " O hold your tongue of your weeping," says he, " Of your weeping now let me be; I will show you how the lilies grow On the banks of Italy." "O what hills are yon, yon pleasant hills, That the sun shines sweetly on ? " '* O yon are the hills of heaven," he said, " Where you will never win." "O whaten a mountain is yon," she said, " All so dreary wi' frost and snow ? " " O yon is the mountain of hell," he cried, "Where you and I will go." And aye when she turned her round about, Aye taller he seemed to be ; Until that the tops o the gallant ship Nae taller were than he. The clouds grew dark, and the wind grew loud, And the levin filled her e'e; And waesome wailed the snow-white sprites, Upon the gurlie sec. He struck the topmast wi' his hand, The foremost wi' his knee ; And he brake that gallant ship in twain, And sank her in the sea. 60 WERNER'S READINGS A STORY OF THE YORKSHIRE COAST. " T3EAUTIFUL!" mebby it be, bairn. J.3 Folks moastly praise t' sea ; But I'se lived nigh hand it ower lang, It's maan like a grave to me. Feyther, — well, he was drouned, honey, I' t' year as I wer wed. We put him a stean, for respect, you know. In t' Churchgarth up on t' head. Muther, — she deed at oor awn fireside, As wer nobbut reet an' due ; I addles ma bit an' sup frev t' sea, Winter an' summer through. Ma Mairster sailed for ITartlypool, When t' mackerel were agate ; I'd ha like to lig by ma poor auld man, He was a trusty mate. But never a priest might bless his grave; He rowls i' t' great salt sea ; T' rudder yoake an' a cassen net, Wer all that cam back to me. I'd browt him first five stolart sons; Honey, when I lies dead, But yan'll hearken t' bidding bell, An' stan' at t' coffin head. Oor first-born sailed for t' Whalery ; I know'd I'd na call ta pine, We all are like to do oor wark, An' it's better sune or syne. But many a winter's neet I cried, For oor lad sa far awa^ AND RECITATIONS No. 21. 61 As t' tide cam thunnering ower t' reef, An' its roar roase up t' bay. At last they sighted t' Amazon, I seed her flag afar ; They shouted on t' Pier, an' tossed their caps, As she cam ower t' harbor bar. She'd browt a wealth o' oil an' banes, As t' owner wer fain to see ; She'd browt back many a muther's son, But niver ma boy to me. She'd none browt hame oor bonny lad, He wer left i' t' Greenland waves. Honey, dost think they'll rise as wick As them i' t' Churchgarth graves? Oor Harry wer lost yan stormy neet, Off t' coast o' Elsinore; I ofens thinks I hears his laugh, "When t' gales t' loodest roar. For he'd call it " beautiful" an' all, Yon sea sa cruel an' strong, Ma wark wer set to hinder him Frev t' water all day long. An' t' others? Well, I'll tell the', bairn, 'Twer an aternoon i' March, An' all. frev t' Nab to Kettleness, Wer foaming white as t' starch. T' sky wer coarse, an' t' swell wer fierce, An' t' wind blew waur an' waur, When a cry roase up frev t' crowded staithes, That a brig were fast on t' scaur. They hauled t' lifeboat doun t' road, They'd naan to seek her crew, 62 WERNERS READINGS T" Yorkshire lads are niver slack, Wi' parlous wark to do. Oor boys wer there ; oor George laughed out, As t' spray dashed iv his face ; An' Charlie shooted out my name, As he saw me in ma place. His sweetheart stood agin me there, She wer a gradely lass, Ther wer none sa stern in all t' toun, But smiled to see her pass. But she went dateless, t' poor fond thing, Or ever t' morning gray Hose ower t' sorrowful toun it left, That black an' bitter day. Thrice went the boat thruf wind an' .wave, An' thrice she wonned her home, Till every saul in two brave barks Were snatched from t' kingdom come. Folk thronged aroond to treat t' lads As wer spent wi' toil an' drouth, "When thruf t' scud an' mist they seed a ship, Drive right past t' harbor's mouth. There wer plenty there, sea-faring men, An' naither weak nor nesh, An' keen to tak a part at last, An' man the boat afresh. But t' crew wer wilful an' ower wrowt, They lept f rev t' edge o' t' pier, An' pushed her off mid t' breakers there, "With naither wit nor fear. Up yonder i' t' hoos iv Hagalythe, I'd wakkened a cheery low, AND RECITATIONS No. 21. I knowed ma boys 'u'd need a drop, For t 1 wind wer thick wi' snow. An' time had quietened half ma fear, I reckoned as t' warst wer done, When I heerd a sudden fearful skrike, An' t' great crowd heaved an' run. I seed t' men dash amang t' surf, An' t' women faant an' flee, I seed 'em rive t' capstan planks An' lling 'em out t' iv t' sea. She'd caught i' t' back sweep, close t'u t' bar, I'll hardlings tell the' more, There were twelve brave lads as started her, They drew but yan t'u t' shore. "Whisht, bairn, there's trouble ower deep for words; Lang sin I cried my fill. I went next day, when t' wind wer lound, Where t' waves had wrowt their will. I fund 'em lying side by side ; I seed ; em at ma feet. Their eyes wer aupen, an' fixed abuv, Their smile wer grave an' sweet. I seed 'em, oor two bonny lads, I'd noorsed 'em at my breast; 111 framed these withered hands o' mine To streak 'em for their rest. They said oor cry went thruf t' land, To t' queen upon her throan ; Brass cam eneaf to dry sum tears, Ere t' graves were owergrown. It didna mickle gude to me, I know'd ma sorrow mesel; 64 WERNER'S READINGS t'se none sa fond o' seeking folk Of ma lonesome hearth to tell. Oor John will mebby cloase ma eyes, A reet good son is he ; But, bairn, if t' sea l>e " beautiful," Doan't threep on it to me. CABIN PHILOSOPHY. f ES' turn de back log ober, an' draw yer stool up nigher, J An' watch dat possum cookin' in de skillet by de fire, An' let me spread my foots out jes' to make my feelin's flow, An' I'll grine ye out a fac' or two ter take afore ye go. Now in desc busy workin' days, dey's changed, de Scriptu' fashions, An' ye needn't look ter meracles ter furnish ye wid rashuns. Now when ye's wantin' loaves o' bread, ye got ter go an' fetch urn An' cf ye's wantin' fishes, ye mus' dig yer wums an' ketch um. Dar's a heap o' dreadful music in de berry fines' fiddle; A ripe an' mellow apple may be rotten in de middle, De wisest lookin' trabbler may be de biggest fool; Dar's a lot o' solid, kickin' in de 'umblest kind, o' mule. De people pays dar biggest bills a-buyin' lots an' lands; Dcy scatters all dar piccanunes around de peanut stan's. De twentys an' de fii'tys goes ter payin' off: de rints, But hebbin an' de organ-grinder gits de copper cints. I nebber likes dat colored man who t'inks so much o' eatin', "What frolics frew his workin.' days an' snoozes at de meetin'. Dem millingtery nigger chaps wid dar muskets in dar hands, A-paradin' frew de cities ter de music o' de bands, . Had better drap dem muskets an' go marchin' wid dar hoes An' make a hones' libin as de cut de cotton rows, Or de State gsvine ter put um a-drillin' in de ditches AND RECITATIONS No. SI. 65 Wid in ore' n ar single stripe a-runnin' ' 'cross dar breeches. Now, ye fink doin' nuffin' 'tall is orful sof an' nice, But it busted up do rinters o' de lubly paradise. Now, ye see, d.y was bofe human bein's jes' like me an' you An' dey couldn't regulate darselbes wid not a t'ing ter do. Wid plenty o' work before um an' a cotton crop ter make Dey'd nebber touglit o' loaf in' roun' an' cbattin' wid dat snake. THE SOD HOUSE IN HEAVEN. HAKEY E. MILLS. WELL, yes, it's sometimes pretty lonesome here, Particularly 'bout this time o* year, When harve^tin' is done, An' hayin' hez begun, An' early corn is hard'nin' in the ear. It's twenty year since me an' Liza came An' settled down here on this timber claim. The land was wild an' new, An' neighbors mighty few, An* all around here there was lots o* game. O' course, we made a pretty modest star*,, Fer wealth an' us was mighty fur apart, But still we didn't mind Ef we was some behind The latest styles, fer we was rich at heart. There's allers lots o' work when you begin To make a farm where grass hez allers been. But everything looked bright With sort o' rainbow light, So I pulled off my coat an' waded in. One day a chap, that couldn't spell ner add, Come round to see what sort o' board we had. 66 WERNER'S READINGS We see he'd come to stay, An' wouldn't go away, Fer Liza was his ma an' me his dad. I never see so pert a chap ez him, An' full o' mischief clean up to the brim ; An' allers in fer fun, 'For' he could walk er run ; An' so we called him "Little Frisky Jim." An' when his mother made him his first pants, You ought to seen that little feller prance. I half believed the child Was really goin' wild The way he'd run around an' jump an' dance. One day the wind got on a sort o' swirl, An' fetched around to us a baby girl. She had a pretty smile Stayed with her all the while ; An' so we called her u Little Laughing Pearl." An' them two little ones, so pure an' bright, They filled this old sod house 2}lum full o' light I made 'em lots o' toys An' helped 'em with their noise, An' used to like to watch 'em sleep at night. An' that's the way things went about five year.. "We had a little branch o' heaven here ; It wa'n't no gold-paved floor Ner pearly gate fer door That made it so ; but it was love an' cheer. I somehow kind o' thought 'twould allers be The same sunshiny place fer them an' me ; Till, sudden like one day, Jim run away to play Up yonder, jest beyond where we could see. AND RECITATIONS No. SL 67 Poor little Pearl ! she waVt yit quite four, An' still she grieved f er Jim ez much er more Than Liza did, er me; An' it was hard to see Her, lonesome-like, a-playin' round the door. An' by an' by, one still an' starry night, Her little face seemed more than common bright ; An' ez she ^uiet lay, " Oh, Jim," we heard her say, An' then she went forever from our sight. An' there was Liza now an' me, heartsore, Jest left again the way we was before The little ones lied come To share our sod house home, Exceptin' that we loved each other more. It seemed to me thet Lisa was my share Ef part o' them I loved I lied to spare; But jest fer Pearl an' Jim God called her up to him, An' may be she was needed over there. But after she was gone I couldn't see Ez it was much odds how things went with me ; An' so, year after year, I've jest been stayin' here, Half way betwixt what's been an' what's to be. An' ever since the first o' this sick spell, I've half been hopin' that I'd not git well. I don't keel* much to stay, With them all gone away ; The place is lonesomer than I can tell. Yes, thank you, Ike ; I b'l'eve I'd like a drink. I ain't no worse, jest kind o' weak, I think. How bright 'tis everywhere ! What soft, warm, dreamy air, An' great big flowers, red an' white an' pink. 88 WERNERS READINGS Jest listen, Ike, I hear 'em sing somewhere! An' there's a shinin' river over there, An' near the glistenin' sands A great big city stands, An' there's a ilock o' angels in the air. Outside the place a piece, yit middlin' nigh, I see a little sod house 'bout ez high Ez this, but lots more trim, — There's Liza, Pearl, an' Jim, A-beck'nin' me to come. Dear Ike, good-bye. WHAT DOOLEY SAYS. FINDLAY PETER DUNNE. WHEEE was I durin' th' las' war? Where was I durin 5 th' las' war? I was here, right here. When th' shot was fly in' thickest, an' th' smoke iv battle hung acrost th' sky, I was at me post iv jooty d'alin' out encourage- ment at two f'r a quarter to th' pathriotic people that stayed at home with me. 'Tis be no manes th' lightest part iv war f'r to stay at home, an' if it hadn't been that me whole fam'ly was down at th' front steaiin' hens an' bein' potted be bushwhackers, an' they was no wan but meself to maintain th' honor iv th' name iv Dooley at th' prim'ries, I'd ' ve shouldered a musket, put a little foolish hat on me head, an' gone off f'r to slay th' inimies iv me counthry, an' lay th' foundations iv lung-troubles an' a pinsion. That is, I w'u'd as I look back at it now. 'Tis th' wars iv th' past that we ar-re bravest in, an' annyhow I was a bit iv a copperhead. I heerd so much iv Stephen A. Douglas in th' Market Hall that I c'u'd argy with ye on th' constitutional r-rights iv th' South till ye'd be sick an' tired iv hearm' me. I was foolish thin, an' I didn't know that no wan has a con- stitutional r-rightf'r to go off an' make a nuisance iv himsilf. I was a copperhead, if ye plaze, but I got over it, thank Gawd^ AND RECITATIONS NO. St. 69 an' became a military strateejan. I c'u'd lay out a battle with a piece iv chalk on th' back iv a dure that'd make Napoleon Boneypart, the gr-reat impror iv th' Frinch, look like th' prisidint iv a peace society. An' so I spirit thini dark days, which was no darker thin anny others, but full iv good times, with bands playin' an' people goin' to th' theay ter an' young men gettin' marrid an' arnin' five a day at th' blacksmith business — I spint thim dark days makin' war with a chunk iv chalk an' havin' rayqueem masses said f r the repose iv th' souls iv me cousins an' uncles who were down South with Mulligan, havin' th' time iv their lives. Th' copperheads durin' th' war were not bad people. Bein' a copperhead was a matther iv principle to thim. A man that's wrong on principle I can stand. Iv coorse, th' best thing to do with him is to kill him, but ye can't help ray- spictin' him aven whin ye're battin' him over th' head. But a copperhead that's a copperhead just because he's a poor, sick soul an' because they'se as much as wan twinty-five in it f'r him, an' because if he stands f'r his counthry some wan is li'ble to get his business away fr'm him, th' on'y thing to do with that kind iv a copperhead is to have yer sister go over an' pull his hair. It won't do to shoot th' poor thing. He'd close up on a bullet wound. Lave him to th' women. They'll take care iv him. A man may fight f'r fun, an' that's th' best way iv fightin', an' he may fight f'r money, an' that's th' nex' best way. But th' man who r-runs away f'r money is a fool as well as a cow'rd, f'r he niver gets th' money. 'Tis like "Willum J. O'Brien an' th' Pollacky he got to sellout Casey, whin Casey, poor man, thought to go to the council. "What d'ye want?" says "Willum J. O'Brien. " I want th' money f'r dumpin' Casey," saysth' Pollacky. "Me frin," said Willum J. O'Brien, "if ye'd dumped Casey just because ye was a mane divvle an' had threachery in yer heart,'' he says, " I'd rayspict ye/' ho says. "I mightn't like ye,'' he says, " but I'd give ye a piece iv money f'r to keep r-right with ye,'' he says. "But," he says, "no wan is nndher obligations f'r to hand anny har-rd- 70 WERNER'S READINGS earned coin to a fool that throws a frind f'r th' price an' hasn't sinse enough to get th' price in advance,'' he says. "Casey," says Willum J. O'Brien, in aloud tone, "here's th' man that thrun ye," he says. "He's come f'r his money," he says. "I give him to ye an' ye can keep th' change,'' he says. An' whin Casey got through with th' Pollacky th' on'y thing he needed money f'r was to pay his fun'ral expinses. JIM LORD'S CAT. EDWAKD BYRON NICHOLSON". I "WERE wunst a sailor, yer honor knows, Though it's now ten year as I left the sea; An' the last o' my ships were the Annabel Lee, West Indian packet. The steward aboard Is now the keeper of Eddingley Park — Jim Lord. He were fond o' animals, sir, were Jim ; He al'ays took out with him five or six, An' he used to 1'arn 'em the rummiest tricks, All sorts seemed to come alike to him ; But o' none o' his pets were he quite that fond That he were of a cat as he'd saved from a pond As were trying to swim with a stone round her neck. Well, yer honor, this cat an' I didn't agree. She used to trot up an' down the deck, An' 'u'd get in the way o' the crew, ye see. An' at last one day I were shiftin' some kegs, An' she comes an' pushes 'tween my legs, An' trips me up, an' I tumbles flat; An' I ups in a wax an' says " Bother that cat " (Savin' yer honor's presence) an' then I says, " Ye don't never do that again," An' I takes an' pitches her into the sea. An' my shipmates stan's a-splittin' at me, AND RECITATIONS No. 21. 71 An' roars out : " Cat overboard ! Jim Lord, Someun's been chuckin' jer cat overboard." Jim run'd to the taffrel an' seed it were true, For there were the crittur a-swimmin' in view ; Then lie run'd to the cap'n, an' "Cap'n," says he, " Some brute's been an' throwed the cat in the sea; Ye can spy her a-swimmin', cap'n, from here — Will ye stop the ship, sir, an' lower a boat?" lt Jim Lord," says the cap'n, "I've been afloat From boy to cap'n, nigh forty year, An' of all the fools as ever I see In that long spell, the biggest ye be; To think any cap'n 'u'd be such a flat As stop a liner to pick up a cat !" "What d'ye think Jim does? " Cap'n," says he, " Then you're bound to stop one to pick up me;" An' over the taffrel goes Jim Lord, An' the cry this time were " Man overboard !" Well, the cap'n goed perfectly white with rage, But, o' course, lie were bound to lower a boat, An' in less than five minutes we had her afloat, Though, I felt every minute were like an age, An' (I hopes I'm not tirin' yer honor?) — well, Jim Picks up the cat, an' we picks up him. 'Twould have done yer heart good, sir, to have heered The way as the crew an' the passengers cheered, But the cap'n were savage with Jim, an' swore He'd have him in irons a week or more ! So we writes a round-robin, an' gets the first mate To ax Jim off in the name o' the crew ; An' the passengers writes a round-robin, too, An' sen's it in by Sir Richard Thwayte. An' the mate an' Sir Richard they argueys the case, An' at last the cap'n he strokes his face An' says : " If I lets Jim off, it's jest As a pussonal favor to you an' the rest ; 72 WERNER'S READINGS But I gives ye my Alfred David," says he, " As lie don't never sail no more with me; So, gentlemen, now, ye've got my reply." "Well, Sir Richard he goes to Jim by an' by, An' says: " Muster Lord, the cap'n has swore As ye shan't never sail with him no more. I respects yer kindness, likewise yer pluck, An' I don't likeseein' 'em bring ye ill-luck; So, if ye be tired o' livin' at sea, An' 'u'd care to pass the rest o' yer days Where the animals is, an' l'arn 'em yer ways, Why, my old park-keeper's jest dead," says he, "An' the place is yourn if ye'll say the word." An' that, yer honor, were how Jim Lord Came to be keeper of Eddingley Park. Well, yer honor, that evenin', afore it were dark, I goes to Jim, an' I says to him : " Jim, It were all my fault as ye had that swim, An' now I axes yer parding," says I, 4 'An' I hopes to get it." Says he: " Tom Bligh, It's an easy thing for ye to get that ! What ye wants is the parding o' this here cat." He picks her up, an' he says to her : ' ' Kitty, This is the man tried to drown ye, my pretty ; He don't know yer lingo, Kitty," says lie, " So ye says to him what ye says through me. Ye tells him as life's as sweet a thing, An' dyin' as hard, to a cat as a king ; Te tell him it might have been God's plan To have made him the cat an' have made ye the man, An' ye axes him how he'd have felt if he'd Bin took by ye an' chucked in the sea. Ye axes him, Kitty, to think o' that ISText time as he'd harm a pore little cat ; An' then ye gives him yer parding," says he, An' ye gives him yer paw." " Well, Kitty," says I, AND RECITATIONS No. 21. 73 " As I takes it, the two on yes taught Tom I Ugh A lesson I hopes he'll never forget." An' though it's ten year as I left the sea, I ain't forgotten that lesson yet ; An' I took good care as I never should, For I goes to one o' my mates, Bill Wood, As did the ship's paintin', an' says to him : " Bill, Will ye paint me a pictur ?" Says he, " That I will." " Then," says I, "if so be as ye'll humor my whim, Jest paint that cat there a-paddlin' at sea, An' Jim Lord a-swimmin' to save her, an' we A-pullin' our arms off to pick up Jim, An' the Annabel Zee a'Standin' to.'* PARDNERSHIP.' ELEANOR KIRK. WALL, I'm tired, and I'm gettin' tireder every day of my life. I thought I'd just stop into the town hall a few minutes and hear that woman talk. I heard she was smart, but I vum! it's the same old story— woman's rights and man's cussedness. They've got in the habit of talkin' this stuff, but 'tain't no such thing. Don't you think I know? Now just look at me. Ten year ago I thought I was the head of my house. One night, about that time, I altered my mind, and I ain't had no occasion since to alter it back again. I'll never ferget that time. It was blamed curious, I toll yc. If I'd been struck by lightnin' I couldn't 'a' been more para- lyzed 'way inside where I live. Before this cyclone it had allers been su'thin like this : " Amos, if you can spare one of the bosses to-day, I'd like to use him;" or, " I'd like to go to this meetin', Amos;" or, "Amos, what do you think about this?" Wall, this night I'm tellin' you about, I'd came in pretty 74 WERNER'S READINGS tired from hayin', and I sec that Maria had on her best gown. After I'd washed up, I sez to her : " Maria," sez I, " you look as if you was goin 1 out. You ain't said nothin' to me about it." "Why should I?" sez she, kinder springy and easy-like. I thought 'twould come out all right, so sez I : " "Where 'bouts are you goin' ?" Sez she : " I'm going to hear Susan B. Anthony lecture. " "How you goin' ?" " With my horse and carriage," sez she. " Been speculatin'?" sez I, kinder easy. You see I didn't know but what the woman had lost her mind. " Ain't seen any new rigs layin' around loose," sez I. " "What's yourn is mine, Amos," sez she. "I want Jim and the buggy," sez she, " and if you'd like to go with me, I'd like to have you. If you don't want to go," sez she, " all right. I can hitch up myself, and I can drive myself. I ain't beholden to no man fer anything on the face of the airth," sez she. " Maria, you're a lunatic," sez I. " S'pose I don't choose to let you have Jim and the buggy?" sez I. " Then I'll hire of a neighbor," sez she. "And who'll pay fer it?" sez I; and I guess my voice sounded like thunder, fer it rung in my ears like Niagary Falls. ie You and me," sez she, with the same Queen of Sheby airs; " you'll pay half and I'll pay half. " " But where' 11 you get your half?" sez I. " Out of the pardnership," sez she, " and everything on this place is just as much mine as 'tis yourn. " " "When did you find that out?" sez I. " I've knowed it fer a long time," sez she, " but it ne^er got clinched inside of me till a few days ago. ' ' Wall, I've heard funny things, and eenamost split my sides, but I never listened to anything quite so funny as that afore. I begun to larf, and I larfed till I cried. I hee-heed and haw-hawed, and Maria sot down and got at it, too. She AND RECITATIONS No. SI. 75 looked real kind of sensible and pretty, as she jined in the merriment, and something then and there got clinched inside of me. What did I do? Why, jest exactly what every sensible man is doin' at the present time. I acknowledged the pardner- ship. I hitched up, put on a clean collar and my tother coat and vest, and we went to the meetin'. There warnt much said goin' or comin', but on the way home, when Maria be- gun to talk about single tax, I larfed so that the horse shied clean into Deacon Baker's front yard. "Say, Amos," sez she, after Jim had got through pran- cin', " don't do that again. I'd rather know less about single tax than be a single woman. " Don't you suppose that settled it? You bet! My arm went round Maria, and she sez, sez she : " It's nice to be real pardners, ain't it, Amos?" K"ow what I want to say to you is that there ain't a sensible man on airth, but what feels this way, and that's why I wish they'd get on to something else besides man's cruelty and woman's sufferin's. BRUDDER JONES'S HETERODOXY. MY sistern an' bredrin dear, "We's 'sembled on dis 'casion Wid Brudder Jones ter wrastle, An' ter try by prahful suasion Ter bring him back into de fole, Fum which he's strayed right fur, I'se tole. He p'intedly denies some facks What all good Christians bleeves in. He 'clar's de Lord in six short days Didn't make de world we lives in; Lak, when de Scripturs tells us so 'Tain't gospel trufe we's bleeged to know. 76 WERNER'S READINGS He 'lows dat 'way down onderneaf De dirt an' rocks an' litter Dar's curious bones been f oun' what proves Some quare, outlandish critter "Wus buried ober a thousan' years 'Eo' Adam habited dese speres. An' den he 'gists dat nachur's laws All things mils' sholy f oiler. Ebin ef de sun hadn't bin too fur Ter hear ole Joshua holler, Hit wouldn't er stopped at his comman' Kase dat warn't in de schedule plan. De Israelites could swim, he 'clar's, An', darfore, crossed de water All safe an' soun', while Pharaoh's hos' "When dey come f ollerin' atter Went to de bottom monstrous quick Kase none er dem couldn't swim a lick. He says he may be m ought er bleeved Erbout dem loaves an' fishes Ef he'd er bin dar on de sj)ot Ter sop de dinner dishes ; But he couldn't go dat fishy tale 'Bout Jonah an' de hungry whale. He telb us edicated fo'ks All knows dem Bible stories Don't mean adzackly what dey says ; He calls dem allumgories, An' 'lows we 'terpets um all wrong Kase ignerance makes our faith too strong. Dis brudder ter Gomorrah An' ter Sodom's been er-strayin* Instid er tarryin' in de f ole Er-watchin' an' er-prayin'. AND RECITATIONS No. $1. 77 An' shepherds ub dem city flocks Dareselves ain't always orterdox. An' so I ax you, Christian frien's, Dis hymn ter please now jine in, "Come, humble sinner, in whose breas' " (Des sing it widout limn'), An' den we'll argefy an' pray An' cast dat debbil out, I say. FIRETOWN'S NEW SGHOOLHOUSE. PAULINE PHELPS. 'As told by the deacons wife. TT was Mr. Stokes begun it, that spring Jeremiah was committee. He come over to our house one night an' said 'twould be criminal carelessness to let them children go to school in that rickety buildin' through another winter ; there'd ought to be a new one put up right away. Jeremiah was clear took back at first, an' said there wa'n't time to get a vote on it an' the buildin' ready before the fall term com- menced; but Stokes argued there was, if only the folks could be brought to agree at the first meetin'. He's pretty convincin' in his conversation, an' the upshot of it was Jeremiah come round to his way of thinkin'. But land, what a stir callin' that meetin' did make in the deestrict — an' how the folks did talk ! Free silver wa'n't nothin' to it, nor whether or not the minister's wife had be'n complainin' to the other church about the way we treated her ; an' at Mis' Simon's quiltin'-party tke new schoolhouse was 'most the only thing they said a word about. I b'lieve in women bein' interested in outside things myself, but when I went over to Mis' Brown's to git my receipt for sponge-cake she'd borryed, an' she said she was so busy pre- parin' a paper 'bout the schoolhouse for the Ladies' Literary 78 WERNER'S READINGS Club she couldn't spend time to hunt it up, an' she'd have to ask me if I minded waitin' till next week, I did feel that was carry in' it a leetle too far. Mebbe I was harsh in my jeedg- ment, an' 'twas thought best to bring the trouble nearer home — ■ for it wa'n't long after that I begun to notice my Jeremiah was gittin' excited, too ! He hadn't be'n so very anxious to build in the first place, but he's sort o' mulish in his temper, an' the more folks talked ag'inst it the more set he was for it. An' one night he come home an' says to me : "Jerushy," says he, "if I could give seventy-five dollars an' hev thet schoolhouse built, I'd do it in a minute." Ordinarily Jeremiah is a leetle inclined to be near, air I felt when he said that, he must be pretty well stirred up. I don't know but 'twould seem strange to some folks, an' sech a thing hain't happened in Firetown since the remem- brance of anyone, but all we women went to that school- meetin'. I proposed it. I didn't think 'twas proper for me to be the only one, an' I felt as if I'd ought to go to look after my husban'. Jeremiah is a well-meanin' man, an' commonly very honest; but when I thought of the excitement he was laborin' under, I wanted to see with my own eyes that he didn't put two votes into the hat, or use undue persuasion, or anything of that sort. So I proposed it to the other women, and we all went. Old Mr. Lawson made the first speech. He ain't what you'd call fluent, but he'd got what he had to say all written down, an' save once when he twisted the leaves an' started onto the wrong page, he managed to keep along pretty well. All about taxes it was; how for years they'd be'n threatenin' to ruin the landowners, until the poorhouse was starin' farmers in the face, an' how much higher a new schoolhouse would make 'em. "An' we don't need a new one," he finished with, "not any more'n we need a dancin'-hall, nor a free library, nor two heads ! No, nor half so much ! A new head might be an advantage to some folks," an' here he looked mighty sharp at Jeremiah, "they might stand a chance of gittin' a little com- mon sense along with it." AND RECITATIONS No. 21. 79 There was consider' ble more of the same kind of talk, but I didn't pay much attention, till Stokes got up to answer. Mebbe some of you have heard Will Stokes speak, an' know how it is. He didn't read what he had to say, an' blunder through the readin'. I guess not! You'd most thought his mouth was coated inside with wax, the words slipped out so easy. An' the feelin' he put into them! Why, I'd be'n partial to havin' a new schoolhouse from the beginnin', but, before be got through talkin', it seemed tome that every per- son that voted ag'inst it ought to be flayed an' No, I don't mean that, but it did seem as if they ought to be put in a lunatic asylum ! It stirred me up so much I forgot I was in meetin', where women should be seen an' not heard, an' the minute he stopped I rushed over to him. "It's ev'ry word gospel truth," says I, "an' your wife ain't a bit prouder of you to-day than I am." " Jerushy ! ' ' says Jeremiah. But the rest of the men was talkin' about their votes an' didn't notice, an' 'twas only school-meetin\ so I don't know as 'twill be counted a sin. 'Twa'n't long after that when the votin' commenced. I didn't breathe twice while the hat was goin' round, an' I do sometimes think that if I'd seen Jeremiah try to put in two slips I'd looked the other way an' let him done it. But he didn't offer to — ordinarily my husban' ain't the excitable one in our fam'ly — an' the votes turned out a tie. " There'll have to be a new ballot taken," says the chair- man; an' Stokes got up to begin another speech. It didn't seem as if I could live over all that anxiety ag'in. " Jeremiah," says I, "I'm goin' home," an' before he could answer "yes" or "no," I was out-of-doors. We don't live far from the schoolhouse, an' ev'ry step of the way over I was thinkin' 'bout that tie. I knew there wouldn't none of the other side give in to the next ballot, 'twas too late for a new meetin', an' after that speech of S cokes it did seem a sin them children should have to stay in that buildin' through the winter. The more I thought on't the worse I felt ! I 80 WERNERS READINGS b'lieve I cried a little, an' before I could git anyways recon- ciled I'd come to the house — an' there "was Hermit Jim sittin' on the piazza, waitin'. My face got smoothed out then, pretty quick. There shouldn't no one have a chance to say I got excited at school-meetin', if 'twas the truth. I didn't care much about Jim. He was love-cracked anyway, folks said, an' lived up the mountain in a sort of cave — but I'd a leetle rather even he shouldn't suspect. "Be'n waitin' long?" says I, as cheery as could be, an' startin' to git the butter he wanted. " We ain't very often away from home ev'nin's, but I've be'n down this time to the meetin' to see how the vote 'bout the new schoolhouse turned out." " Talkin' 'bout a new one, be they?" says he. " Well, I should say so? Good land, Jim Fisk, hain't you heerd of that? They've be'n talkin' 'bout it for weeks, an' to-night I went over an' waited to hear how the vote turned out. It's a tie. " He laughed hearty, for him. "A tie, hey? They ought to hev hed me thar, to decide it." "Good land of Goshen! Jim Fisk, do you belong to our district? " " I s'pose I do. I've be'n here long enough, an' I dunno nothin' ag'inst livin' in a cave." I jumped up an' grabbed his arm, not carin' whether I acted excited or not then. " Do you start an' run — run" says I, "to that school- house, an' tell 'em you've come to vote, an' vote to have a new one ! It'll decide it ! Mercy on us, man, don't stand there starin' ! Can't you start? " " You're gittin' stirred up, old lady," says he. "I ain't anxious to go. 'Tain't no consarn of mine." " Don't be a pesky fool," cries I, so flustrated I couldn't choose my words. " The lives of all the children in the dees- trict is dependin' on that new schoolhouse ! ' ' "I dunno as I keer about their lives," grinned he. I don't s'pose I'd done it — I reely don't s'pose I'd done it AND RECITATIONS No. 21. 81 if I'd had a chance to think. But I knew if I took much time the votin' would be done with, and the chance of a new schoolhouse over for that year. It made me feel wild, so's to speak, an' in my flurry I never sensed I was a dekin's wife. " Jim Fisk," says I, "if you'll go this minute, an' not say you was sent, Til give you them two pounds of hutter ! " He spoke up firm an' prompt: "Good for you, Mis' Jeru- shy! I'll do it." The second he was gone I dropped into a chair, as limp as if I'd jest be'n wrung out of water. "The Lord have mercy on me!" says I. "What would Jeremiah say?" I've considered a good deal about it since. It was a sin — ° terrible sin — an' me bein' a dekin's wife makes it worse. But somehow when Jeremiah come home, tickled to death, an' wonderin' what put the notion of votin' into Jim Fisk's head when there hadn't neither side thought of him, I couldn't feel for certain I'd .repented. IT WAR CRACKIT AFORE." GATH BRITTLE. " O Elsie, ye will drive me mad Wi' your wearisome, worrisome ways; Your lack o' wit, an' your want o' care Wi' sorrow will cloud my days!" Thus sternly spoke a Scottish dame. To her handmaid, brawny and brown, "Who, weeping, stood by the garden gate With her eyes cast humbly down. At her feet in scattered heaps there lay The shreds of a china bowJ ; And she wept as though her falling tears Might make the vessel whole. 82 WERNER'S READINGS " Please, ma'am," slie said, " 'twas na my faut, An' I willna do it more ; But the bowl brak not along o' me, For it war crackit afore." Just then a thump, thump, thump was heard, And a sharp yell vexed the air. " Bin, Elsie!" cried the startled dame; " Heal's toombled doon the stair!" The handmaid ran, the mother ran ; The mother won the race, And in a trice poor screaming Hal Was safe in her embrace. " Hast broke thy head, my bairn?" In pitying tones, she said. " 'No, rnither, no," he sobbing cried, " I hanna brak my head. " An, prithee, mither, chide me not, I'll never do it more; It wasna brak along o' me, For it war crackit afore." THE TIRED OLD WOMAN. THERE was an old woman who always was tired. She lived in a house where no help was hired. Her last words on earth were ' ' Dear friends, I am going Where sweeping ain't done, nor churning, nor sewing; And everything there will be just to my wishes, For where they don't eat, there's no washing of dishes; And though there the anthems are constantly ringing, I, having no voice, will get rid of the singing. Don't mourn for me now, don't mourn for me never, For I'm going to do nothing for ever and ever." AND RECITATIONS No. 21. 83 THE SONS OF THE WIDOW. KUDYARD KIPLING. ' A YE you 5 eard o' the Widow at Windsor /l With a hair j gold crown on 'er 'ead? She 'as ships on the foam — she 'as millions at 'ome, An' she pays us poor beggars in red. (Ow, poor beggars in red!) There's 'er nick on the cavalry 'orses, There's 'er mark on the medical stores — An' 'er troopers you'll find with a fair wind be'ind That takes us to various wars. (Poor beggars! — barbarous wars!) Then 'ere's to the Widow at Windsor, An' 'ere's to the stores an' the guns, The men an' the 'orses what makes up the forces O' Misses Victorier's sons. (Poor beggars! — Victorier's sons!) Walk wide o' the Widow at Windsor, For 'alf o' creation she owns; We 'ave bought 'er the same with the sword an' the flame. An' we've salted it down with our bones. (Poor beggars ! — it's blue with our bones!) Hands off o' the sons of the Widow, Hands off o' the goods in 'er shop, For the kings must come down an' the emperors frown When the Widow at Windsor says " Stop ! " (Poor beggars ! — we're sent to say " Stop! '') Then 'ere's to the Lodge o' the Widow, From the Pole to the Tropics it runs — To the Lodge that we tile with the rank an' the file, An' open in forms with the guns. - (Poor beggars! — it's always them guns!) We 'ave 'eard o' the Widow at Windsor It's safest to let 'er alone \ '■ 84 WERNER'S READINGS For 'er sentries we stand by the sea an' the land Wherever the bugles are blown. (Poor beggars! — an' don't we get blown!) Take 'old o' the wings o' the mornin', An' flop round the earth till you're dead; But you won't get away from the tune that they play To the bloomin' old rag over'ead. (Poor beggars! — it's 'ot over'ead!) Then 'ere's to the sons o' the Widow, Wherever, 'owever, they roam. 'Ere's all they desire, an' if they require A speedy return to their 'ome. (Poor beggars! — they'll never see 'ome!) DON'T. NIXON WATERMANN. I MIGHT have just the mostest fun If 'twasan't for a word, I think the very worstest one 'At ever / have heard, I wish 'at it 'u'd go away, But I'm afraid it won't; I s'pose 'at it'll always stay — That awful word of "don't." It's " Don't you make a bit of noise;" And " Don't go out-of-doors; " And "Don't you spread your stock of toys About the parlor floor ; ' ' And " Don't you dare play in the dust; '* And "Don't you tease the cat;" And " Don't you get your clothing mussed;" And " don't " do this and that. It seems to me I've never found A thing I'd like to do AND RECITATIONS No. 21. 85 But that there's someone else around 'At's got a "don't " or two. And Sunday — 'at's the day 'at "don't" Is worst of all the seven. Oh, goodness ! but I hope there won't Be any " don'ts " in heaven! TELLING TALES. ANA BARNARD. SISTER says I mustn't tell yer; Said I'd better hold my tongue. But it's kinder ticklish bisncss For a feller that's so young. But I up an - seen her do it, — Kissed yer pictur' ; then she cried "When she saw me, said I'd ruo it If I spoke o' what I'd spied. But I kinder like yer, mister, An' I think if I wcz growd An' I io« cd a feller's sister An' I wished bad that I knowed If she loved me, just a little, I'd be kinder glad to hear That she kissed an' hugged my pictur* When she thought no one was near. Don't yer let on that I told yer. Sister'd be so hoppin' mad. Candy? Well, I like it, rather. Say — yer not afraid o' dad? Daddy likes yer. He's a spanker! Says he likes yer best uv all — What, a nickel, sir? Oh 9 thank yei. Nqx T'Ji' rMp out in the hall 86 WERNER'S READINGS Sister's comin' — looks as pretty — Yer will want to kiss her sure. Aren't yer glad, sir, that I told yer? Wisht I could see through the door, But I'm sure she will not kiss yer, — ■ Kissed yer pictur', too, that's queer! Girls are just the greatest creatures — "Well, good-bye, sir, sister's here. A JOLLY BRICK. PAULINE PHELPS. [By permission of Frank Leslie's Weekly. ] BUSINESS ? Well, it hain't be'n what ye'd call rushin', so's to speak. We'd got our plans all laid fur retirin' 'n' goin' on a trip to TTrop ; but I guess, 'cordin' to the pres- ent outlook, we may hang round till next month, llit's mostly luck, this kind o' work. We has our ups 'n' downs, same as Yanderbilt an' the rest o' the tribe, 'n' jes' now it's down. Huh? Fellers stay round in this kind o' bus'ness very long ? Sometimes they do 'n' sometimes they don't. I hed one pard in the city fur the matter o' three years, but — he's gone now. 'Tain't 'xactly up to bein' alderman, ye see. The wind 'n' sleet is bad fur our sealskin cloaks 'n' white kid gloves, 'n' so we has to leave 'em off, an' the same with our buttonhole bouquets. But — What become o' me chum ? Dick Corwin ? Well, now, look a here, ain't ye gittin' a little inquisitive? Who be ye, anyhow? a newspaper reporter? Ye needn't be tryin' that game here. Billy Smith was writ up in the paper once, — "A Specimen of the New York Bootblack;" an' never a 3ent did he git to pay fur the laugh we had on him. Oh, ye ain't a reporter! Well, then, look a here, boss, so long as it's a rainy day, 'n' ye give me yer worcl, fair 'n' square, ye can AND RECITATIONS No. 21. 87 sit down here 'n' I'll tell ye all about him. Ready, now? I ain't jest used to tellin' stories, — a leetle out o' practice o' writin' editorials, so's to speak, — but I'll jest rattle it off as I think on't, an' ye can fill up the chinks. Grood-lookin' ? ISTaw. If ye t'inks yer goin' to hear about one o' yer swell kind, why, then ye got to the wrong place. Red hair 'n' turn-up nose 'n' squint eyes! But I tell ye what it is, boss, if ye like a feller that can jest knock another into de middle o' next week whenever he says a word ag'in him, why, then ye'd ought to seen Dick. Wrastle? Now yer shoutin' ! Why, ther' wa'n't any o' the boys could come anywhere near him; an' none of 'em so much as dared open their mouth to thet little cove of a Jamie he was lookin' out fur. Say, that was one o' Dick's queer streaks. If he'd be'n a wras'ler, or his brother, or sumthin', we'd stood it better. But Jamie — he was one o' them softies, never know nothin' till it's knocked into 'em, 'n' no relation at all. But his lookin' out fur Jamie was the only queer streak Dick had, 'n' he was my pard off 'n' on fur three year. Fun? Well, ye bet yer life ! Why, the cops was after us more'n half the time fur disturbances, 'n' such. But the minute we see 'em comin' we'd start fur the ferry, 'n' it didn't take us very long to lose sight of 'em. 'N' we used to make things lively fur the teachers down to the Mission Chapel, ye'd better believe. We took Jamie 'long with us once, an' ther' was one of 'em — a reg'lar swell she was — she said he had a face like a Heifer's angel, an' she wanted to paint 'im. But Dick he said he'd promised his granny that boy shouldn't go out o' his sight till she got back from her trip to Urop, 'n' if she painted Jamie she'd have to paint him, too ; 'n' she didn't say no more about it. Yes, we did use to have good times, me 'n' Dick. 'N' when I think of 'em — 'n' how they ended — What become of him? Well, I'm tellin' ye, ain't I, — quick as I can. We'd be'n havin' a reg'lar smash-up that Sunday down to the Plain. 'Twas too hot to go to Sunday-school, even to rattle the Countess, 'n' I s'pose our raisin' such rim made us tired, 'n' we slept sounder than usual, come night. Me 'n' 88 WERNERS READINGS Dick 'n' the little cove Lad a room up in ole Marm Sally's attic (we'd be'n flush that week) 'n' was sleepin' there swell as ye please. I guess 'twas the smoke woke n>o. Anyhow, thet old shell was jest a- blazin', 'n' folks a-puttin' in their best licks hollerin' " Fire !" when I got to know anything. " Git up !" yells I, to Dick. " Git up ! Can't ye see the house is on fire ! ' ' In less'n a minute we was jest sailin? fur them rattley old stairs. They hedn't begun to blaze, but the smoke was comin' up like a furnace. "Come along!" yells I, "we'll make 'em!" He was follerin' close behind me, with the little cove hold o' his hand. ' ' Drive ahead ! ' ' says he. We got about half way down all right, 'n' then — well, I s'pose 'twas the smoke scared Jamie; first thing we knew he'd pulled away his hand. " I ain't goin'," yells he, 'n' went t'arin' back like all possessed, 'n' as if that room was the safest j)lace in the world, 'stead o' where he was sure o' gittin' roasted. Dick stopped. " I'm goin' back after him," says he. "Come along, ye bloomin' idiot!" says I. "Ye can't git him ! He's hid under the bed. Don't ye see ye can't never git down if ye don't come clown now." He looked down to where them stairs was all a-beginnin' to blaze, 'n' then he grinned a little — he wa'nt no coward ! "Well, I'll try," says he, " V if I don't— good-bye, Bill!" The next second he'd gin one o' his tarin' leaps right back ther' into the smoke. Went down? Me? Course I did! It wouldn't done him no good my stayin' there, 'n' I ain't one o' the kind what t'rows up the sponge fur nuttin'. I went down 'n' rushed up the road, yellin' fire with the rest o' them, 'n' most crazy till the firemen come, 'n' then I showed 'em the winder — 'twas the only place he could git out — 'n' helped fix the ladder. A fireman was jest goin' up when I s-e him a- AND RECITATIONS No. SI. 89 standin' ther', with tliet same grin on his face lie alwers hed when he'd done a good t'ing 'n' fooled the cops out of a job. He stood ther' lookin' like a sojer, with the little fool a-cryin' 'n' screamin' in his arms. He'd wrapped him in his coat or sumthin', so he wouldn't get sco'ched, 'n' jest as he leaned down 'n' handed him to the fireman he see me ther' in the crowd, 'n' swung his hand 'n' gin a call [imitation of a •street hoy^s cry] — the way we'd 'greed on to let the other know if things was going all right with us. 'N' then — then the floor he was standin' on gave way, I guess — that's the last I ever see o' him ! Well, I dunno as — Look-a-here, boss, whatyer givin' us? I ain't cryin! I ain't one o' the kind what goes around sniv- elin' like a milk 'n' water baby; but when ye talk o' bricks, he was a jolly one 'n' no mistake. Kaw, ther' wa'n' t nuttin' said about it in the papers. I was the only one knew what made him go back, 'n' I didn't blab; Dick wa'n't the kind wanted any fuss made over what he did. But I told the other bootblacks, 'n' we're gittin' him up a stone with the name on, 'n' the year. Ain't goin' ter have no slouch of a t'ing fur a brick like he was. But it makes us stick to bus'- ness pretty close, 'n' keep on the lookout fur the well- dressed coves as we t'ink — Shine yer boots, sir ! Nice patent- leather shine? FULFILMENT. SHE grasped the bar, arranged her skirts With dainty little tucks and flirts ; Posed on the saddle, felt the tread Of the pedals, and, " I'm off," she said. A whirl of wheels, a swerve and sway, And from the roadbed where she lay She realized in full degree The climax of her prophecy. 90 WERNERS READINGS CASEY'S LITTLE BOY. NIXON" AVATERMAN. CASEY'S little boy was one the neighbors didn't like, And Parson Hooker called him once an ' ' onery little tyke," Because the boy, at divers times — he did it just for fun — Would give the Parson's study bell an awful pull, and run. Of freckles Casey's little boy had plenty and to spare. He had a saucy upturned nose and likewise " sandy " hair. And all the neighbors chided him for all the mischief done, But " Ah, gowan!" was the response he gave to everyone. He hardly ever went to school; he didn't have the time; He had so many brooks to wade, so many trees to climb, So many funny boats to sail and waterwheels to build, With all these more important things his busy mind was filled. And Sunday-school and church to him were not a joy, alas ! If left to his desires he would calmly let them pass. He hated rules of conduct and was nearly always seized With an immense desire to be doing as he pleased. There used to be a watermill about a mile away Where Casey's little boy would go and loiter every day. He loved to watch the water as it hurried through the race, And scores of other pleasures seemed to centre in the place. One day the miller's little girl fell in the rushing stream, As Casey's little boy came by and heard her frightened scream. He dove beneath the wave and brought her safely to the bank And then his own poor strength gave out, he tottered back and sank. And now they've built a monument that time can not destroy, Which says, " Here Lies a Hero," meaning Casey's little boy. AND RECITATIONS No. SI. 91 THE SHERIFF OF CERR0-G0RD0. FRED EMERSON BROOKS. r 1 A HE meanest way a man can ride X Is backward up a mountain-side In some old stage like this," I cried, "The cold winds blowing!" " Look here ! ' ' said one, ' ' ye're not well versed The sheriff's ride is much the worst; He sends a party down feet first The way he's going! " Speakin' o' sheriffs, jast ye wait! We've got the best one in the State! Ye' 11 find him round early and late 'Tendin' to biz! And if the first one that we meet On Cerro-Gordo's single street Is not the sheriff, then I'll treat — The fault's not his!" And having nothing else to do, I listened while these miners few Told their long yarns, and told them through, To suit their notion. At last we scaled the mountain brown ; But when the driver set us down We saw the little mining town Was all commotion. Our friend, who seemed to be the "boss," Said : "What's the matter here, old hoss ?" The one addressed seemed at a loss To tell his grief. But, raising his uncovered head, "The sheriff's funeral!" he said; " For know ye, boss, our sheriff's dead, Shot by a thief!" 92 WERNER'S READINGS " Ye' ve got the thief ? Well, he can wait Until the judge can fix his fate — I mean Judge Lynch, the magistrate ! The selfsame rope That lowers the sheriff's coffin down Shall drag this villain through the town And hang him where he'll never drown, — High up the slope ! ' ' * 'But hain't ye got no funeral sense ? "What, plant a pard, and send him hence Without a word o' reference From his last place ?" "We've done our best!" responded they, II For preachers never come this way, And none of i>s knows how to pray, Nor e'en say grace!" " Stranger, look here! we're in a fix! We knows a heap o' politics, And there's no rock for drills and picks That we hain't blasted! But when it comes to Bible truck We're always driftin' out o' luck; For that's a ledge we never struck! We're flabbergasted ! " We knows ye' re smart. Ye've got the look O' one as sometimes reads the Book. Don't say ye never undertook To play the preacher ! Ye hain't got any critics here; And them as stands around the bier Will always swear ye are the peer O' brother Beecher ! cc We're glad ye're not, twixt you and me, Fur ministers are apt to be Too high for miners such as we Down in the drift ! AND RECITATIONS NO. 21. 93 Although there's lots we sinners need, Our hearts are bigger than our creed* But set us on some Christian deed We'll work our shift ! " The sheriff, sir, was brave and square! The very fact he didn't swear Would sort o' recommend him there, If ye would say it. Now if ye'd tell the Lord a few O' his good p'ints to help him through, We'll gladly do as much for you. Expense — we'll pay it! "I'll tell ye, stranger, just ye sav He warn't a Sunday saint, no way; But take his average, day by day, He'd clean up well. Some low-grade mines pan out the more; But whether on the other shore They judge a man as we judge ore Is hard to tell. "Just over yonder on the knoll They've sunk a sort o' prospect hole. Now, stranger, please to take control O' this poor clay." Then he and I walked on ahead, And sorrow followed with the dead, While heaven its benediction shed Of closing day. They listened all with bated breath. I told them what the good Lord saith — Man must in life prepare for death ! Their hope seemed riven. I said — yet knew no reason why — "Your sheriff has gone up on high!" WERNER'S READINGS Man never heard more grateful sigh For comfort given. I'd got him up, but grew perplexed To know what course I'd follow next; Tried to recall some pleasing text "Would keep him there. I'd leave him at the throne of grace, E'en if I knew he ran a race. Hurrying to the other place Of dark despair. I couldn't send him down to dwell — To speak the truth, I couldn't tell If there was such a place as hell ; I'd never been there! Said : ' ' At the golden gate there stood Our Lord, so merciful and good, That when the sheriff came, he would No doubt get in there!" And not another word was said, But in the presence of the dead Each bowed with his uncovered head In dumb devotion ! At such a time speech must not rob The heaving breast of one faint sob ; Whole prayers went up with every throb Of their emotion ! God listens best when silence prays ! For measured word and rounded phrase Oft but the selfish pride betrays Of creed or schism. While meUing prayers dropped from their eyes The sleeping sheriff to baptize, Think you kind Heaven would quite despise Such soul-baptism ? AND RECITATIONS No. 21. 95 THE OLE PINE BOX. FRANK L. STANTON. WE didn't care in the l&ng-ago Fer easy chairs 'at were made fer shov/- With velvet cushions in red and black, An' springs 'at tilted a feller back Afore he knowed it — like them in town- Till his heels flew up and his head went down I But the seat we loved in the times o' yore Wuz the ole pine box by the grocery store ! Thar it sot in the rain an' shine, Four feet long by the measurin' line; Under the chiny-berry tree — Jes' as cozy as she could be ! Fust headquarters fer infermation — Best ole box in the whole creation ; Hacked an' whittled an' wrote with rhyme } An' so blamed sociable all the time. Thar we plotted an' thar we planned, Head the news in the paper, an' Talked o' pollyticks fur an' wide, Got mixed up as we argyfied ! An' the ole town fiddler sawed awav At "Ole Dan Tucker " an' "Nellie Gray P ; Oh, they's boxes still — but they ain't no more Like the ole pine box at the grocery store. It ain't thar now, as it wuz that day — . Burnt, I reckon, or throwed away ; An' some o' the folks 'at the ole box knowed Is fur along on the dusty road ; An' some's crost over the river wide An' found a home on the other side. Have they all forgot? Don't they sigh no more Fer the ole pine box by the grocery store? 96 WERNER'S READINGS A BORN INVENTOR. HAKRY STILLWELL EDWARDS. [By permission of the author.] 1 "^C^» m -^ €)ear neighbor, I don't reckon as how it's possi- ^ ^ ble that airy nuther sech er boy do live on the face of the green artli as our Bill. The parson says as how he's a born inwenter, an' ter let him speriment all he wants ter. A man named Franklin, he said, wouldn't never discivered Ameriky, 'cept in tliet he warasperinienter, an' if Columbus hadn't er sperimented, folks wouldn't er known ter this day what chain lightnin's made outer. 'Let him speriment/ says he, an' 'Let him speriment/ says I, an' speriment he do." One day Tom offered to bet all the seed cotton in his patch that his brother Bill could fix up something that would puzzle any cyclone in the world. Bill's idea was a covered passage leading from the window down the hill, and by a sharp curve into the dairy. Burning with the fever of the scheme, he communicated his plans to Tom, and secured at first a power- ful ally. The two boys picked cotton at forty cents per hundred for a neighboring planter, and secured money enough to buy the necessary lumber, and Bill went to work upon the structure. It was three feet wide and three feet high — inside measurement. The upper end rested in the window and the lower entered the old subterranean dairy, the rest of the opening there being closed with stout boards and dirt. "Bill," said. Tom, "folks as is er-gittin' away from a cyclone ain't expected ter move erbout in style, like they war er-goin ter er quiltin'. All they wants ter do is ter git up an' git till the thing blows over. Now, hit do seem ter me that the way ter fix that ar thing is ter grease them bottom planks thar, an' when the time comes ter be er-movin', jus' git in an' scoot down ter ther bottom. Hit ain't gwine to be much used, an' I reckon we can stan' it." " Tom," said Bill, " er inwenter hisself can't beat ye on that." AND RECITATIONS No. SI. 97 An' so it was settled. One day when the boys had the premises clear they removed the top planks and greased the floor 'way to the bottom of the hill, until a squirrel would have found it difficult to navigate it. Then they restored, the planks and waited. But no cyclone came. Mrs. Gunner surveyed the structure many a day, but asked no questions. To a neighbor she said once : " I caint see exactly as how ther thing is goin' ter wurk, but Bill is er inwenter, an' he knows. He says thar ain't no use er-gettin' skeered at cyclones an' the like, nohow." It is probably not true that the boys prayed for a cyclone, but every wind raised hopes in their bosoms, and not a cloud passed but brought suggestions. " Bill," said Tom, one night as they lay awake, " I reckon hit's \\\ right, but 'pears ter me we hedn't orter take no chances; we orter know. When we war over ter Maccola's last year 'ith the cotton, ye recollect how they used ter ring ther bells an' turn out thar ter put out fires when thar warn 't no fires ter put out? Er feller told me they war er-practicin' ter know jus' what ter do if er shore enuf fire war ter come erlong. Looks like we orter practice fur cyclones 'fore they come. Ye know gran'pa es contrary an' ma es powerful hefty. " " Tom," said Bill, "let's try hit ternight." But Tom's judgment was cooler. "Hit wouldn't do ternight ; thar ain't no wind, an' ma 'u'd never let us practice on her, less 'n she was powerful skeered. Wait till er big win' comes." Fortune favored the inventor. There came a week of heavy rain and, finally, one night a terrific wind. " Come in, come in ! La, Nanky, w'at ye done to Bill's things ? ' ' " Bill ain't inwentin' much these days." " How comes? " "Well, Cis'ly Toorner, hit's a long story. Hit all come uv the cyclone a while back, an' Bill er-tryin' ter in went somethin' ter beat it." 08 WERNER'S READINGS " La' sakes, an' wouldn't hit work? " ' ' "Work ? I reckon ye never seen nutliin' work like hit. Hit like ter worked me an' pa ter death." "Nanky, hush! " "Fact! Hit's piled up thar behind ther house now, but hit ain't nuthin' like it was, when hit war fixed up an' ready fer cy clones. Now, hain't nobody on airth skeerder 'n me uv win.' One night arter hit 'd been er-rainin' ferer week, an' ther win' war blowin' powerful, I war settin' up, an' pa, he war in bed er-tryin' ter git ter sleep, when I heern a boomin' on the air outside. Ever hyar one uv them thar engines w' at burn coal stidder wood, boomin'? Well, they done got ter runnin' 'em on the railroad out thar back o' the house, an' the first one comes erlong that night on ther cut. I never war skeered so bad since the Lord made me. I run across ther room an' jerked paup in bed. ' Git up, git up ! ' I yelled. Jes' then BiU an' Tom come er-runnin' in, too, yellin' out, ' Cyclone ! cyclone ! ' loud as they could. I war mighty nigh ready ter drop. 'Save pa! save pa!' I hol- lered. Pa he half knowed w'at war gwine on, an' he hol- lered, 'Help! help!' an' war gittin' out, when the boys got er holt er him, an' run across ther room an' shoved 'im foot foremost inter the inwention. Pa, he hollered, ' Heigh-ho, ]STank!' an' was gone. I got thar jest in time ter see his white head go round the bend. An' then I heern er k-chunk, an* pa, he hollered 'Hoo-oo-oo!' "I orter hed mo' sense, but la! when a woman gits skeered bad she hain't got no sense 'tall. Ther engine then war right back 'n the house, an' everything war jest trem- blin'. Bill he yelled out ' Git in, ma, git in, hit's er-comin !' I didn't wait er minit, but clum up in a cheer an' got in. Ther boys gi' me a shuv, an' down I went. I reckon I mighty nigh filled the whole inwention, fer I war tetchin' everywhar. Skeered? The cyclone warn't nuthin. Time I got ter the ben' I slid round like a gourd over ther mill- dam, an' hit in two foot er water down thar. I war scream- in' ter be heard er mile. Tom an' Bill like ter not come, hit skeered 'em so, but ther engine war then mighty nigh er- AND RECITATIONS No. 21. 99 shakm' ther pans off the shelf, an' down they come, too, k-chunk, in the water. Ye see they had stopped up the old dairy with planks an' dirt, till it held water like er well, an' ther rain hed soaked down. Ther place war dark es pitch, an' w'at 'ith me er-screamin', an' pa er-sittin over in the corner er-hollerin', hit like ter skeered the like outern Bill. Erbout that time hit cum ter him thet he hedn't in- wented no way ter git outer ther thing. I war er-screamin : ' Git me outen hyar, an' open ther do' ! an' ' O Lordy, my back!' till the boy war mighty nigh crazy." " Nanky, how'n ther world did yer git out ? " ' ' Tom clum back up ther spout arter mighty hard work, an' tuk er ax, an' busted the dairy open. Me an' 'im pulled pa out an' put 'im in bed. I sot up ther rest o' the night, fur ther' war no sleep in my eyes, — an' bright an' early the next mornin' , I tuk that boy Bill out under the shed an' when I war through thrashin' 'im, I'd knocked all ther inwentions ter pieces, an' said 'No more inwentions on this place,' an' I put 'em ter wurk. See them two boys over yonder in ther cotton patch? One uv them is ther born inwentor." BIDE A WEE, AND DINNA FRET. I S the road very dreary? Patience yet ! Rest will be sweeter if thou art aweary, And after the night cometh the morning cheery ; Then bide a wee, and dinna fret. The clouds have silver lining, Don't forget; And though he's hidden, still the sun is shining. Courage ! Instead of tears in vain repining, Just bide a wee, and dinna fret. With toils and cares unending Art beset? 100 WERNERS READINGS Bethink thee how the storms from heaven descending Snap the stiff oak, but spare tre willow bending, And bide a wee, and dinna fret. Grief sharper sting doth borrow From regret ; But yesterday is gone, and shall its sorrow Unfit us for the present and to-morrow? !N"ay, bide a wee, and dinna fret. An overanxious brooding Doth beget A host of fears and fantasies deluding; Then, brother, lest the torments be intruding, Just bide a wee, and dinna fret. JIM BLUDSO. JOHN HAY. "\ A7"ALL, no ! I can't tell whar he lives, Because he don't live, you see; Leastways, he's got out of the habit Of livin' like you and me. Whar have you been for the last three year ? That you haven't heard folks tell Plow Jimmy Bludso passed in his checks The night of the Prairie Belle f He weren't no saint — them engineers Is all pretty much alike — One wife in ISTatchez-under-the-Hill, And another one here in Pike. A keerkss man in his talk was Jim, And an awkward hand in a row; But he never flunked and he never lied— I reckon he never knowed how. And this was all the religion he had— To treat his engine well; Never be passed on the river; AND RECITATIONS No. 21. 101 To mind the pilot's bell; And if ever the Prairie Belle took fire—- A thousand times he swore He'd hold her nozzle ag'in' the bank Till the last soul got ashore. All boats has their day on the Mississip', And her day come at last. The Movastar was a better boat, But the Belle she wouldn't be passed. And so she came tearin' along that night — The oldest craft on the line — ■ With a nigger squat on her safety-valve, And her furnace crammed^rosin and pine. The fire burst out as she cl'ared the bar, And burnt a hole in the night, And, quick as a flash, she turned and made For that wilier bank on the right. There was runnin' and cussin', but Jim yelled out, Over all the infernal roar : 'I'll hold the nozzle ag'in' the bank Till the last galoot's ashore!" Through the hot, black breath of the burnin' boat Jim Eludso's voice was heard, And they all had trust in his cussedness, And knowed he wornd keep his word. And, sure's you're born, they all got ofl Afore the smoke-stack fell ; And Bludso's ghost went up alone In the smoke of the Prairie Belle. He weren't no saint, but at Jedgment I'd run my chance with Jim 'Longside of some pious gentlemen That wouldn't shook hands with him. He seen his duty — a dead sure thing- — And went for it thar and then ; And Christ ain't a-goin' to be too hard On a man that died for men. 102 WERNERS READINGS UNCLE ISRUL'S CALL CAEOLINE H. STANLEY. THERE was certainly something going on out under the locusts, — of that Aunt Cla'sy was convinced. Uncle Isrul, her husband, sat with his split-bottomed chair tilted back against the tree, an open Bible on his lap. His visitors — two middle-aged, respectable-looking colored men — were in earnest conversation with him. Neither their thoughts nor their eyes were on the cabin, and Aunt Cla'sy advanced boldly in front of the window, and sat down be- hind the hop-vine, where she could see if not hear. " I ain't gwine ter be onderhanded 'bout it," she said, virtuously, and it seemed for a moment as if virtue was to be rewarded, for just then Brother Jimmerson raised his voice, and said impressively : " Hit's de sentimunts of de chu'ch, Uncle Isrul. I ain't a-talkin' fur myself. I'se jest a po' ornery implement in de Lord's hands to spressify de sentimunts of de chu'ch." Aunt Cla'sy fairly started from her chair. What could this mean but that the long-looked-f or " raise " in Uncle Isrul' s salary had come at last. "'Rheumatiz' — 'chu'ch jues ' — aha! dey done hyeard dat his rheumatiz is wuss an' dey gwinc double up on de chu'ch jues an' pay him somethin' reg'lar and cornstant — and hit's de sentimunt of de church. Well, bless de Lord fur dem sentimunts!" " I'se jes' one of de Lord's schtowards," said Brother Jimmerson. "An' a faithful schtoward you is! " piously ejaculated Aunt Cla'sy, behind the hop-vine, and, satisfied that she had fathomed the object of their visit, she applied her mind to the furtherance of the dinner. Uncle Isrul was pastor of the colored Baptist church of Eulton, and had been since the war. In the days of slavery AND RECITATIONS No. 21. 103 he had sat in the gallery of the Presbyterian church with the other negroes and drank into his untutored soul the words of Holy Writ is they fell from the lips of the preacher ; longing with an intensity of longing that perhaps no lettered man could understand, to be able to read it all for himself. " Ef so be I could jes' read enough to pick a few nv dem texes out — jes' dem wha' holp me so much," he would say to himself, turning impotently the leaves of his Bible. But alas ! they all looked alike to him. " Well, Uncle Isrul," said the little daughter of his master, one day, " I don't truly believe I can teach you, but I'll tell you what I'll do : You just tell me your favorite texts, and I'll mark 'm some way so you'll know 'm, and then you can look at the words and siy 'm, and play like you was readin' 'm." The plan was actually pursued, and so it came about that many passages in the New Testament and the Psalms were marked with cabalistic signs in black, blue, and red ink — whose meaning was known only to Uncle Isrul and his little teacher. It was a comfort to the simple-minded old man, al- most beyond belief, to be able to turn to a chapter having three red crosses and repeat: c 'In my Father's house are many mansions, . . . I go to prepare a place for you," and know that the words said just that. When the colored church of Fulton went off by itself, after the war, Uncle Isrul seemed to be its natural spiritual leader. So, without much ceremony of laying on of hands, he was duly installed in the ministerial office. It is not to be understood that Uncle Isrul 's pastoral duties interferred with his daily labors, or that his pastoral salary obviated at all the necessity for such labors. Of course, at hog-killing time, he had donations of back- bones, and spare- ribs, and sausage-meat, from his parishioners ; but as he was expected, in his turn, to entertain the visiting clergy, the outgo more than counterbalanced the income from this source. So it is not to be wondered at that Aunt Cla'sy should long have prayed in secret for something " reg'lar and corn- 104 WERNER'S READINGS stant," and that her soul should have shouted within her at the prospect of the fruition of her hopes. When they sat down to the table, it seemed to Aunt Cla'sy that Uncle Isrul did not look as ranch elated as the occasion warranted. "Wa'n't dat Bro' Jimraerson an' Bro' Ballard out hyarn- der in de yard a while ago? " she asked. " Dat's who it wuz," replied Uncle Isrnl, laconically. "Whut dey come fuh?" Uncle Isrnl did not make an immediate answer. Finally he picked up the butcher knife and began slicing off meat, aim- lessly. " Eat yo' dinner now, Cla'sy," he said, ''I'll tell you arter a while." A nnt Cla'sy stopped in the act of carrying a saucerful of coffee to her mouth. " AVhut's de matter wi' you, ole man?" she demanded. "Stop cutthi 1 up dat meat! " Then imperatively: "Now, I wanter know what dem niggers come fuh." "Well," said Uncle Isrul, desperately, "dey come ter bring de 'nouncement dat my suvices is not required any mo'. Cla'sy, dey gwine git another preacher." "Another preacher ! Whar dey gwine git 'im? Whut dey want another preacher fnr? " Uncle Isrul leaned on the table to steady himself, but Aunt Cla'sy pushed back her chair belligerently and sat bolt up- right. " Dey say dey might' ly bleeged ter me fur all I has done fur 'm in de pas', Cla'sy, an' Bro' Jimmerson he 'low dey wa'n't never gwine ter furgit de pra'rs — an' snpplecations at de Throne uv Grace — I has put up fur 'm " "Humph!" snorted Aunt Cla'sy, " dis hyeah piece o' work look lak dey mighty thankful !" " But dey say fur de future time dey bleeged ter have some- body whut'smo' better educated — somebody whut kin read." "Whar dey gwine find him?" demanded Aunt Cla'sy, pushing her chair back and flinging defiance to the world in the upward toss of her head. "Dey ain't a nigger roun' AND RECITATIONS No. 21. 105 hyear kin read, 'cep'n' 'tis de chil'n what's learned since de Proclamation. Now, whar you gwine find 'im?" "Dey done found 'im, Cla'sy. Hit's a young man wlia' gwine teach de school nex' winter. Dey gin 'im a call an' he done 'cepted it. He gwineter to be liyear nex' Sunday. Bro' Jimmerson he say he talk Greek jes' lak it was his mother's tongue. Ef you ax him a question, he's jes' ez apt to answer in Greek ez any other way, unbeknownst to his- self — it come so nachel to 'im — dat's whut Bro' Jimmerson say. Dey call 'im de Rev. Paphroditis Plummer, an' dey say hit ain' fittin', now we's free, to have a preacher called ' Uncle.' Dey say hit's ondignified. " " Den what make dey doan call you Bro' Craghead, lak I tole 'm to? I alius say Uncle Isrul wa'n't a 'spectful en- titlement fur a minister of de Gawspel, but dey say dey can't break deyse'ves o' sayin' it. Dey sholy ain't gwine lay dat up ag'in' you." "An' den," continued Uncle Isrul, "dey say, sence my rheumatiz has been so bad, dey doan feel noways safe to trus' deyse'ves to me in de time uv- baptizin's, de heavy one mo' specially. An' las'ly," pursued Uncle Isrul, conscientiously giving every argument advanced by Bro 1 Jimmerson, "dey say dat whilst dey ain't got no manner of objection to de texes I preach fum, dey do cornsider that de intruss uv de risin' generation call fur mo' uv'm den what I'se got in my head ; an', Cla'sy," — in a voice in which doubt and grief were min- gled, — " I reckon — I reckon dey's right about it." "Now, old man," said Aunt Cla'sy, raising one hand im- pressively, "you stop right dar! Dey ain't right about it. Hit's a sin an' a shame fur 'em to turn you off jes' caze dey wanter put on a'rs lak dey wuz white folks — an' yo' spells gittin' wuzz all de time — an' all. I say hit's a burnin' shame, an' I ain't never gwine inside dat church whilst I live — so dar now, you got it!" This was Aunt Cla'sy's ultimatum. From it she was not to be moved. The week that followed was a trying one to both of them. It is hard to be laid aside — to feel that one's best is not 106 WERNER'S READINGS enough. Uncle Isrul went about his work, weighed down with a sense of humiliation — it was such a disgrace ! " I'se jes' lak a ole hoss turnt out in de pasture to die," he said to himself, bitterly. He tried hard, poor old soul, to see the Lord's hand in it, turning over and over in his mind, as he chopped wood, all Brother Jimmerson's argument. "Ef I could jes' read," he thought, "I could git some new texes. " But then he knew he would never read. " Seem lak dey might 'a' put up with it a little longer," he said to himself, one day, straightening up with the sudden 'mis'ry in his chis',' which Aunt Cla'sy so much feared, "I ain't gwine ter be hyear long, but while I is, O Lord! how I gwine stan' it to see dat man in my pulp^/ " When Sunday came Uncle Isrul went about his accustomed preparations for the day as he had done for the last fifty years. This week had told on him. He had had more than one of his " spells," and his face looked pinched and ghastly in the little glass before which he was shaving. Outwardly calm, he was laboring under intense excitement. Ashe put on his venerable stock, Aunt Cla'sy looked in from the shed-room. "Isrul Craghead," she said, "is you gwineter so demean yo'se'f as ter go ter hyeah dat man preach in yo' pulpit?" Uncle Isrul laid down the venerable doeskin coat that had so long marked for him the change from secular to sacred things, and said, with slow emphasis : "Cla'sy, I'se been a follerer uv de Lord fer mo'n fifty yeahs, an' I'se nigh on to de eend of my pilgumage. Whilst my Master give me strength ter git dar, I'se never gwine ter stay away fum de sanctuary. I cert'n'y is gwme to hyeah Bro' Plummer dis mawnin'." A moment later Uncle Isrul was toiling up the dusty street to the church, fortifying himself as he went with all the "texes" at his command. Aunt Cla'sy looked after him with a sore heart. " Po' ole creeter!"she said, " po' ole creeter! He ain't gwine to be hyeah long — dat's a Gawd's truth !" AND RECITATIONS No. 21. 107 She broke off abruptly as a chicken, scared by her uplifted apron, went squawking across the yard. It changed the cur- rent of her thoughts. " I gwine ter have fried chicken an' aig-bread fur 'is din- ner 'g'nst he gits back," she thought. "Hit'll spile dat dozen I've been savin' fer Miss Sallie — but I gwine do it, anyhow." When Uncle Isrul sat down to the table that Aunt Cla'sy's prodigality had thus spread with the delicacies of the season, there was on his face such a peaceful look as it had not worn for a week. He was not in a talkative mood, and Aunt Cla'sy, who was inwardly devoured with curiosity, waited impatiently for him to open up the conversation. At last she could stand it no longer. " Did — did ho preach in Greek? " she asked. " No-o," said Uncle Isrul, slowly and with a puzzled ex- pression, "no, dat's jes' whut I wuz stud'n' 'bout, Cla'sy. Dat man's talk wuz jes* ez simple! Any chile could 'a' on- derstood 'im. An' he ax me in de pulpit, an' he called on me to lead in pra'r." " Hm! " breathed Aunt Cla'sy, perceptibly mollified. " Whenst I got to de chu'ch I wuz so tired, an' it was so powerful hot, that I sat down in de va back seat." Aunt Cla'sy understood. " "Well, arter while Bro' Plummer, he seed me an' he riz up an' says, says 'e : 'I see our venerable Brother Craghead is present. Will he please come up in de pulpit? ' " "An' I boun' you went? " " Toob-be-sho I went. An' he shuck hands wi' me an' gimme de ha'rcloth cheer whilst he tuck de split-bottom. An' den arter de surmcn he say : 'Brothren, I knows you won't be no ways satisfied to go way 'dout hearin' de voice of Brother Craghead in pra'r,' an' Bro Jimmerson over in de cornder, he say, right out loud, ' Dat's so. Lord.' " " Right out 'fo'de man? " asked Aunt Cla'sy, in pleased remonstrance. 108 WERNER'S READINGS " Yaas, yaas, an' den, Cla'sy, I did wrastle fur'm at de Throne uv Grace — I cert'n'y did." "What de man preach about? " inquired the old woman, after a few moments of respectful silence. " "Well, now, dat wuz de beatines' part of it all. Dat young man got up dar an' tuck my ia,v or ite tex', ' In my Father's house are many mansions. ' Seem lak it was a ole friend I wuz ineetin' in a strange place. An' he made it all so plain ! Look lak death wuz jes' gwine frum one room to de nex'. An' den de mansions ! Cla'sy, as long as I has had dat tex' in my min' I never seed dem mansions befo' lak I seed'm to- day. He say der gwine ter be one fuh all of us — a mansion full de rich an' a mansion fuh de po'- -a mansion fuh dem what knows a heap, an', Cla'sy, a mansion for dem what cant read ! He say over dar we all gwine ter have our chances." Uncle Isrul looked past Aunt Cla'sy into the blue sky, a rapt expression on his face, as if from E"ebo's height the beatific vision was even now bursting upon his sight. He went out soon to his favorite seat under the locusts, and Aunt Cla'sy took this occasion to visit a sick neighbor whom she had neglected in her soul- rebellion of the last week. She stayed longer than she had intended, and when she returned and saw Uncle Isrul still sitting under the trees, her first thought was of his imprudence. " Isrul, aw Isrul !" she called. "You better come in de house 'fo' de jew falls. You'll be havin' one o' yo' spells fust thing you know." Uncle Isrul did not stir. " Believe in my soul dat nigger's sleep," she muttered, go- ing toward him and laying her hands on his shoulder. The old man's chin drooped on his breast ; his Bible, open at the three red crosses, was on his knee, and his finger rested on the words, "In my Father's house are many mansions." Aunt Cla'sy gave one scared look at his peaceful face. " Isrul ! Isrul ! " she called. " O my Lord ! Isrul ! " There was no response. Uncle Isrul had had his call. AND RECITATIONS No. 21. 109 THE OLD DARKY'S DEFENSE. "O LD man, the charge is assaulting An officer of the court, And resisting the execution Of a warrant (says the report) In a suit for rent non-payment, By a Mistress Mary Lee. Are you guilty or not guilty? I'm ready to hear your plea." " Well, jedge, I s'pec' I'se guilty On medjerment by de law On whut I dun ter de ge'man, An' jedgin' hit in de raw ; But, jedge, when yer heahs der statesmen How de fracas cam' ter be, I hopes yer'll make de sentence Ez light ez yer kin on me. " Yer see, Miss Mary am sickly, A puny mite ob a t'ing, An' loss her onlies husban' Dess a year ago last spring. Dey wuz po', an' libbin' skimpy On de leetle he yearned at law ; Kase dey nach'ully loss dere forchin, At de bu'stin' up ob de wah. ' ' An' sence Mars Lee uz tooken An' lef her all alone, She ain't had bat almos' nuffin' Dat she c'u'd call her own ; An' me an' my ole 'oman, A-knowin' her sense she's bo'n, Divided our rashuns wid 'er Ter he'p 'er, off and on. 110 WERNER'S READINGS " But yis'day mawnin' 'arly, Wen dis bailiff cum ter han* An' swo' lie uz gwine ter lebby On her ebry pot an' pan, I beckon 'im round de corner, An' axed 'im : ' Don't be brash, An' I'll git yer up de money By pawndin' some ob my trash.' " But he wouldn't wait fer a minit, An' sed dat she had ter go ; Dat he uz gwine ter seize de premises, An' batten up de do'. Den, jedge, I f ergot he uz bailiff, An' sarvin a writ ob cote; Fer my heart an' mem'ry tangled, An' lodged heah in my thote. " I jess seed dat bailiff libbin, Fer long befo' de wah, i In a house ole marster gib him Ter sheltah his po' ole ma, An' de patch he had fer nuffin On de udder side de creek ; An' me a-totin' em rashuns Dess cons' unly ebery week. " An' de way dis bailiff uz actin* Ter ole marster' s onlies chile Dess made my han's feel savidge, An' all my blood xer bile. I fergot erbout cote an' cullers An' de case warn't none ob mine, I uz back on de ole plantation, An' a-actin' on dat line. " An' dat am de reason, jessly, I couldn't keep onder check, But tuck him by de slack-ban, An' by his scrawny neck, AND RECITATIONS No. 21. Ill An' liffed him ober de pickets. But dar I los' my grip. An' dat's whut made him, I reckon, Hit de pabement so k'flip. " " That will do," the judge said, dryly, " Code, Section 18 — ten — Some fool put that fine, likely — But you're discharged, old Ben! Put up that window there, bailiff ; It's too warm here for me. Mr. Clerk, say, 'Fined five dollars,' An' here's your green old V.'' GETTING TO BE A MAN. 3. E. KISER. I Little John Henry Speaks. 'M glad my hair ain't yallow, And all curled up and long; I'm glad my cheeks ain't dimpled, And that I'm gettin' strong! I wisht my voice was hoarser, To talk like Uncle Dan, Because I want to hurry An' git to be a man ! I'm glad the women never Come up to me and say : " What a purty little boy! " In that soft kind of way ! I wear big shoes, and always Make all the noise I can, Because I want to hurry And git to be a man ! 112 WERNERS READINGS Onct tried to chew terbacker, But couldn't do it quite. It made me awful dizzy — They said I was a sight. But sometime when I'm older, I bet you that I can — I won't give up that easy, 'Cause I want to be a man! I've got on pa's suspenders — Wisht I had whiskers, too, And that my feet was bigger And schoolin' was all through! Wisht Edison or someone Would come out with a plan To help a boy to hurry And git to be a man. LEADING THE CHOIR. EDITH M. NOKRIS. THAR'S be'n some trubble in the choir, 'N' purty desprit feelin' ; Thet's risen by times a gre't deal higher 'N orgin-tones a-pealin'. Some folks is kinder sot, ye know, On hevin' things their way ; They sorter want ter run ther show, 'N' scoop in all ther pay. Some o' this tribe bed med it hot, 'N' sot folks' ears a-dingin' ; They fit 'n' sulked a mighty lot, But didn't help ther singin'. Ther come a chap from Tanker ville, — A sort o' okkerd feller ; AND RECITATIONS No. 21. Ii3 His hair wuz red, Iris name wuz Bill; Bat, gosh ! his voice was meller. Says I to him, one arternoon : "Bill Jones, ye better come 'N' join our Sabba-evenin' tune — Ye'd mek thet meetin' hum!" But when he see 'em laff 'n' sneer, He slouched 'n' hung his head; Ter match his hair, ur purty near, His face grew fiery red. This med ther gals 'n' fellers nudge, 'Ith grins an' silly chuckles; Bill redder got, but didn't budge, Jest stood 'n' cracked his knuckles. Says I to him : "Ef ye can't sing, Ye'd better dust 'n' git; Fer 'tain't no use ter try a thing, Ef ye hevn't got the grit." The orgin started, then he sung. His voice rose higher 'n' higher, Till like a silver bell it rung, — I 'lowed he'd bu'st ther spire. It seemed ter raise ther roof ermost 'N' let in all ther glory Uv all ther shinin' angel host, 'N' saints, 'n' prophets hoary. 'N' then it sunk so soft 'n' low, It seemed like song-birds trillin' ; It filled old eyes 'ith tears, ye know, 'N' set hard hearts a-thrillin'. 'N' then he let it out ag'in, 'Ith notes o' joy loud pealin' ; It liked ter bring the heavens in, Right through ther dusty ceil in'. [14 WERNER'S READINGS The air wuz filled 'ith flats 'n' sharps Er-round ther buildin' flashin', 'Ith soun' er dulcimers 'n' harps, '.N' shawms 'n' cymbals clashin'. 'N' like a flock o' sheep, I vum, A-follerin' the bell-we'ther, Th' others arter his lead cum A-singin' all tergether. Fust soft, like angel voices ; now Like clarion notes a-greetin' ; Folks ain't fergot it jet, I vow, How Bill Jones sung in meetin'. THE WATERMELON SEASON. E. N. BALDWIN. /^IT wa' dar, Cuff! ^-* Don't yer neber git 'nuff? Git wa' ! dis my mellin ; Don't you hiar me tellin' ? Gwine ter eat it all alone, Watermellins hab no bone! 'Possum! Don't say datl Wouldn't gib scat For 'possum just now. An' watermellin, anyhow, Done beat de 'coon, Mornin' or noon. Go wa' wid 'possum Wen de mellin blossoms; Go wa' wid 'coon, Mornin', nite or noon; Go wa' wid tripe "When watermellin's ripe! AND RECITATIONS No. 21. 115 Go wa' wid 'backer, Take wa' de cracker, Go wa' wid apple, Take wa' de scrapple. Water mellin ! hush — Yer make de mellin blush ! When de darkness settle, An' de skeeter nettle, Marster gone to bed, An' de pigs is fed, Slip down in de patch, Gib de fruit a snatch. Tap 'em on de side ! Hear 'im screamin's wide, Plunk! Plunk! Plunk! Man! yer make me drunk! Pull de lids apart, Stab 'im to de hart ! Go wa' , nigger ! Go wa' dar ! Dis my mellin! don't yer hiar? Go in de rojm, lock de door, Frow yerself on de floor, Eat an' eat ! Mellin done gone ! Sleep sweet an' dream till early in de morn ! THE STICKIT MINISTER. S. R. CROCKETT. THE crows were wheeling behind the plow in scattering clusters, and plumping singly upon the soft, thick grubs which the plowshare was turning out upon an unkindly world. Robert Fraser bent to the plow-handles, and cast a keen and wary eye toward his guide-posts on the ridge. His face was colorless, even when a dash of rain came swirling across from the crest of Ben Gairn. He was dressed like any other plowman of the south uplands — rough homespun, 116 WERNER'S READINGS much the worse for wear, and leggins the color of the red soil which he was reversing with the share of his plow. Yet there was that about Robert Fraser which marked him no common man. When he paused at the top of the ascent and stood with his back against the horns of the plow, he pushed back his weather-beaten straw hat with a characteristic gesture, and showed a white forehead with blue veins chan- neling it — a damp, heavy lock of black hair clinging to it as in Severn's picture of John Keats on his death-bed. Robert Fraser saw a couple of black specks, which moved smoothly and evenly along the top of the distant dike of the highway. He stood still for a moment or two watching them. As they came nearer, they resolved themselves into a smart young man sit- ting in a well-equipped gig drawn by a showily actioned horse and driven by a man in livery. As they passed rapid- ly along the road, the hand of the young man appeared in a careless wave of recognition over the stone dike, and Robert Fraser lifted his slack reins in staid acknowledgment. It was more than a year since the brothers had looked each other so nearly in the eyes. They were Dr. Henry Fraser, the rising physician of Cairn Edward, and* his elder brother Robert, once Student of Divinity at Edinburgh College, whom three parishes knew as " The Stickit Minister." When Robert Fraser stabled his horses that night and went in to his supper, he was not surprised to find his friend, Saunders M'Quhirr, of Drumquhat, sitting by the peat fire. Robert had taken to Saunders ever since — the back of his ambition broken — he had settled down to the farm, and he welcomed him with shy cordiality. " I saw yer brither the day," said Saunders, "he maun be gittin' a big practice." ' 'Ay ! ' ' said Robert Fraser, very thoughtfully. Saunders M'Quhirr glanced up quickly. It was, of course, natural that the unsuccessful elder brother should envy the prosperous younger, but he had thought that Robert Fraser was living on a different plane. Everyone knew why Dr. Fraser did not visit his brother's little farm. "He's gettin' in wi' the big fowk noo, an' thinks may be that his brither AND RECITATIONS No. 21. 117 wad do him nae credit." That was the way the clash of the country-side explained the matter. "I never told you how I came to leave the college, Saunders," said the younger man, resting his brow on his hand. "I have not tried to set myself right with folks in the general, but I would like to let you see clearly, before I go my ways to Him who seeth from the beginning." " Hear till him," said Saunders; "man, your cough is no' near as sair as it was i' the back-end. Ye' 11 be here lang efter me ; but lang or short, weel do ye ken, Robert Fraser, that ye need not to pit yersel' richt wi' me. Hev I no kenned ye sins ye war the size o' twa scrubbers? " "]| thank you, Saunders," said Robert, "but I am well aware that I am to die this year. It's more than seven year now since I first kenneck that my days were to be few. It was the year my faither died, and left Harry and me by our lane. " He left no sillar to speak of, just plenty to lay him de- cently in the kirkyard among his forebears. I had been troubled with my chest for some time, and so called one day at the infirmary to get a word with Sir James. He was very busy when I went in, and never noticed me till the cough took me. Then on a sudden he looked up from his papers, came quickly over to me, and said : ' Come into my room, laddie.' Ay, he was a good man and a faithful — Sir James — if ever there was one. He told me that with care I might live five or six years, but it would need great care. " I came my ways home to the Dullarg, and night and day I considered what was to be done, with so much to do and so little time to do it. It was clear that both Harry and me could not go through the college on the little my faither had left. So late one night I saw my way clear to what I should do. Harry must go, I must stay. I must come home to the farm, and be my own ' man ; ' then I could send Harry to the college to be a doctor, for he had no call to the ministry, as once I thought I had. More than that, it was laid on mo to tell Jessie Loudon that Robert Frazer was no better than a machine set to go five years. 118 WERNERS READINGS "Now all these things I did, Saunders, but there's no use telling you what they cost in the doing. I do not repent any of them. I would do them all over again were they to do, but it's been bitterer than 1 thought." The Stickit Minister took his head off his hand and leaned wearily back in his chair. ' ' The story went over the country that I had failed in my examinations, and I never said that I had not. I settled down to the farm, and I put Harry through the college, sending all but a bare living to him in Edinburgh. I worked the work of the farm, rain and shine, ever since, and have been for these six years the ' Stickit Minister ' that all the world kens the da}'. Harry did not think that he got enough. He was always writing for more, and not so very pleased when he did not get it. He was aye different to me, ye ken, Saunders, and he canna be judged by the same stand- ard as you and me." "I ken," said Saunders M'Quhirr, a spark of light lying in the quiet of his eyes. "Well," continued Robert Fraser, lightened by Saunders's apparent agreement, " the time came when he was clear from college, and wanted a practice. He had been ill-advised that he had not got his share of the farm, and he wanted it selled to share and share alike. Now I kenned, and you ken, Saunders, that it's no' worth much in one share, let alone two. So I got the place quietly bonded, and bought him old Doctor Aitkin's practice in Cairn Edward with the money. " I have tried to do my best for the lad, for it was laid on me to be my brother's keeper. He doesna come here much," continued liobert, " but I think he's not so ill against me as he was. Saunders, he waved his hand to me when he was gaun by the day ! ' ' "That was kind of him," said Saunders M'Quhirr. "Ay, was it no'," said the Stickit Minister, eagerly, with a soft look in his eyes as he glanced up at his brother's por- trait in cap and gown, which hung over the china dogs on the mantelpiece. AND RECITATIONS No. 21. 119 "I got my notice this morning that the bond is to be called up in November," said Robert. " So I'll be obliged to flit.'' Saunders M'Qahirr started to his feet in a moment. " Never," he said, with the spark of fire alive now in his eyes, "never as lang as there's a beast on Drumquhat, or a ponn' in Cairn Edward Bank," bringing down his clenched fist upon the table. " No, Saunders, no," said the Stickit Minister, very gently; "I thank you kindly, but .PU he flitted before that) " THE AVERAGE BOY. PAULINE PHELPS. TIIEY can talk about the country, n' how it's so good for boys, 'N' takin' care of pigs 'n' chickens, 'n' all the other joys. They can talk about their skatin', 'n' their coastin' 'cross the . lot, 'N' the lishin' in the summer when the sun is blazin' hot, 'N' the driviu' cows to pastur', 'n' the gittin' in the hay, 'N' the fun of stealin' melons when daylight has passed away. But the thing I want to say is, — V I've tried it so's I know — There ain't none of that stuff in it with a good smart vaud'ville show. The old op'ra-house is crowded from the foot clear to the brim, But thegal'ries they is fullest, 'n' that's where we boys are in. 'N' there's quarts 'n' quarts of peanuts, 'n' candy, 'n' pep- sin gum, ! N' no one to watch us eatin', or to stop us havin' fun. By 'n' by you see the curt'in rollin' upwards on the string, 'N' there's lots of minstrel folks a-sittin' round a ring. 'N' when they all begin to play, the music that comes out — - It beats them Sousa concerts they tell so much about. 120 WERNERS READING! Pink-a-jpank! Pink-a-pcmk-pank! Clickety-clickety- click! The banjo and the bones, they're the things that do the trick. While the end man stands there, grinnin' V a-turnin' in his toes 'N' a-stretchin' of his mouth out V wrinklin' up his nose, 'N' a-puttin' in the breakdowns at the end. There's a young chap that sings soprano, so sad you want to cry, 'N' the clown he gits us laughin' till it seems as if we'd die. There's double livin' pyramids, V a man that knots his legs, 'N' a boy that swings on nothin', 'n' then hangs there by two pegs. But you bet your life the minstrels are the best thing in the show, For the end man he's a corker, 'n' he makes the whole thing go. His feet they look as if they'd grown for about a hundred years, '1ST' his mouth it stretches out so wide it sort of crowds his ears. Says the leader — all rigged up in a girl's dress made of red — - "Bones," says he, "I've got a riddle that will make you scratch your head. "Tell me why the cops last summer spent so much time in the park?" "Tell you why de cops last summer spent so much time in de park ? ' ' " Hurry up 'n' find an answer. Can't afford to wait all day." Then all we boys are still as mice just to hear what Bones will say. Bet your life he's got it ready ; doesn't have to stop 'n' think. He yells : "To keep de sons from scorchin'," 'n' gives his eye a wink. Pink-a-jpank! Pink-a-pank-pank! OUckety-clickety- click! AND RECITATIONS No. 21. 121 The banjo 'n' the bones, playin' loud 'n' playin' quick, While the end man stands there, grinnin' 'n' a-turnin' in his toes 'W a-stretchin' of his mouth out 'n' wrinklin' up his nose, 'K' a-puttin' in the breakdowns at the end. We laugh the most all through the show, V we clap the loudest, too, 'N' when they won't do things over we 'bout stamp the gal'ries through. The Irish team's a daisy, V the bike-rider's out of sight, 'N' the giants 'n' the little Japs, 'n' skirt- dancers, — they're all right ; But the end man he's the best one, 'n' that's who I guess I'll be, For I can put on the blackness, V the kinky wig, you see. My mouth ought to stretch by usin' ; 'n' I guess my feet'll grow, 'N' my nose'll flatten down some if I box enough, you know. I don't say much about it yet, for I want to s'prise the folks, But I'm practicin' the dancin' 'n' I'm leamin' all the jokes; 'JST when I've grown a little more, 'n' my mouth has stretched out so [pantomime], I'll give up school for good 'n' all, 'n' go join the minstrel show. 'N' the boys I used to play with will all miss me on the lawn, 'N' they'll wonder when I'm comin' back, V where it is I've gone; But they won't find out about it till there conies a holiday, 'N' they go to see the vaud'ville, 'n' the music starts to play, Pink-a-pank! Pink-a-pank-pank! CUckety-clickety- clickf The banjo 'n' the bones — I'm a-gittin' it down slick! 'N' there'll be me a-grinnin' 'n' a-turnin' in my toes 'W a-stretchin' of my mouth out 'n' wrinklin' up my nose, 'W a-puttin' in the breakdowns at the end. 122 WERNER'S READINGS MASS' CRAWFORD, ISAM, AND THE DEER. HARRY STILLWELL EDWARDS. [Arranged by Mrs. Kate Weaver-Dallas from "Two Runaways," by permission of the Century Co. and the author.] MANY years ago there lived in Georgia an eccentric bachelor planter, known by the name of Major Crawford Worthington. He was the owner of a number of slaves; one of them named Isam had been his companion from childhood — imfact, they had grown up together. Isam had an annual runaway freak, which lasted about a fortnight, and troubled the Major exceedingly, — not that he cared an iota for the loss of time, but it galled exceedingly that there was anything in connection with a negro that he coul.l not fathom. At last the Major hit upon a plan to solve the mys- tery, and threatened Isam with dire punishment if he should go off another time without letting him know. The threat had the desired effect. The Major was duly informed, whereupon he signified to the negro his intention of accom- panying him upon his expedition, and the two runaways started together. For nearly two weeks they, lived in the woods, — hunting, fishing, foraging, and both enjoying them- selves hughly. One day they had been out foraging for din- ner, and were returning to camp, both heavily laden. The Major bore a sack of corn, and Isam led the way with three watermelons. The two had just reached the edge of the cane-brake, beyond which lay the camp, and were entering the narrow path, when a magnificent buck came sweeping through, and collided with Isam witli snch force and sudden- ness as to crush and spatter his watermelons into a pitiful ruin, and throw the negro violently to the ground. Instantly the frightened man seized the threatening antlers, and held on, yelling lustily for help. The deer made several ineffec- tual efforts to free himself, but, finding escape impossible, turned fiercely upon his unwilling captor, and tried to drive the terrible horns through his writhing body. AND RECITATIONS No. SI. 123 "O Lord! O Lord!" screamed Isam. "O Lord, Mass' Craffud, cum help me tu'n dis buck loos'." The laugh died away from Major Worthington's lips. None knew better than he the danger into which Isam had plunged. .Not a stick, brush, stone, or weapon of any de- scription was at hand, except his small pocket-knife. Hastily opening that, he rushed upon the deer. Isam's eyes were bursting from their sockets, and appealed piteously for the help his stentorian voice was frantically imploring until the woods rang with his agony. Major Worthington caught the nearest antler with his left hand, and made a fierce lunge at' the animal 1 s throat. But the knife's point was missing, and only a trifling wound was inflicted. The next instant the deer met the new attack with a rush that carried Isam with it, and thrust the Major to the ground, the knife falling out of reach. Seeing this, the negro let go his hold, rolled out of the way, and with a mighty effort literally ran upon the top of a branching haw-bush, where he lay spread out like a bat and moaning piteously. " Stick ter 'im, Mass' Craffud, stick ter 'im ! Wo' deer! wo' deer! Stick ter 'im, Mass' Craffud! " And the Major stuck. Retaining his presence of mind, he threw his left arm over the deer's neck, and, still holding with his right the antler, looked about for Isam, who had so mysteriously disappeared. " Stick ter 'im, Mass' Craffud, stick ter 'im ! Hit's bet- ter fur one ter die den bof e ! Hole 'im, Mass' Craffud, hole 'im ! Wo' deer! wo deer! Stick ter 'im, Mass' Craffud ! Steddy ! Look out fur es ho'n! "Wo' deer! Steddy, Mass' Craffud!" By this time the struggles of the beast had again ceased, and, wearied from his double encounter, ho stood with his head pulled down to the ground, half astride the desperate man, who was holding on for life. Whether Major Worth- ington was frightened or not is hard to say, — probably he was; but there was no doubt about his being angry, when he saw Isam spread out in the haw-bush, and heard his address. As soon as he caught his breath, he burst forth with : 124 WERNER'S READINGS " You infernal black rascal! "Why don't you come — down out of that — bush and help — me! " Isam's face was pitiful in its expression. His teeth chat- tered, and he fairly shook the bush with his trembling. " Don', Mass' Craffud, don' ! You ain' got no time ter cuss now. Lif up yo' voice en pray'! Lord! Lord! ef ev'r er man had er call ter pray, you dun got it now." "If ever — I get loose from this — brute, — you infernal scoundrel, — I'll not leave a — wholebone in your body! " " Don' say dat, Mass' Craft'ud, don'! You mustn't let de sun go down on yo' wraf! O Lord! don' you mine nuthin' he es er-sayin' now, cos he ain' 'spons'bl'. Lord, ef de bes' aingil you got wuz down dere in his fix, en er fool deer wuz er straddl'n' 'im, dey ain' no tell'n' w'at 'u'd happ'n, er w'at sorter langwidge he'd let loos'. Wo' deer! wo' deer! Stick ter 'iin, Mass' Craffud! Stick ter 'im ! Steddy deer! Steddy, Mass' Craffud! " Again the deer commenced to struggle. By this time his breath was almost gone, and his anger had given way to un- mistakable apprehension. He realized that he was in a most desperate plight, and that the only hope of rescue lay in the frightened negro up in the haw-bush. He changed his tactics when the deer rested again. "Isam," he said gently. " Yes, honey." " Isam, come and help me, old fellow." "Good gracious, Mass' Craffud," said the negro, earnest- ly, "dere ain' nuthin' I wouldn' do fur you, but hit's better fur one ter die'n two. Hit's a long sight better." "But there is no danger, Isam; none whatever. Just you come down and with your knife hamstring the brute. I'll hold him. ' ' "No, sah ! no, sah ! " said Isam, loudly and with grow- ing earnestness. "No, sah! it won' wuk. No, sah! Dere ain' nuthin' kin save you but de good Lord, en' he ain' go'n' ter, less'n you ax 'Im, 'umble-like en er-b'liev'n' in 'Es mussy, I prayed w'en I wuz down dere, Mass' Craffud, dat I did, en look w'at happ'n. Didn' He sen' you like er AND RECITATIONS No. 21. 125 aingil, en didn' He git me up hyah safe en wholesum? Dat He did, en He never 'spec' dis nigg'r war go'n' ter fling 'esse'f und'r dat deer arter He trouble Hisse'f to show 'im up hyah. Stick ter him, Mass' Cralfud, stick ter 'im. Wo' deer! wo' deer! Look out fur es ho'n ! Stick ter 'im, Mass' Craffud. Dere now — t'ank de Lord!" Again the Major got a breathing-spell. The deer in his struggles had gotten under the haw-bush, and the Major re- sumed his earnest supplications. " Isam, if you will get down — and cut this brute's legs, — I will give you your freedom." Isam's only answer was a groan. " And fifty acres of land." Again that pitiful groan. "And — a mule and a — year's rations." The Major paused from force of circumstances. After a while the answer came : "Mass' Craffud, you knuw dis nigg'r b'en hard-work'n' en hones', en look after you en yo'n all es life." "Yes, Isam," said the Major, "you have been — a faith- ful, honest — nigger.'' There was another pause. Perhaps this was too much for Isam, but he continued after a little while: " Well, let me tell you, honey, dere ain' nuthin' you got er kin git w'at'll tern' dis nigg'r ter git down dere. W'y," and his voice assumed a most earnest and argumentative tone, " deed'n' hit Vd be 'sultin' de Lord. Ain' He dim got me up hyah out'n de way, en don't He 'spec' me fur ter stay? You reck'n He got nuthin' 't all ter do but keep puttin' Isam back up cr tree? No, sail! He dun ten' ter me, en ef you got any difficulty down there, you en de deer kin fight it out. Hit's my buzness des ter keep er-prayin'. Wo' deer ! wo' deer! Steddy, Mass' Craffud. Dere now- — t'ank de Lord! " Again the Major defeated the beast's struggles, and there came a truce. JBut the man was well-nigh exhausted, and saw that unless something M r ere done in his behalf he must soon yield up the fight. Then there came to his assistance his fine knowledge of the neoro character. 126 WERNERS READINGS " Isam," he said, slowly and impressively. But Isam was praying. The Major could hardly trust his ears when he heard the words : "But, Lord, don' let 'im peer'sh 'fo' yo' eyes. He's b'en er had man. He cuss en sware, en play keerds, en bet on horse-race, 'n' drink whiskey — " "Isam—" " En he steal — goodness, he tek ter stealin' like er duck tor water, — roast'n' yers, watermilluns, chick'n — nuthin' too bad fur 'im — " "Isam! " The word came upward in tones of thunder. Even Isam was obliged to regard it. " Yessir." " Isam, I am going to die." Isam gave a yell that ought to have been heard a mile away. "Oli, don' let 'im die! Skeer 'im, skeer 'im, Lord; but don* let 'im die ! " " Yes," continued the Major, " I am going to die; but let me tell you something, Isam. I have been looking into this beast's eyes until I recognize him. You remember Dr. Sam, who died last year? Well, this is Dr. Sam, and he and I will never give you another hour of peace as long as you live — " The sentence was never finished. With a shriek that was blood-curdling in its intensity of fear and horror, the negro came crashing down through the bush with his hands full of leaves, straight upon the deer. The frightened animal made one desperate plunge, taking the startled Major by surprise, and the next instant found himself free. He did not remain upon the scene, or he would have beheld the terrified negro get upon his feet, run round in a frenzy of terror, and close his last circle at the foot of the bush, up which he scurried again like a squirrel, old as he was. The Major lay flat upon his back, after trying in vain to rise. Then the reaction came. He fixed his eye upon the negro above and laughed until the tears washed the dirt from his face; and Isam, holding his head up so that his vision could encompass the narrow horizon, said slowly and impressively: AND RECITATIONS No. 21. 127 5 "Mass' Craffud, ef de Lord liadn' 'sisted on Isam cum'n down ter run dat deer off, 'spec' by dis time you'd been er- noppin' yo' wings up yander, er else sputV on er grindi'on down yander." And from his elevated perch Isam indicated the two ex- tremes of eternity with an eloquent sweep of his hand. CALLER HERRIN'. [To be given in fisherwoman costume, with basket on arm. ] WHA'LL buy caller herrin' ? They're bonny fish and halesome farin. Wha'll buy, caller herrin', ISTaw drawn f rae the Firth ? When ye ware sleepin' in your pillows, Dreamed ye anght of our fine fellows, Darklin' as they faced the billows, A' to fill the woven willows? "Wha'll buy my caller herrin'? Ye little ken their worth. O ye may ca' them vulgar farin' ; Wives and mithers maist despairin', Ca' them lives o' men. —4 — *-- #? #-t j 3 d * 3 — #— Wha'll buy cull - er her - riii' ? They're -P\ — - 9 . bon - ny fish and ha - le - some farin', Wha'll buy call - er her - rin' ? Naw drawn frae the Firth. 128 WERNERS READINGS THAT FIRE AT THE NOLANS'. IT would have been evident to even the most careless md unobservant passerby that something had happened at the Nolans'. Not that there was anything the matter with the house, for it bore no trace of disaster; but there were many signs which in Shantytown betoken either a fight, a fu- neral or a fire. The Nolan mansion was the only building within six blocks that was built on the level of the street; it was, moreover, constructed of brick, and three stories high ; decorated paper shades adorned its windows, and its door was emblazoned with a silver plate on which were the words, "Terrence O'C. Nolan." On the particular morning in question, all the occupants of the surrounding whitewashed, patched and propped-up shanties were gathered or. the sidewalk in front of it. From the centre window in the second story, Thomas-a-Becket Nolan, aged four years, with his nose flattened against the glass, peered down at the excited groups below. Now and then he would breathe on the pane, and then draw strange characters over its misty surface with his small finger, he was the unconscious object of many remarks. Old Mrs. Murphy, the centre of an interested knot of neighbors, was listened to with great respect because she had just come from within thehouse. Michael Coogan, presuming on the fact that he had married a sister of Dennis O'Con- nor, who was Mrs. Nolan's great-uncle, ascended the steps, and rang the bell. " Stip in, Mr. Coogan," said Mrs. Nolan. " Good marn- in' to ye. I suppose it's askin' afther Tirry ye are, an' the foire. Jist walk this way an' contemplate the destroction. The debrw- ain't so much as removed from the fiure," she explained, as she held open the parlor door and allowed Mr. Coogan to survey the wreck inside the room. Everything in the apartment was broken, and soaked with water; but. strangely enough, there were no stains of smoke AND RECITATIONS No. SI. 129 or any other trace of fire to be seen. Pictures and orna- ments were all completely demolished, and broken glass cov- ered everything. " Ho wly saints ! " ejaculated Mr. Coogan, " phat an ix- pinsive catastrophe, Mrs. Nolan ! It's a tirrible demonstra- tion yez must have had. '' "Ay, that it wuz!" she replied, sinking into a damp and mutilated rocking-chair. " Ter think of that bee-utiful Ax- minister carpet, an' those impoorted Daggystan roogs, an' our new Frinch mantel clock that had the goldfish globe over it — all soppin' wet, an' smashed to smithereens. It 'u'd be a tremingious calamity for anybody.'' " Tremingious !" echoed Mr. Coogan, in an awe-struck tone, " that it w'u'd. An' how did the occurince evintuate, Mrs. Nolan?" " It wuz all along av the new domestic an' those divilish greeners," began Mrs. Nolan, in a somewhat agitated man- ner, shaking her head sadly. " Lasht wake, Katy, our ould gnrrl that had been wid us fer noine years, married a long- shoreman, an' so I ingaged a domestic be the name av Mary Ann Reilly. She had lost two fingers aff av her lift hand, but she wuz will ricomminded, an' so I took her at onct. Tirry didn't loike the looks av her at all, at all. ' Bridget,' sezhe, 1 her eyes are not sthraight, ' sez he. ' I don't like googgle- eyed paple in the house,' sez he. ' Look out, or she'll be afther lookin' at ye or Tummy, an' bewitchin' ye wid her ayvil eye,' sez he. But wud ye belave me, Mr. Coogan, she only looked crucked whin she wuz narvous or excoited, an' ginerally her eyees wuz as sthraight as yer own in yer hid. She hadn't bin in the house over two days, do }^e moind, when I dropped the flat-oiron on me fut, scalded me hand, an' broke two chiney dishes in wan mornin', an' that same day Tummy got inter the kitchen an' eat up three pounds of raishons, an' wuz shriekin' wid epleptic cowulsions all noight; so I began to put some faith in her bewitchment mesilf . ' ' " Roight for ye," said Mr. Coogan, nodding^ approvingly at Mrs. Nolan. " That wuz bad loock enough, so it was." 130 WERNERS READINGS " Will, that wuz only the beginnin'," continued Mrs. Nolan. " The nixt tiling wnz yisterday niornin' whin Tirry cum home wid a baskitful uv little, round, green bottles. i Phat's thim? ' sez I. 'Is it Christmas-tree toys, or is it patent midicine? ' — Naythur,' sez Tirry ; ' it is a family foire department,' sez he. 'Since we has no tilegraft in the house,' sez he, 'an' insoorance is so expinsible, I've been afther buyin' some ban' greenades to put out foires wid.' ' Is it limonade is in 'em, did ye say? ' sez I. ' No,' sez he, 4 They're greenades, Bridget. The bottles is green, an' they aid ye ter put out a foire,' sez he. So Tirry hung up wan dozen bottles in the parlor near the dure (where that woire rack is, Mr. Coogan), an' instroocted Mary Ann how to ix- tinguish foires wid thim, by throwin' thim at the flames." 44 Is it baseball that it is? " inquired Mr. Coogan. 44 No, loike stonin' goats more," said Mrs. Nolan, and then she resumed her narrative. " Lasht avenin' the lamp wuz lit on the table, Tummy wuz playin' by the winder, an' me husband wuz takin' his convanience in his arrum- chair, wid his back to the dure, /wuz sittin' near the table a- readin' the mornin' JTurruld, an' Tummy all av a suddent lit the winder-shade run up near the top. ' Mudder,' sez he, ' the b'yes have made a big bon -foire in the lot opposite,' sez he. An' from where I sat I could see the reflixion av a blazin' tar-barrel in the loockin'- glass over the mantelpace. Jist thin, the dure opened behind me, an' Mary Ann come in. She saw the reflixion, too, an' yelled ' Foire!' loike bloody murder. I turns round to look at her, an' she wuz trimbiin' wid excoitemint, an' as goggle-eyed as a crab. ' Foire ! ' yells she, an' wid that she grabs a bottle av greenade, an' lets it fly. Smash ! goes the bottle, an' doon come our twinty- dollar ingravin' av St. Patrick drivin' the shnakes out av Ire- land. Crash! goes another, an' over comes the clock. 4 Hullup ! ' shouts Tirry, an' got out a v his chair, but whang, wan av the greeners hits him in the hid an' bu'sts all over him. "Wid that he falls spachless on the flure, an' I thought le wuz kilt entoirely. Tummy crawled under the sofa, an' I scrouched doon behind the table. All this toime that cross- AND RECITATIONS No. 21. 131 eyed Mary Ann wuz schreechin' i Foire ! foire ! " an' ploggin' bottles av greenade around the room. Bang ! v/an hits the vase full av wax fruit, that Tirry got at the fair. Slam ! another puts out the loight, an' clears the lamp ofE the table, and she foired the rist av the dozen bottles roight an' lift, whang ! smash ! round in the dark. The glass wuz crashin', an' the greenade stoof was splatterin' an' splashin' an' trick- lin' all over the wall an' furnitoor." "Mother o' Moses!" interrupted Mr. Coogan. " It's bushels o' glass there is iverywhere. How did it ind, Mrs. Nolan?" ■ -■ The b'yes over in the lot heard the scraychin' an' crash- in', an' they smothered their foire, an' come an' bu'st in the front dure, ter see the foight they thought it wuz. Tirry is in bid, wid a poultice on his hid; an' Mary Ann is a-sittin' in the kitchen, p'aceable as a lamb, lookin' at the ind av her nose fer occypation. She can pack up an' lave this viry day. As fer that young sphalpeen av a Tummy, he ought ter be licked fer littin' up the winder-shade. Take my advoice, Mr. Coogan, an' trust to the foiremin or an ould-fashioned pail av water, an' don't be afther buyin' flasks av cologny- perfume to put out foires wid.'' ACCOUNT OF A NEGRO SERMON. JOHJST B. GOUGH. SOMEONE has said, and I think it was Mr. Moody: "I had rather have zeal without knowledge than knowl- edge without zeal." Now, when a man becomes a Christian and is zealous, even without education, I have heard some of the most wonderful speeches that were ever delivered. I heard a man who was called a plantation negro, many years ago, who could not read, who could not write, who did not know his letters, but had considerable, knowledge of the Scriptures. I heard from him a sermon that I shall never forget, never. He said: " Bredren, I'se gwine to take two texes. The 132 WERNER'S READINGS first of these texes am ' Glad tidings of great joy which am to be to all people;' and tuder text is ' Hallelujah. ' Now, bre.clr.en, what am glad tidings of great joy? There is a king going through the streets in his chariot, and six calico horses, like what they have in the circus, prancing along through the street. There sits the king in his chariot. Nobody touches the king; nobody speaks to the king. He sits in his chariot, and the soldiers say: 'Hurrah for the king!' No- body touches the king. And there is a nigger boy standing on the corner of the street, and he is as ragged and dirty, and his hair sticking out of the holes in his cap and his toes out of his shoes, looking at the procession. Nobody care for him. He hain't got no father, nor no mother, and no aun- tie. Nobody care for him, all ragged and dirty. The king see the boy, so he says to one of his officers : ' Bring dat boy tome.' But de officer didn't want to fetch a nigger. So he says: 'That boy is all dirt.' Then the king, he says: ' Bring de boy to me ! ' He got mad, yon see. Then this 'ere officer, lie wanted to shirk. He wanted to scare de king, and he says : ' If I bring dat boy to you, you will get something off from him.' Then the king got so mad that his face went clear on the top of his head, and he says: ' You bring dat boy to me ! ' And he brought him. And he says : ' You take dat boy away, wash him up, and comb his hair. Give him a new pair of shoes and measure him for a new suit of clothes, and have him educated.' And he took the boy away. And the king came back, after a while ; and he had the same calico horses, and he asked for the boy. Everybody forgot de boy ; but de king didn't. He said: 'Bring dat boy to me ! ' And they brung de boy ; and nobody knew de boy but de king. He knew him. He said: 'Now, my child, you come and sit right here, alongside of me. Bight here. You belong here. Sit right alongside of me in this chariot. You belong in it. Why, you know I have adopted you. You are my child; you are my son, my heir. Sit right there. There is right where you belong.' "Wouldn't dat be glad tidings of great joy to dat nigger boy? What does the text sa.y : It am to be to all people? But, AND RECITATIONS No. 21. . 133 bredren, wo are a despised people. The white people shove us off from de sidewalk, and they think it God'o service ; but we are a people. We are an oppressed people, but we are a people ; and remember this, if God joined with Jesus Christ for the oppressed, despised people — think of dat, bredren, only thunk of it. Don't dat go right down into your hearts? Now it is time for the second text : ' Hallelujah. ' I want you to holler just as loud as you can holler." WHEN THE TEACHER GETS CROSS. WHEN the teacher gets cross, and her brown eyes get black, And her pencil comes down on the desk with a whack, We chilluns in class sits up straight in a line, As if we had rulers instead of a spine ! It's scary to cough, and it's not safe to grin, When the teacher gets cross and the dimples goes in. When the teacher gets cross the tables all mix, And the ones and the sevens begins playing tricks, The pluses and minus is just little smears Where the cry-babies cry all their slates up with tears. The Aggers won't add, and they act up like sin, When the teacher gets cross and the dimples goes in. When the teacher gets cross the readers gets bad ; The lines jiggle round till the chilluns is sad. And Billy-boy puffs and gets red in the face, As if he and the lesson were running a race ! Till she hollows out " Next," as sharp as a pin — When the teacher gets cross and the dimples goes in. When the teacher gets good her smile is so bright, The tables gets straight, and the readers gets right. The pluses and minus come trooping along, And figgers add up and stops being wrong. And we chilluns would like (but we dassen't) to shout, When the teacher gets good and the dimples comes out. 134 WERNERS READINGS SCALLYWAG. CAROLINE B. LE ROW I AM a scallywag — that is the truth of it. "Wouldn't believe it ! Just look at me, then ! Kind of you, mister, to speak in that way to me, But I don't belong with respectable men. Quite a good coat and a face that looks honest? Yes, but the coat was a present I got, Give by the warden what keeps the State prison, Found, in the cellar among an odd lot. And as for the face — I've no wisli to deceive you; 'Tisn't my fault, — I can't help it, you see. S'pose it's the look that I had when a boy, sir; Thought I'd 'a' lost it, — 'tain't no good to me. Now, there's that chap who I left in prison, Him as give me the coat when my time was served out, He said 'twant no sense for a square-lookin' feller To go back on himself and be knockin' about. P'r'aps after all I hain't jest got the right of it, But it seems as if life was a hard row to hoe. You see the fact is that I git clean discouraged ; Luck's all dead ag'in' me, — I can't get no show. What did I call myself? You ought to know, sir. What is the name that such duffers as you Give to the fellers the world's turned its back on? You're an exception? There may be a few. " Scallywag," sir, and it isn't the wust name, 'Cordin' to my views, that's under the sun; For a wag is next door to a wit, I believe, sir, And some think the angels in heaven like fun. The " seally's " just " scaly," no more and no less, sir; It's hard on the fishes, but why it should bo AND RECITATIONS No. 21. 135 Hitched onto us fellers and made so convenient For broken-down wretches I'm sure I can't see. But a smile is a long ways ahead of a frown. Ha-ha! You're a-laughin' ! That's my way of doin'. When things all go wrong what's the use of a growl? I've had troubles in my time, I know all about 'em, And it seems sort of funny when I've faced the music And tried to cheer up those who've whined on the way, That when I'm out at elbows and down at the mouth, sir, Not a man Jack among 'em has one word to say. It's curious, kinder, when I've been so willin' To shoulder the load of each man in the crowd, That nobody's ready to lend me a hand, sir, And don't take no notice I'm under a cloud. I s'pose it's all right if a feller could see it; But it comes kinder tough, though, and sometimes I think If good folks had feelin' for other folks' troubles, There'd be somethin' to keep them from takin' to drink. But my ! After that, sir, 'tain't no use a-talkin' ; It's all up with a man when the liquor goes down. But the comfort I get from a little black bottle Can't be found nowhere else, sir, all over the town. It's made me the scallywag you are a-talkin' to, For drink leads to doin' sech rascally things That the fust thing you know you're shut up in a buildin' That's got what you'd like to have, sir — and that's wings. Of course, I'm a hopeless case, just as I told you. There can't be no chance for a loafer like me; But I hate to cee fellers as might have some show, sir, 136 WERNER'S READINGS Jest go to the devil, as I did, you see, kind sir. If you'd please take the trouble to speak to 'em And help 'em to keep in the regular way, 'Twonld give me a lift, sir, at least in my feelin's And do me more good than I know how to say. NO SCIENCE FOR HIM. I AM sumthin' of a veteran, just a-turnin' eighty year, A man that's hale and hearty and a stranger to all fear; But I've heard some news this mornin' that has made my old head spin, And I'm goin' to ease my conshins if I never speak again. I've lived my fourscVe years of life and never, till to-day, Was I taken for an Ijjfct or an ig'rant kind of jay, To be stuffed with afflni nonsense 'bout those crawl in 1 bugs and worms ^i That's killin' human bein's with their microscopic germs. They say there's " mikrobes " all around huntih' for their prey; There's nothin' pure to eat or drink or no safe place to stay ; There's " miasmy " in the dewfall and " m alary " in the sun ; 'Tain't safe to be out-of-doors at noon or when the day is done. There's ' : bacteery " in the water and " tricheeny " in the meat, "Ameeby " in the atmosphere ; " calorey '' to the heat. There's " corpusells and pigments" in the human bein's blood, And every other kind of thing existin' sence the flood. Terbacker's full of " nickerteen," whatever that may be, And your throat will all get puckered with the " tannin " in • the tea. The butter's " ole margareen," it never saw a cow; And things is gittin' worse and worse from what they be just now. Them bugs is all about us, just waitin' for a chance AND RECITATIONS No. -SI. 137 To navigate our vitals and to knaw us off like plants. There's men that spend a lifetime huntin' worms just like a goose, And tackin' Latin names on 'em and settin' on 'em loose. Now, I don't believe such nonsense and I don't intend to If things has come to such a pass I'm satisfied to die. I'll go hang me in the cellar, for I won't bo such a fool As to wait until I'm pizened by an " annymallycool.'' YOUNG AMERICA. THE central figure was a bareheaded woman with a broom in her hand. She stood on the back step, » and was crying : "George!" There was no response, but anybody who had been on the other side of the close-boarded fence at the foot of the garden mii-ht have observed two bovs intently engaged in building a mud pie. " That's your mother holl'erin', Georgie," said one of the two, placing his eye to a knot-hole and glancing through to the stoop. "I don't care," said the other. " Ain't you goin' in? " "No! " " Georgie! " came another call, short and sharp, " do you hear me? " There was no answer. "Where is she now?" inquired Georgie, putting in the filling of the pie. " On the stoop," answered his friend at the knot-hole. "What's she doin'?" "Ain't doin' nothin'." " George Augustus ! " Still no answer. "You needn't think you can hide from me, young man. 138 WERNER'S READINGS for I can see yon; and if vou^cfon't come in here at once I'll come out there in a way that you'll know it." Now this was an eminently natural statement, but hardly plausible, as her eyes would have had to pierce an inch-board fence to see Georgie; and even were this possible, it would have required a glance in^hat special direction, and not over the top of a pear tree in an almost opposite way. Even the boy at the knot-hole could hardly repress a smile. "What's she doin' now?" inquired Georgie. ' ' She stands ther' yet. ' ' "I won't speak to you again, George Augustus, " came the voice. ".Your father will be home in a few minutes, and I shall tell all about what you have done." Still no answer. " Ain't you afraid? " asked the conscientious young man, drawing his eye from the knot-hole to rest it. "No! she won't tell pa; she never does; she only says it to scare me." Thus enlightened and reassured, the guard covered the knot-hole again." "Ain't you coming in here, young man?" again de- manded the woman, "or do you want me to come out there to you with a stick? I won't speak to you again, sir." " Is she comin' ? " asked the baker. "No." ' ' Which, way is she lookin' ? ' ' " She's lookin' over in the other yard." " Do you hear me, I say? " came the call again. No answer. "George Augustus, do you hear your mother?" Still no answer. "Oh, you just wait, young man, till your father comes home, and he'll make you hear, I'll warrant you." "She's gone in now," announced the faithful sentinel, withdrawing from his post. "All right! take hold of this crust and pull it down on that side, and that'll be another pie done," said the remorse- stricken George Augustus. AND RECITATIONS No. 21. 189 SENT BACK BY THE ANGELS. FREDERICK LANGBRIDGE. i( A LITTLE bit queer"— my Mary! /i " Her roof not quite in repair!" And it's that you think, with a nod and wink, ' As you sit in my easy chair ! Drop it, I say, old feller — Drop it, I tell you, do, Or language, I doubt, I shall soon let out I'd rather not use to you. Shake hands, and I ax your pardon — 'Twas chaffing I knowed you were; But a hint or a slur or a joke on her Is a thing as I can't abear. And what if she has her fancies? Why, so has us all, old chap ; !Not many's the roof as is reg'lar proof, If a bit of a whim's a gap. She's up to the nines, my Mary ; Lord bless her, she keeps us right ! It's up with her gown and the house scrubbed down As certain as Friday night. Is it rhumatiz, cough, lumbager? Is anything queer inside? She'll physic you up with a sup in a cup As tickles the doctor's pride. Is it mending of socks or trousers, Or starching your best cravat? Is it letting alone the joint with the bone, And choosing the goose that's fat? She hasn't her likes, my Mary — And never put out nor riled ; She hasn't a fad, and she never had — Excepting about the child. 140 WERNERS READINGS Six years we was wed, and over, And never a cradle got — And nowhere's, I swear, a more dotinger pair On baby and tiny tot; So, when of a winter morning At last we was inn and dad, ]STo royal princess had the welcome, I guess, As our little stranger had. And didn't my Mary bless her! Just picter her, them as can, A-doing .her best with her mother's breast For Alexandrina Ann ! It was so as we'd named the baby, By way of a start in life, From parties, I knew, as could help her through- The Queen and my uncle's wife. And wasn't the baby feted! She lay in her bassinet With muslin a?id lace on her tiny face, As ever growed smaller yet. Bat it wasn't in lace or coral To bribe her to linger here; I looks in her eyes, and " She's off," I sighs, k ' She's off to her proper sp'ere." Here treasures was all around her, But she was too wise and grave For the pug on the shelf, and, as big as herself, The doll as her grandma gave. She wanted the stars as playthings, Our wonderful six-weeks' guest; So, with one little sigh, she closed her eye, And woke on a hangel's breast. And how did the missis take it? Most terrible calm and mild ; "With a face a' most like a bloodless ghost ? She covered the sleeping child. AND RECITATIONS JVo. 81. Hi There was me, like a six-foot babby, A-blubbering long and loud, While she sat there in the rocking-chair, A- sewing the little shroud. I couldn't abide to see it — The look in her tearless eye ; I touches her so, and I whispers low, " My darlingest, can't you cry? " She gave me a smile for answer, Then over her work she bowed ; And all through the night her needle bright Was sewing the little shroud. In the gray of the winter morning, The sun like a ball of flame, Sent up like a toy by a whistling boy, The mite of a coffin came. He reckoned it only a plaything — A drum or a horse-and-cart — ■ The box that had space, O Father of grace, To bury a mother's heart. Great God, such a shaller coffin, And yet so awful deep ! I placed it there by the poor wife's chair, And I thinks, " At last she'll weep." But she rose with never a murmur, As calm as a spectre thin, And — waxy and cold and so light to hold- She places the baby in. Then, moving with noiseless footfall, She reaches from box and shelf The little one's mug, and the china pug, And the doll that was big as herself. Then — God ! it was dread to watch her — All white in her crape-black gown, With her own cold hands, my Mary stands And fastens the coffin down. 142 WERNERS READINGS I carried the plaything coffin, Tucked under my arm, just so ; And she stood there at the head of the stair, And quietly watched us go. So parson he comes in his nightgown, And says that as grass is man, And earth had trust of the pinch of dust That was Alexandrina Ann. I was trying to guess the riddle I never could answer pat — What the wisdom and love as is planning above Could mean by a life like that ; And I got my foot on the doorstep, When, scaring my mournful dream, Shrill, wild, and clear, there tore on my ear The sound of a maniac scream. The scream of a raving maniac, But, Father of death and life ! I listened and knew, the madness through, The voice of my childless wife. One moment I clutched and staggered, Then down on my bended knee, And up to the sky my wrestling cry Went up for my girl and me. I went to her room, and found her; She sat on the floor, poor soul ! Two burning streaks on her death-pale cheeks, And eyes that were gleeds of coal. And now she would shriek and shudder, And now she would laugh aloud, And now for a while, with an awful smile, She'd sew at a little shroud. Dear Lord, through the day and darkness. Dear Lord, through the endless night, I sat at her side, while she shrieked and cried, And I thought it would ne'er be light. AND RECITATIONS No. 21. 143 And still, through the blackness thronging "With shapes that were dread to see, My shuddering cry to the God on high Went up for my girl and me. At last, through the winder, morning Came glimmering, cold and pale ; And, faint but clear, to my straining ear Was carried a feeble wail. I went to the door in wonder, And there, in the dawning day, All swaddled and bound in a bundle round, A sweet little baby lay. It lay on the frosty doorstep, A pert little two-months' child. Dumbfounded and slow, I raised it so, And it looked in my face and smiled. And so, as I kissed and loved it, I grajuly growed aware As the Father in bliss had sent us this, The answer to wrestling prayer. In wonder and joy and worship, With tears that were soft and blest, I carried the mite, and, still and light, I laid it on Mary's breast. I didn't know how she'd take it, So goes on an artful tack ! " The little 'un cried for her mother's side, And the hangels has sent her back!" My God! I shall ne'er forget it, Though spared for a hundred years — The soft delight on her features white, The rush of her blissful tears. The eyes that were hard and vacant Grew wonderful sweet and mild, And she cries, " Come rest on your mammy's breast, My own little hangel child ! ' ' 144 WERNER'S READINGS And so from that hour my darling Grew happy and strong and well; And the joy that I felt as to God I knelt Is what I can noways tell. There's parties that sneers and tells you There's nothing but clouds up there; I answers 'em so, "There's a God, I know, And a Father that heareth prayer." And what if my Mary fancies The babe is a child of light — Our own little dear sent back to us here? — And mayn't she be somewheres right? Here, Mary, my darling, Mary ! A friend has come into town ; Don't mind for her nose nor changing her clo'es But bring us the hangel down. SETTIN' UP WITH ELDER McK'AG'S PEGGY." HENRY CHRISTOPHER MCCOOK. [From " The Latimers."l \ "X 7IIATI ye gawin', Andy?" siz mother, who sat on the VV hearth, a-peelin' apples. " Why, mommer," siz I, " I'm a-thinkin' o' settin' up with Peggy McK'ag the night." "Ah, sonny," siz she, "A' misdoubt ye 've a pore chanct with yon gial." "Well, mom," siz I, "all A' crave's a fair field an' no favor. Annyhow A'll try, for ye know bravely that Peggy McK'ag's the likeliest lass in- all the settlement." "Ay, Andy, Peggy's a rare well-favored lass, A'll allow," siz she. " But she's been contrairy with ye this twel'-month, an' don't seem to care a farden for ye. She's no better nor you, for all her puttin' on airs. An' A' wair in yiur place, A' wouldn't go the len'tli o' the doour for to pleasure her." AND RECITATIONS No. 21. 145 6 "What, mommer," siz I, "don't ye think she cares jist a weeney hit for me? " "Shame a haet!" siz she; "though Ali'm sore pained for til sav't on your account, honey ; but A'm feared it's all no good. Ye've been sure o' her nigh a dozen times, off an' on ; but she's like the Irishman's flea, when ye put your finger on her she isn't there. Give her clane up at onct, Andy. Leta- bee for letabee, siz I, an' there's as good fish in the say as iver was caught. A' misdoubt Peggy's tuck up with that poky numskull, Bill Mackinzie." " Well, mom," siz I, "A'll take my chanct along o' him, an' divil take the hin'most. Faint heart ne'er won fair lady, ye know, so here goes. Mebbe after all I'll make a riffle. Who knows?" Thereupon, havin' done the chores, an' tanded to the critters, an' righted things around the barn, A' got on ma Sunday duds, trigged up a bit, slicked ma hair with the recldin' comb, an' about sundown started acrost the clarin' to Elder McK'ag's cabin. As A' drawed nigh the house, who should A' see but Bill Mackinzie comin' cat-a-corner acrost the fields jist fornanst me. He was dressed up to the nine's, an' fine he knowed it. " Dawgon him ! " thinks I, "the jigs up for this time. A'll have no chance the night for to git a word in aidgewise with Peggy." Howiver, A' hurried up to the picket gate peart as ye pl'ase, bat feelin' mighty jubous, for all that. "How air ye?" siz I, chipper enough, for A' minded the sayin' that it's alluz good to be ceevil, as the old woman said when she curtsied to the divil. But in meh heart A' was a-thinkin' how kin A' git shut of that long-legged codger, an' marvelin' if A' wouldn't hev to knock the hindsights off' n him afore A' was done with it. " Lollyguin ! " siz Bill, startin' back, "ye baint hyur ag'in, Andy Burbeck?" " Wull, mester sassbox," siz I, feelin' my dander risin', " whar am A' then, ef A' hain't hyur? Belike, A've got a better right nor ye to be hyur. Annyhow, ef my prisence 146 WERNER'S READINGS mislikes ye, ye hain't no call to go furder, an' kin jist take the back trail. ' ' " Hold your gab ! " siz he, " ye beeta hadn't gimme anny of your impidence or I'll " " Wkat'll ye do?" siz I, takin' a step for'a'd an' comin' clost til him, for A' was gettin' powerful het up, ye see. " Tech me if ye dar! " says I. " Ye' 11 have your wark cut out for ye, my brave laddie. Ye dassen't do't, bad cess to ye ! Ye dassen't lay the heft o' your finger on me ! Some- body'll git hurted ef " Jist then the cabin door opened an' Elder McK'ag stepped out. Both on us wilted at wanct, an' turned to'r'dhim, sorta sheepish-like. " What's all this rumtion, lads?" siz he, a-lookin' at us with a quizzical cast to his eye. ' ' Come in ! ye beeta come intil the house, an' stop your carryin' on out thar." " Good aven, Elder," siz Bill, kindeh dazed like. " Good avenin' til ye, Elder," siz I, quite put out an' all in a swither, an' hardly knowin' what I sayed. " We wair jist a-comin' in, but stopped a minute to pass the time o' day." A' knowed he opined purty clairly what was a-goin' on atween us; tho', when he heard what A' telled him, he niver let on. But A' suspicioned he was a-chucklin' inside, an' mayhap wusht we'd gone off a bit furder an' smasher other to smithereens, for the Elder was a widder man, an' had nary childer nor Peggy, an' he didn't care much to have anny bucks a-takin' a shine ter her. He stood a-lookin' at us awhile with his thumbs hitched intil his galluses, an' then sayed : "Ay, ay, lads! Ah '11 uphold ye for that. But it sounded rayther rambunctious-like, for passin' the time o' day. It was a heap o' cacklin' for so small an aigg. Howsomiver, walk in an' tak' a sate." In A' marched, an 1 Bill a-follerin' ; but his legs were so long that he had to jouk his red head as he went inunder the door jamb. The table was set for supper in the middle e' the room, an' a tallow dip was a-burnin' on't. A big back- AND RECITATIONS No. 21. 147 log was in the wide chimbley with the flames eatin' a right smart chunk out'n the heart. The crane swung in'ard with the kittle a-sizzin' an' a-stamein' ; an' a spider full o' bacon a-brilein' on the hot coals, an' a pile o' flannel cakes on a plate jist ready to be sarved. But hokey-pokey ! all that was nought to Peggy, who stood thai* anent the h'ar th ! She had on a smart red an' black plaid flannel gownd, span new, an' a white apern, an' a linen hankercher folded acrost her buzzum, an' beaded moccasins on her nate little fut. Her cheeks were like peach blooms in the springtime, an' her sleeves rolled up above the elbows, a-showin' her well-turned arms. My fathers! wairen't she the verra pink o' parfection ! Mother alius wanted me tuh kape company wi' Sal Martin, becaze, she sayed, she's better nor she' bonny. But gimme Peggy McK'ag, siz I, for she's both better arS bonny. Sal Martin's not a patchin' til her! An' thar she stood as purty as a picter, a-grinnin' an' a-kackelin' atusuns, as we traipsed in after her dad, Indian file. Now, A'd alluz been the bashfulest an' awkerdest kind of a gawk when A' wint for to see the gals, an' A' suspicioned that was why Peggy didn't set so much store by me. But seein' her thar so all-fired han'some, an' thinkin' o' me a-losin' o' her all along o' Bill Mackinzie riled me so"s A' didn't keer a bawbee what A' sayed. A' felt like all pos- sessed the whole night, from A' come intil the door till A' left the cabin. So A' yorked off my coonskin cap, an' made my best obeyderence, an' bid Peggy good avenin', an' wusht her good health, " though," siz I, " th's no needces- sity for that, for ye're the picter o' rosy health, an' purtier nor a posey." She wasn't uset til sich compliments from me (no more was A' myself, for that matter!), an' sort o' started, an' blushed, an' looked quare, an' belike a bit miffed, to boot. But hit or miss, siz I to myself , it's now or niver! So A' spakes right up a'gin' : "Peggy, my dear, mother bid me for til tell ye that she's got that recait from the meenister's wife for makin' a black 148 WERNERS READINGS dye out'n new-mown hay. An' ef ye'll jist come over the morrow, she'll show ye how to mix it for dyeiir the Elder's Sunday breeches, as ye was inquirin' about." "A'm sure I'm much obleeged til her," siz Peggy, with a bit blush a-tippin' her two cheeks. "An' til ye, too, Andy," says she, " for a-tellin' o' me. But hav ye had supper yit ? " " Not a haet," siz I ; " an' ef it won't put ye out too much ye may plaze put ma name in the pot." "Sartan," siz she, " an' hearty welcome A'm sure, ef ye'll take pot luck wi' us. Good avenin' til ye, M ester Mac - kinzie," siz she, a-turnin' to Bill an' droppin' a curtsey as genteel as rale quality. " Won't ye take a cheer an' have a bite an' sup? " "That A' will, an' thankee kindly," siz Bill; an' takin' up a stool he toted it acrost the room an' sat down aside Peggy, as brash as a town beau. But what manners could ye axpec' (thinks I) from sech a lunk as that Bill? Ye can't make a silk purse out of a sow's ear, nohow; an' it's hard gettin' breeks off a Highlander. All the same, howiver, A' noted that Peggy hadn't ast me to take a sate, an' A' was gittin' to feel a lettle huffy about it, when the Elder, seein' Peggy had served the supper sayed : "Come, lads, have a snack! Jist set right down an' fall to." Now, bein' s'ated, an' Peggy behint a st'arain' pot o' sas- safras tay, with crame an' maple sugar on one side, an' a crock o' bubblin' mush an' the milk piggin on t'other, the Elder turns to me an' says : "Andy, wull ye do the biddin' ? " "Axcuse me, Mr. McK'ag," siz I, "it 'u'd ill become sich as me to ast a blessin' in the prisence of an Elder o' the church. Axcuse me, plaze! " Elder McK'ag looked askant at me, as though ruther ju- berous how to take what A' sayed, then turned to Bill, who sat foment me. " Mester Mackinzie," siz he, "wull ye do the biddin', then? " • -:'■ AND RECITATIONS No. 21. 149 Now Bill was a perfesser, though a powerful weak un, leastaways in spots; an' A' reckon he tho't he'd a chanct to cotton to the Elder an' git on his good side an' show off ag'in' me. So he jouked his noddle an' shet his eyes, an' began : k ' For what we are about to recave, ' ' siz he, startin' off as peart as a parson. Then, seein' he had got on to the wrong trail an' started the -Fi^copal grace, which he knowed 'u'd rile the Elder powerful, he balked an' stuttered, an' got red as a gum-tree after frost. Then hopin' he'd make out nex' time, he struck in ag'in : "Now — I — lay me — O good land!" siz he, breakin' off, clane upset. Peggy snickered right out, but A' helt in, sober as a jedge, more by good luck nor good guidin'. Tlier' was an awful pause. Peggy got redder'n a beet, an' then whiter'n a lily (God bless her dear heart!) an' looked up scaret like intil her father's face. But the old man niver let on, an' sayed nary a word savin' only " Humph !" an', pickin' up knife an' fork, began to sarve the bacon. Willi, A' didn't envy Bill that releegious axercise ! Nor A' didn't pity him nuther. Ye'll sing small now, my larkie, thinks I, an' was fairly bu'stin' for a good guffaw, butdastent do't lest the Elder 'd come down on me like a thousand o' brick. Besides, A' seed that Peggy, bein' kind o' sorry for Bill, an' thinkin' she had hurted his feelin's, was castin' about for til smooth things over a bit, an' was mighty per- lite til 'im, an' jist sort o' gi nie the go-by for the rest o' the male. " Oh, yes," thinks I. " Ye're keerless enough o' my feelin's, but thunderin' pertickler about hissen? " Supper over, "Come, Peggy," says the Elder, solemnly, " le's have warship now." A' noticed that he didn't ax Bill to take the Buk. So Peggy brought the Bible an' set it down afore her father, an' shoved the taller dip alongside him. But A' couldn't listen much, nor pray nuther, as far as that goes, for thinkin' that the 150 WERNER'S READINGS plague j gial had sot down clost to Bill, an' for watcliin' him a-castin' sheep's eyes at her, whiles, through, all the readin'. " Bonny perfessor that! " thinks I, " a-sparkin' at sich a time! Warship done, the Elder lit his pipe an' sot down in a corner of the chimbley-place to smoke. Then what does Peggy do but hurry up with the best cheer an' set it down right by her dad, an' ast Bill to tak' a sate ! He was tickled to death at that, to be sure, an' sot down as large as a lord an' began a long crack wi' the Elder. Seein' how things was a-gawin, my heart sunk almost intil my boots; but gittin' despert ag'in, A' shuk off the doldrums an' spunked up to Peggy an" says : "Well, Peggy, seein' there's nought else for me to do, A' reckon A' beeta turn to an' help ye redd off the table. Men folks is no shucks at tydin' up things, an' too many cooks spoil the broth," siz I, lookin' hard an' glum at Bill, "but willin' heart makes light work, and A'll make out for lack o' better; so here goes, Peggy, ma dear." With that A' nabbed a han'ful o' plates an' toted 'em intil the little leanto whar Peggy kep' an' washed her chainey things. Land o' liberty ! All unbeknownst, A'd fallen onto a streak o' good luck ! Thar A' was in that cuddy all meh lone with Peggy, peekin'out o' the lettle door at Bill an' the Elder argifyin' hot an' heavy on the Stamp Act an' the Sons o' Liberty, an' havin' sich interteenin' discourse that they ga^e nayther heed nor hap to Peggy an' me. That was my las'chanct! Now or niver, thinks I! Go in, Andy, an' make a spoon or spile a horn! My heart was a-poundin' like a churn dasher as A' stood thar a- watcliin' Peggy swash about the plates in the smokin' hot water, an' lookin' sweeter nor a sprig posey. "Peggy,'' siz I at last, leanin' over clost to her an' sp'akin' low; "Peggy, A' can't stand this anny longer. A' love ye more'n all creation, an' -'' "J¥o,no/ That won t do /" sings out the Elder, so loud an' pat that we both started an' turned to'r'd the door, a-thinkin' he was rp'akin' til us uns. But thanks stars ! he AND RECITATIONS No. 21. 151 was a-settin' tliar as cool as a cowcumber, lookin' intil the fire an' argifyin' with Bill, an' it was him he was hollerin' at, not me. A' don't know, an' niver shall, A' axpec', what pos- sessed me to do it, but as Peggy turned back her face from the door A' jist up an' kissed her cheek. A' couldn't 'a' helped it ef old Sattan hisself had 'a' bean thar to bunder. Jiminy ! A' felt that buss clane down til my toes. But, sakes alive: thinks I, what hev A' done? A've spilt the fat intil the fire this time, sartain ! Now A '11 get my walkin' papers, sure as shootin' ! "Goodness, gracious me, Andy Burbeck ! " siz Peggy, droppin' her plate intil the pan. " How dare ye do that?" "Peggy,'' siz I, still kindeh possessed an' thinkin' A' might as wull die for an old sheep as a lamb, " Peggy," siz I, " bein' as ye wush it, A'll jist show ye how A' dast to do it," an' A' up an' kissed her ag'in. What did she do? She didn't do nought, but blushed an' hung her purty face, an' saj 7 ed "Andy," as low an' as swaet as a cooin' cushat, an' looked down intil the pan, an' went on quietly washin' the dishes ! " Peggy, my darlin' ! " siz I, almost wild with hope, but feared lest A' might blunder an' nip the rose in the bud ; "Peggy, ye do love me, A' belave. Tell me that ye do, Peggy, my love, an' A'm the proudest an' happiest man in the Wistern Survey." She looked up askant, an' sayed : " Hoosh, Andy ; don't spake so loud, plaze. Bill '11 overhear us, an' then " "Drat Bill! " siz I; "spake out, sweetheart, an' tell me the good news wi' your own swate lips. Do ye love me, Pes'srv ? ' ' ""Wull — Andy," siz she, slow an' solemn, but tinder an' arnest like, "A' — allow — that — A' — do! " An' she pursed up her red lips jist a lilly-bit, an' — wull, A' raythur reckon A' didn't neglec' that Providential oppor- toonity ! "Ah, Peggy," siz I, lookin' over at Bill, who was six good inches taller nor me, an' A'm no runty, nayther, " it ain't alluz the longest pole 'at knocks the persimmons, is it. 152 WERNER'S READINGS darlin'? But what possessed ye to favor Bill so an' slight me, the night? When ye went an' sot beside him at warship, an' than give him the best cheer beside your dad, A' tho't it was all up with me." " Tut, tut ! Andy," siz she, " what 'u'd 'a' happened ef A'd 'a' sot ye thar? But belike ye'd wush to swap places now?" siz she, lookin' up slyly. " Ye lettle witch ! " siz I, givin' her another kiss. "A : niver dre'mt ye was sich a slypuss." A' don't know axac'ly how long them dishes was a- wash - in' ; for A'd wiped 'em, ye see, an' A' niver was extry brisk at that sort o' business. But whan they was done A : says : "An' now A've got what A' come for, A'll e'en be goin' home for til tell the good news to mother. A' kin trust ye with Bill for wan night, darlin', an' he won't be here, A' allow, whan A' come to set up wi' } T e the morrow. An' we's'll have a jollier time then, Peggy, my love, for ye see two's company, but three's a crowd." " Wull, Andy," siz she, "A' suppose you beeta be goin' ; though, dearie me ! it's a sore night A'll hev on't, A'll be bound! But, thank goodness! A'll soon be redd o' that poky blatherskite, Bill. But, Andy, darlin', do ye love me truly?'' siz she, lookin' tander an' longin' like intil ma face. " Deed an' double, A' do! '' siz I. "A'll crost ma breast to that anny day, ma dear. An' ef the Goodman spares us, an' your dad is agrayable, we's'll be wedded sure an' sartin, Peggy,'' siz I. "Wull, Andy," siz she, " won't ye win' the clock for me afore ye go? She alluz runs down of a Saturday night." Now, the old Dutch clock stood in the ind o' the settin' room foment the fireplace, an' as Bill an' the Elder had their backs to'r'ds us, A' jist tuk a kiss for toll atween each weight as A' wun 'em up, an' an extra kiss for the finishin'. Bad cess til him ! Jist then that pesky Bill turned roun' an' caught us at it! My crackles! how he stared an' glow- ered, an' dropped his chops til his mouth looked like a snller door. Peggy blushed redder'n a rose, but she niver flunked, but jist r'ached up an' gi' me a quiet kiss an' whispered : ■ AND RECITATIONS No. 21. 153 " Good night, darlin', an' don't ye forgit me. Let Bill glower! We haen't no cause to be ashamed, an' A' don't keer a buckie for him." So A' came for'a'd an" shuck ban's wi' Elder McK'asc, an' bid him good night. An' feelin' so tiptop, an' not wushin' to be out with Bill, A' tho't A'd e'en make up with him, seein' A' was ail right with Peggy. So A' says, " Good night til ye, Bill ! " an' belt out my ban'. " My name haen't Bill ! " says he. "Leastways not to you," siz he, grumpy as a bear an' makin' no sign. 'A felt like fetcbin' him a side-swipe for his ill manners, an' be desarved a cloutin', too. But, laws-ee! who'd look for manners in gawky Bill? An' what's the use o' quarrelin' with sich as him, thinks I. Besides, he's sore enough fretted a'ready, an' they's no use a-pourin' water onadrownded rat. He'll be warse afore he's better, A' 11 lay a pretty penny. So A' spoke out : "'All right, then, jist as ye plaze. Good night, Wull'em — -Mester Wull'em Schomberg Mackinzie!" siz I, an' left the cabin. Mother, seein' me a-comiir home so soon, looked up from her knittin' an' shuck her head, thinkin' all had gone ajee. " "Wull, sonny,'' siz she, " Bill run ye out, did he? " "Leastways," siz I, puttin' on a solemn face, "A' left him a-settin' up with Peggy an' the Elder." "Ay, honey, A' telled ye so ! " siz she. "It's jist as A' opined. But ye would threap me down, an' " "Hold on, mommer,'' siz I, goin' up an' kissin' her. " Ye're barkin' up the wrong tree this time. Peggy's ail right, an' A'm all right, an' Bill Mackinzie's badly sacked. That's the long an' short of it, an' I'm chuck full an' runnin' over." A' couldn't hold in no longer, an' jist sw T ung loose, an' danced a jig around the cabin, whustlin' the while " Haste to the AVeddin' " an' "Roy's Wife of Aldevalock! " An', dear old mother ! she was daft as m'self, an' fust cried an' than laughed, an' beat time with her fut an' knittin' needles, 154 WERNERS READINGS an' lilted away in tune with my whustlin' as merry as a milk- in' maid. " A don't understan' it, Andy," siz she, at last. " Bill's folk all bragged that Peggy an' him war to be wedded, an' they seemed so sartain an' sot up about it." k ' It's a lettle differ what Bill's folk say, mommer," siz I. " They've missed it this time, an' a miss is as good as a mile. It's best not to praise a fair day afore avenin'," siz I. " True enough, honey," siz she. " But Bill is so well to do, ye know, an' the Elder is a canny soul, for all his piety; an' the neighbors telled me that Bill allowed he was plumb sure o' Peggy." " Nothin' but talk, mother," siz I, " A'll cry an' no wool, as the shoemaker said when he shore the pig. Manny a slip 'twixt cup an' lip; an' Bill's out on Peggy, though he may coort her dad, an' welcome, for all me. Peggy's mine, mother ; A' tell ye, Peggy's mine ! An' A'm the happiest lad as she's the bonniest lass in all the land ! JEST A-THINKIN' 0' YOU." ELLA HIGGINSON. WHUN tli' down's awn th' thistle, 'N' 'ts purpul heart's gawn, \N' 'ts little silky needles, Goes a-flirtin' roun' th' lawn; Whun th' clouds seems t' git whit'r 'N' th' skies t' git more blue, I jest seem t' keep a-thinkin* — Jest a-thinkin' — think 'n' — o' you. Whun th' shumac's turned t' crims'n, 'N' th' mapul's turned t' gold, 'N' th' ferns along th' ditchez 'S a-gitt'n' brown 'n' old; Whun th' crick'ts is a-chirp'n*, AND RECITATIONS No. 21. 155 'N' the fall-grass com'n' new, I jest mope aroun, a-think'n' — Jest a-think'n' — think' n' — o' you. Whun th' wil' grape's blaz'n' scarl't, 'N' pine scents is awn th' breeze, 'N' th' little sassy squrrul Scoots, a-squeal'n' up th' trees; "Whun th' nights is washed with moonlight, 'N' alders washed with dew, I jest set aroun', a-think'n' — Jest a-think'n' — think'n' — o' yju. Whun th' hull woods seems a-crackl'n' Wi' th' burrs a-fall'n' down, 'N' the beetles is a-boomin', 'N' dead leaves a-fly'n' roun', I jest go a-loaf'n', loaf n', Nev'r car'n' t' smoke or chew, Do'n' noth'n' but loaf'n' 'n' think'n'— Jest a-think'n' — think'n' — o' you. Whun th' fields is gitt'n' green'r Wi' th' fall wheat comin' up, '1ST' tli' sweet rains is drippin', drippin', 'N' each em'ty acorn-cup; Whun th' nights git long; 'n' lonesome, 'N' I don' know what t' do, Lordy ! how I keep a-think'n' — Keep a-think'n' — think'n' — o' you. Whun I come to think about it, Don' much matter whun it be, Whuth'r it's a-danc'n' sunshine Or a-rain'n' drearily; Whuth'r I'm a-feel'n' happy. Or a-feel'n' sad 'n' blue, Fall or summer — I keep think'n' — Jest a-think'n' — think'n' — o' you. 156 WERNERS READINGS THE HEART OF OLD HICKORY. WILL ALLEN DROMGOOLE. [From the Arena, by permission of the Arena Publishing Co.] Arranged as a monologue to he given in newsboy costume, if so desired. Characters : Little Skippy, a newsboy, taking Lis route through the State House for the first time. The Governor of Tennessee, nicknamed by his political oppo- nents " Tenderheart. " Time : Late in the afternoon of a snowy winter day. Place : The executive office, a richly furnished room with a grate fire. PAPERS! Papers! wanter paper, mister? Yes? [Bounds forward as rapidly as a lame left foot ivill let him.'] A Banner? [Halts midway the apartment, and slowly shalces his head, while an expression, part jubilance, part regret, and altogether disgust, crosses his face.] Don't sell that sort, mister; none uv our club don't. It's — low-lived. That's about the size on't. [Edges nearer the glowing coals in the open grate fire and stretches out his hands to the welcome blaze.] Why do I refuse to sell the Banner? Shucks! 'Tain't no good. None uv us likes it. Yer sec, cully [very respectfully], yer see, .it sez mean things, tells lies, yer know, about a friend uv mine. [The lame foot is thrust danger- ously near the fire, shoidders droop.] I may sit? Oh, that's good. [Sits in a big, easy deep armchair and gazes at the fire for a moment as if perfectly happy.] What does the Banner say uv my friend? Aw, sher ! It called him a '"''mugwump,'''' an' it said ez ther wa'n't no backbone ter AND RECITATIONS No. 21. 157 him, an' ez lie wuz only fitten ter set prisoners loose, an' ter play the fiddle. An' it said a lot about a feller named Ole Poplar — naw, not poplar, cedar, ash, wonnut, Hick'ry — that's it ! Hick'ry, —Ole Hick'ry. Andrew Jackson, the boys said it meant; an' it made them orful mad, an' they won't sell the nasty paper. [Tatters begin to quiver with excite- ment.^ Who is my friend? {Vaguely, wonderingly .] Aw, he ain't my friend perzactly. He's Shinny's, though. Who's Skinny? [A flash of contempt appears in the eyes of the lad.] Say, cully [slowly and emphatically], wher' wuz yer raised? Don't yer know Skinny? [Silence for a moment, then a choking movement as if struggling with emotions. Draws sleeve across bundle of papers ; a tear fcdls on the papers.] lie wnz a newsboy- — -till yistiddy. We buried uv him yistiddy. [Momentary silence.] This here wuz Shinny's route. I took it yistiddy. Yer see Skinny didn't have eo mammy an' no folks, an' no meat outer his bones — that's why we all named him Skinny. An' ther' wuz nobody ter keep keer uv him when he wuz sick, an' he jest up an' died. [Gazes into the fire and seems to forget where he is.] Who was this friend uv Shinny's? Why, the Gov'ner, of course. Say! [Scorn in the eyes.] Is ther' anybody else can pardon out convicts? Say, cully, does yer know the Gov'ner? Yer do? an' yer wish ter know more about Skinny an' — his friends? [Settles bach in the chair, drops bundle of papers on the rug, heaves a sigh of comfort.] Well, me an' him wuz on the prison route till — yistiddy. Least I wuz ther' till yistiddy. Skinny tuk this route last year. He begged it fur mo when he — come ter quit, because I ben't ez strong ez Solermun, yer know. But 'twuz when we wuz ter the pris'n route I larnt about Shinny's friend. First, ther' wuz ole Jack Nasby up an' got parelized, an' wa'n't no 'count ter nobody, let 'lone ter the State. "A dead expense," the ward'n said. He suffered orful, too, an' so'd his wife. An' one day Skinny said he wuz goin' ter write a pertition an' git all the 'hslmls ter sign it, an' git the Gov'ner ter pard'n old Nasby out. They all signed it — one 158 WERNERS READINGS nv the convic's writ it, but they all told Skinny ez 'Wuz ho use, 'cause he wouldn't do it. An' one day, don't yer think, when ole Nasby wuz layin' on the hospittul bunk with his dead side kivered over with a pris'n blankit, an' his wife a-cryin' beca'se the ward'n wuz 'bleeged ter lock her out, the Guv'ner hisse'f walked in. An' what yer reckin he done? Cried ! What yer think uv that, cully? An' 'lowed ez how few folks wuz so bad et somebody didn't keer fur 'em; an' then he called the man's wife back, an' p'inted ter the half- dead ole convic', an' told her ter " fetch him home." Did! An' the nex' day if the Banner didn't tan him! An' ther' wuz a feller ther' been in twenty year, an' had seventy-nine more ahead uv him. An' one night when ther' wa'n't nobody thinkin' uv it, he up an' got erligion. An' he ain't no more en got it, en he wants ter git away fum ther'. Prayed fur it constant: "Lord, let me out! Lord, let me out ! " He couldn't take time ter cry an' pray 'thout cheat'n' the State, yer know, so he jest cried an' prayed while he worked. The other pris'ners jest poked fun at him. Say ! Did yer heear 'bout the big fire that bruk out in the pris'n las' November, did yer? Well, that ther' convic' fetched thirteen men out on his back. They wuz suf'cated, yer know. He fetched the warden out, too, in his arms. An' one uv his arms wuz burnt that bad it had ter be cut off. An' the pris'n doctor said he breathed fire inter his lungs or somethin'. An' the next day the Gov'ner pard'ned uv him out. I wuz ther' when the pard'n come. The warden's voice trim'led when he read it ter the feller layin' bundled up on his iron bunk. An' when he heerd it he riz up in bed an' sez he : " My prayers is answered; tell the boys." The warden bent over 'im ez he dropped back an' shet his eyes. "What must I tell the Gov'ner?" sez he. " Tell him, God bless him." An' that wuz the las' word he ever did say top- side uv this earth. Whatcher think uv that, cully? 'Bout ez big ez the Banners growl, wa'n't it? But the best uv all wuz about ole Bemis. [Rearranges his tatters.~\ Did yer ever hear about ole Bemis? Yer did? Well, yer see, Bemis wuz a banker, — a reg'lar rich un. He AND RECITATIONS No. 21. 159 kilt a man, — kilt him dead, too, — an' yer see, cully, 'twas his own son-in-law. An' one cote went dead against him, an' they fetched it ter t'other, an' that cote said he mus' hang, too, an' they put him in jail ; an' befo' they had the trial the jailer looked fur a mob ter come an 1 take him out at night an' hang him. He set up late lookin' fur it. But stid uv a mob, the jailer heerd a little pitapat on the steps, an' a little rattle uv the door, an' when he opened uv it ther' wuz a little lame cripple girl standin' ther' leanin' on her crutches, a-cryin' an' a-beggin ter see her pappy. Truth, cully! Atter that, folks begin ter feel sorry fur the ole banker, when the jailer'd tell about the little crutch ez sounded up an' down them jail halls all day. The pris'ners got ter know it, an' ter wait fur it, an' they named uv her "crippled angul," she wuz that white an' pretty, with her blue eyes an' hair like tumbled -up sunshine all round her face. An' when they had that ther' las' trial uv ole Bemis, lots uv meanness leaked out ez had been done him, an' it showed ez the pris'ner wa'n't so mightily ter blame atter all. An' lots uv folks wuz hopin' the ole man 'n'd be plumb cleared; but the cote said he mus' hang, hang, hang. Did ; an' when it said so the angul fell over in her pappy's arms, an' her crutch rolled down an' lay ag'inst the judge's foot, an' he picked it up an' belt it in his han' all the time he wuz sayin' uv the death-sentence. An' the Banner said, "That wuz enough fur chicken-heart,'' an' said ever'- body might look fur a pard'n nex' day. An' then whatcher reckin? What do yer reckin, cully? The nex' day down come a little yaller-headed gal ter the jail a-kerryin' uv a pard'n. Whatcher think uv that? Wuz that chicken-heart? Naw, cully, that wuz grit. Skinny said so. An' Skinny said — he wuz alius hangin' roun' the cap'tul — an' he heerd the men talkin' 'bout it — an' they said the little gal come up ter see the Gov'ner, an' he wouldn't see her at first. But she got in at last, an' begged an' begged fur the ole man about ter hang. But the Gov'ner wouldn't lis'n, till all't once she turned ter him an' sez she, " Have you got a chile ! " An' his eyes lilt up in a minute, and sez he : " One, at Mount Olivet." That's the graveyard, yer know. Then he called 160 WERNERS READINGS his sec't'ry man, an' whispered ter him. An' the man sez: "Is it wise? " An' then the Gov'ner stood up gran' like, an' sez he: "Hit's right; an' that's enough." Wa'n't that bull j, though? Wa'n't it? Whatcher lookin' at out the winder, cully? [After a mo- ment's silence.] Say [acts ? i estless], does the firelight hurt yer eyes? They looks like the picture uv Skinny 's man. Oh, but hit's a good picture: It's a man layin' in bed. Sick or somethin', I rcckin. An' his piher's all ruffled up, an' the kiverlid all white ez snow. An' his face has got a kind uv glory look. An 1 in one corner is a big, big patch uv light. 'Tain't. sunshine, too soft; an' 'tain't moonlight, too bright. Hit's jest light. AV plumb square in the middle uv it is a angul, — -a gal angul, I reckin — an' she has a book, a gold un, an' she's writin' down names in it. An' the man in bed is watchin' uv her, an' tellin' uv her what ter do; fm down ter the bottom ther'p some gol' -writin'. Skinny figgered it out an' it said: " Write me as one who loves his fellow -men." Ain't that scrumptious? Yer jest bet. I asked Skinny once what it meant, an' he said he didn't know fur plumb certain, but sez he, '•' I calls it the Gov'ner, Skip; the Gov'ner a^' the crippled angul/' Alius boys alius called it the Gov'ner. Say! did yer ever see the Gov'ner? Yer did! [The lad rises in chair and then sinks lack with vehemence in accord with surprise.] Oh, say now! did yer, 'though? An' did yer ever heer him make a speech? Raily now, did yer? [Leans forward, and looks sharply as if he would catch the faintest hint of falsehood.] Skinny did once, when he wuz norgrated, yer know. An' yer bet he's gran', then, on them norgrat'n days. He jest up an' dares the ole Banner. An' his speeches goes this er w T ay. [Sta?ids with foot pressed against the chair, the other one resting on rugj one hand clasping lightly the arm of the chair, while the other is en- thusiastically waved to and fro as the lad recites the "Gov- ner 's " speech.] "Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings truth ever comes pouring. Listen to them and follow what they teach. The so-called 'State Bonds' are against the letter and spirit AND RECITATIONS No. 21. 161 of the Constitution of the United States, which declares : ]STo State shall grant letters of marque and reprisal, coin money, or emit bills of credit. State bonds ! State bonds ! I tell you, friends and fellow-citizens, that is the name of the enemy that is hammering upon that mighty platform upon which all social, political, and financial affairs of the country are founded; the palladium of our liberties, — the Constitution of the United States. " [Slides hack foot and then slijps into chair. Lips twitch nervously. Draws sleeve across face and shakes with excitement for fully two minutes.'] Say ! yorter knowed Skinny. He wuz the nicest boy yevver did see. He knowed ever' thing, he did. I wisht yer could see Skinny's picture anyhcw. It's over ter Hunch- back Harry's house now. Skinny give the picture ter Harry 'count uv his not bein' able ter git about much. He set a sight uv store by it, Skinny did, an' he didn't let it leave him till the las' minit; he jest willed it, yerkno