3545 E54 S8 1908A And LIBRARY UNIVERSITY OP CAttfOCNIA PS 354-b E54- S8 Swazy Folks And Others Poems by JOHN D. WELLS WITH DRAWINGS BY ALBERT MACK STERLING Third Edition BUFFALO HAUSAUER-JONES PRINTING COMPANY Publishers COPYRIGHT I 908, BY JOHN D. WELLS HAUSAUER-dONES PRINTING CO. BUFFALO, N. Y. Sfa my mtfe and little oawjfyfrra book of wrap 10 affrrtuw- oeotrated. 3. U. W. Preface A GOOD friend has made objections to the title of this book, saying: "People don't know where Swazy is!" O, but they do! Every one has his Swazy long "a," please, as in "hayin'." Every one knows that Swazy is any place where the population is sparse, where the cider mill and the shingle factory mark the line where the village leaves off and the open country begins; where "Town Meetin' " and Firemen's Day mark the cycle of time; where quoit pitching in the Methodist churchsheds and Sam Scrib- ner's Wagon Circus leaven honest toil and the even-tenored lives of the village "folks." O, yes, almost every man, who has ever made much of a success of things, came from a Swazy, somewhere. As for "the others," whose lives or stories are herein rhymed, they are people whom we have all met soldiers, range-riders, sailors, ".gods of the open air." Lastly, not a few of the verses are about children, the merry little souls who stand in the fields of Youth and watch us as we pass along the Path of Reality, turning bright faces to us for the instant and making us happier for it. These verses are assembled here to satisfy a call by friends to see some of the poems in permanent form. This was as much a surprise to their sponsor as to his most un friendly critic, and, withal, a compliment so flattering that it demands compliance. For the most part, the verses have appeared in a special column on the editorial page of the Buffalo Evening News, called "From Grave to Gay, " which it has been the author's pleasure to edit for the past five years. To the owner of the News, Mr. Edward H. Butler, the writer is indebted for permission to reprint here, as well as for many kindnesses and a generous friendship that has made his service on the News most enjoyable. J. D. W. Contents Title Page No. "Howdy!" 15-16 The Dreamer . . . . . . .17 Bilin' Sap ....... 18 At Court ....... 19 Wishes ....... 20 Old Letters . .... 21 The Kettle Song ..... 22-23-24 The Street Musician ..... 25 The Town Marshal ..... 26 'Twixt Seasons at Swazy ..... 27 Leave My Dreams to Me . . 28-29-30-31 Grandpa ....... 32 Susan Serepty Perkins . . . . . 33-34 Brother Mine ....... 35 The Children of Poverty Lane ... 36 Old Fire Company ..... 37-38 Lessons ....... 38 A Birthday ..... -39 The Lonesome Time o* Night . . 40-41-42-43 The Hushed Voice ...... 44 Vender ....... 45 The Conversazzhony .... 46-47-48 The Blues ....... 49 A Song ........ 50 In the Toy Shop ...... 51-52 Genywine Joy . . . . . -53 Triolet To Her ..... 54-55-56 Pajamas at Traverse .... 57~5% The Chanty Song ..... 59 Title Page No. The Windows of My Memory .... 60 The Old Tramp Printer .... 61-62 Doggone Homesick ...... 63 When the Last Trumpet Sounds ... 64 Ould Barney M'Ginn 65 The Old Fishing Hole .... 66-67-68-69 The Tale the Stage Driver Told . . 70-71-72 Discharged ....... 73~74 A Cowpuncher and Prayer .... 75 Jist Loafin' 76 In Dreamland ...... 77 A Little Girl in Gingham . . 78-79-80-81 Far Apart ....... 82 At Home 83-84-85 The Measure of a Man ..... 86 Mutterin' Joe 87-88 A Soldier's Appreciation .... 89-90 Defying Age ...... 90 Little Lost Child . . . . . 91 Understanding ... . . 92 Where's He At ? 93 The Man Who Lost . . . 94~95~96-97 When Pals Must Part .... 98-99 The Happy Man ...... 99 Shadders ...... 100-101 Old Rosemont 102-103 Winter Mornin's . . . . . 104-105 Fall ...... 106-107-108 The Last Edition 109 Dan M'Carty of the Crossing Squad . iio-in Gone 112 Title Page No. Romancin' ...... 113-114 The Place and Time for Prayer . 115-116 Outweighing All . . . . . . 116 Old Fashioned Flowers .... 117-118 The Folly of Superstition . . . . 119 Ben Tarr Opines .... 120-121-122 The Old Back Stoop .... 123-124 The Nursery Battle .... 125-126 The Lonely Man ...... 126 Folks Back Home ...... 127 Come Back Again .... 128-129 Christmas Eve in the Old Manse . . 130-131 An Investment ..... 132-133 John Thompkins' Fiddlin' . 134-135-136-137 Old Ben Tarr's Idee 138 A Man ........ 139 The Martial Band from Big Elm Flat . 140-141 Old Ben Tarr's Filosofy 142 An Old Man's Deductions .... 143 The Old Home Town . . 144-145-146-147 Friends 148 To a Boy ....... 149 Going to Town with Pa . . 150-151-152-153 Two Songs .... . 154 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 15 "Howdy!" T'M shy on formal greetin's as it's give me tew observe, Them highfalutin' kowtows in the end kin on'y serve T' make a man suspicion, who's been off fer quite a dost, He's jest about half welcome, er th'ee quarters at the most; I tell y' what I 'predate if I've been off a spell, An' meet some man er uther 'at I've knowed purty well, Is when he gits his bearin's and he sashays up t' me An' grabs me by the flipper, an' then he sez It ain't no satisfaction, when yer back from furrin parts, T' have yer nayburs greet ye with new-fangled Jelly sartes There's sumpthin' "milk-an'-watery" that goes agin my grain In them 'ere sort o' greetin's, makes me want t* go again A sumpthin' sort o' chilly an' onhullsome, I'm doggone, That allus made me wonder if it wasn't jest put on! They ain't no fair comparison, that I have ever heard, Betwixt them formal things y' hear an' that one friendly word: HowJy/ n 16 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS There's nuthin 1 pitifuller, than a man 'ats got t' roam Er nuthin' more pathetiker than when a man comes home; I 'low there's sumpthin' simple sumpthin' home- lylike in it, A simple sort o' greetin' is the on'y kind'll fit; Jest clasp his hand in yourn an' you give it lots o' heft, 'N he'll think you've thought about him ever' minnit since he left, An' now, that he is back agin, he's welcome as the birds, Then make his joy completer with that friendliest fw rds: " SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 17 The Dreamer. said he lived in vain, But, when he died, The gentle skies shed tears of rain Those skies 'neath which he dreamed, and fain Would roam and dream beneath again And children cried. They said he lived for none, But, when he left, The buds that 'long his path had blown, And all he loved and called his own, Did bow their pretty heads and moan Like souls bereft. They cannot see, who said He lived for none, That yonder woodland stream that led Along the path he loved to tread, Has ceased its song and sighs instead, For one who's gone. They cannot know who play There is no gain In living thus each joyous day In dreams of never-ending May, They cannot know or would not say He lived in vain! i8 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS Bilin' Sap. T"17"HEN Natcher's bustin' out her pod, * * An' thoughts stirs up a feller's chest Of spring, an' hawsses turnin' sod, O them's the days I like the best! The days that I kin shet my noise An' jist lay back an' pitcher pap An' us an* all them Burton boys In Gullen's woods * * a-bilin' sap! I hain't no hand, an' never was, T' sling air native langwidge much, Ner pitcher dreams ner fancies, 'cause Y* see I wa'n't cut out fer such; An' days like this, doggone it, I Kin see I need most every scrap Of langwidge tew do jestice by A day like this * * an' bilin* sap! By hick'ry, I kin shet my eyes An' see that camp ez plain, I vum! It seems such mem'ries never dies But sticks to us twell kingdom cum! An* see them pails an' kettle there, With golden sirup bubblin* in It allus 'minded me, I sware, That pancake time wud cum agin! I s'pose that somewheres there's a tree In Gullen's woods not more'n one, Fer Gullen's woods that used t' be Air all cut down fer ages gone I s'pose that sumwheres there's a tree, A day like this, that's runnin* sap; I like t' think it weeps fer me, An' all them Burton boys an' pap! SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 19 At Court. A T court no royal splendor rules, ^^ No ermine mantles robe the King His crown is made of mother's spools Encircled on a gaudy string. With rattle-box for sceptre he Makes ready for his kingly nap, And summons each to bend a knee Before the throne on mother's lap. For we the monarch's subjects be In servitude, abject, we kneel; A weak and humble legion, we, Oppressed beneath his rosy heel. And I am Jester to the King! I put aside my tricks and wiles A jumping-jack upon a string, It takes to coax the monarch's smiles. I shake my jester's bells and strings The monarch shouts in childish glee His laughter through the nursery rings Far sweeter than a king's could be. But, hold, we bore the King, I own; "We pray the Lord his soul to keep," Tread lightly here around the throne The King's asleep the King's asleep! SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS Wishes. CJT4R light, star bright, *~^ First star I've seen tonight I wish I may, I wish I might Have the wish I wish tonight/ Wish, you, then, my little elf, That you always stay yourself Wish to keep each golden curl Be, for aye, a little girl. Wish to keep your childish glee, And the smiles you've smiled for me Wish to keep your bonny eyes, Clear and blue as shining skies. Wish to keep your lightened heart, All your baby charms and art Keep you all your ways and wiles, Dimpled hands and dimpled smiles. Wish I would that it could be! You might romp for aye with me, Through the day from early dawn, As you are until I'm gone! Star light, star bright, first star I've seen tonight / wish you may, I wish you might Have the wish I wish tonight/ SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS Old Letters. "CVADED letters! How I love them! * Why they seem to touch a string On the harpsichord of mem'ry 'Till the hosts of angels sing! Sing to me of loved ones, and the Hands that penned each loving line, Seem to reach across the chasm And I clasp them close in mine. Faded letters! From a sweetheart From a mother, dear to me From a brother, and another Far across the briny sea From a wife, she sent to cheer me In a strange and foreign land, And, the best of all, the letter Where she traced the baby's hand. Chubby fingers! How I loved them! How the fleeting years efface! Or, is it my tears, I wonder, That bedim the loving trace ? Though the cheerless years are many Since we worshipped at his shrine, Still I feel those little fingers Close around this heart of mine! Faded letters! How I love them! Letters from my loved ones and This, the best of all, the letter Where she traced the baby's hand; Little imprint on the paper And upon my heart, I fear, Sets the harpsichord of mem'ry Playing music sweet to hear! SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS The Kettle Song. I" wish the kettle would sing again Just as it used to do; I wish it would sing of a lion slain Of a pirate crew on the Spanish main Of a clipper ship on the sea-way, high, With a cabin boy and the Boy was I Just as it used to do. I wish the kettle would sing again, Just as it used to do, Of a little girl in a bonnet, red, And saved by a prince from a hydra-head That lurked in the corn that towered high, And the girl was She and the Prince was I Just as it used to do. I wish the kettle would sing again, Just as it used to do I wish it would sing of war's alarms, The booming of cannon and clash of arms Of a blue-clad boy where the strife ran high With face to the steel and willing to die Just as it used to do. I wish the kettle would sing again, Just as it used to do, The lyrics it crooned and the tales it told But the hearth is chill, and the years are old The fancies it whispered have all taken wing And never again will the kettle sing Just as it used to do! The Kettle Song SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS The Street Musician. A vagabond I A rover in the street, A derelict upon a human sea, And scorned by those who passed with hurried feet, Who heeded not, nor heard, his piteous plea! But, O the song from his old violin, It reached the spot my mem'ries linger in! He touched the strings as if with magic bow, And sweet it crooned above the din and all; It seemed to come from, O, so long ago, Across the years, a sympathetic call! It sang a song of fields and pleasant ways, And faces sweet I knew in other days. It called across the tortuous winding span That I have trod so long with wearied feet The rocky path that leads from boy to man; He sang the song, so beautiful and sweet, That's writ for those who have to sigh and roam; "I Wonder, Do They Miss Their Boy At Home r" A vagabond, 'tis true, but glorified By those sweet strains from his old violin, That called across Time's chasm, deep and wide, And reached the spot my mem'ries linger in! To think, this homeless soul remembers yet, While I, who have a home, so soon forget! 26 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS The Town Marshal. r I ''HE time the corkus 'lected Jim * Town marshal, fokes jumped ont' him, An' 'lowed the job pervided fer A man a heap more compenter 'N what he wuz. But I-sez-I : "Well, ennyway, give Jim a try"; (All thue the army him an' me Wuz pardners, so I knowed, y' see.) They 'low he hain't no great success Ez marshal, an' he hain't, I gess; Fokes criticize him 'cause he plays " Ol' sledge" an' euchre stormy days An' chillin' nights, with them 'ats in The lockup fer some triflin' sin; But they don't know, ez Jim tells me; "It sort o' keeps 'em company." When Abner cum on Widder Crumb Told Jim t' fo'close on her hum Fer debts her man made 'fore he died, Thare's no one knowed who satisfied Ab's claim, er cares to, nuther, fer It cleared an' saved her farm fer her But I've got strong suspicionment Of bow an' whare Jim's pension went ! Big-hearted, hullsome, ornery Jim! If fokes jes' knowed ez 7 know him, They'd vote fer him an' vote him straight Fer Keeper of the Golden Gate Er 'Cordin* Angel, er, I swear, Fer a'most enny place Up Thare! (All thue the army him an' me Wuz pardners, so I knowed, y' see!) SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 17 'Twixt Seasons at Swazy. T tell y' what I like t' do * Along when March is gettin' 'thue, Er Aprile's just beginnin' The cur'ousest time o' all the year, When winter's gone an' spring ain't here, An' snow is sort o' thinnin', I like t' wander romancin' I s'pose they's really no sense in Such takin's-on an' goin', But yender is the place fer me, Whare ellums, oaks, an' maples be, An' whare the southwind's blowin'l It seems t' whisper that's a fack O' sum ol' friend that's cummin' back, A-bringin' loads o' treasure, O' golden sunshine, greenest grass, An' wortermelons, garden sass, An' all in heapin' measure. It hints the smallest circumstence A Bob White on the pastcher fence A-chirpin', rich an' meller; An' all the pleasures yit t' cum A-straddle this southwind! I vum It sort o' chokes a feller! From ever' tarnal limb so bare The sap's a-drippin', an' though there 'S no way of mortils knowin', I believe them's tears o' joy, by cuss That Natcher's glad fer spring as us An' that's her way o' showin'l SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS Leave My Dreams to Me. r want but little here below, just let me have my dreams, And you may keep the gold and dross, and all the petty schemes That men conceive, in Greed and Gain, to foist on fellow men Just let me be a pilgrim, lone, to love and dream again Of hollyhocks In riot, red, A puncheon floor A trundle bed And things I love and cherish now, that looked so homely then. Just place me where my easy chair shall face the evening's glow, Where pictures form with magic art as fancies come and go, And all the paths that lead away guide weary pilgrims' feet To cottages with open doors where love and friendship meet A humble roof The song of birds The welcome low Of distant herds, And roses grow around the home and drip their fragrance sweet. The Place of Dream SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS And open wide the ancient door, so vagrant winds that blow May bear the music back to me the songs of long ago And echo children's voices songs of happiness and glee, AH silent now these many years and for Eternity; Then leave me here To dream and rest, With eyes upon The dying west Take all the wealth the world affords but leave my dreams to me! SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS Grandpa. r\ranpa Jones has turn to stay ^"^ Since my dranma went away- Tuz it ain't so lonesome ez Whare he used to live, he sez; Tells me bestest stories, tuz They's about when wartime wuz! Wartime wuz long time ago 'Fore my dranpa ever know Who my papa wuz, an' he Didn't know my ma or me When the wartime wuz, becuz We wa'n't here when wartime wuz. Sumtimes when my dranpa goes Upstairs where his hat an' clothes 'At he weared when wartime is, 'S packed away with fings of his, I peek through the door an' see Mostest fun they ever be! Puts his fixin's on an' nen Just tromps back an' forth again 'Fore ma's lookin' glass becuz 'Ats like when the wartime wuz; Nen he stops an' wipes his eyes First I know he cries an' cries! 'Nen I speak to him an' he Pats my head an' says I be 'Staken them wuz tears of joy; "Dranpa never cries, my boy!" Nen we bof git laffin' nen Us two goes down stairs again. SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 33 Susan Serepty Perkins. (A few lines of appresheashun of one of Natcher's noble- wimmin that I've knowed fer quite a spell an' have wanted to say sumthin about, but didn't dast. Now she's visitun out to her mother's cousin in lowy and I don't cakalate she'll see my humble efferts.) 'THHEY ain't no words that's got a edge * 'At's soft enuff, in langiwedge, T' tell her virtues as they be, Ner give no adekate idee Of Widder Perkin's dorter Sue, Ner praise her as I'd like t' do. It goes way back less see about The 6o's when the war bruk out An' things looked dark an' drafts begun; The widder's husband, Sile, was one That left his wife an' Susie, then She wasn't more n' nine er ten. Just thinkin' on't, seems t' me It wa'n't but only yisterdy I heerd the fifes cum screechin' down, An' Himeses Guards frum Burgettstown Marched past whare Silas' fambly wep' An' he fell in an' caught the step. 34 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS I see him yit, as plain as day, A-smilin' in his happy way A-smilin' as he kissed each head An' helt their hands a spell, an' said, With honest tears a-streamin' thue: "Take keer o' mother, won't y' Sue." An' then he went! Fer quite a spell They wasn't news enuff t' tell Er specify, er seemed t' keer How fared our army boys frum here, Till Petersburg, an' then it said That, 'mongst the others, Sile was dead! "Take keer o' mother. " Then they cum- Her father's words when he left hum An' marched away; an', lawsy me, As it's been given me t' see, Rite thare her girlhood cum t' end An* Susan growed t' comprehend! "Take keer o' mother." All these years I 'low them words 's rung in her ears In Susan's ears, an' there at hum She's staid an' worked an' heeded 'em Like me an' you an' ever'one Of our acquaintance wouldn't done! There's sum ol' maids, an' then again There's sum as is that mightn't been Onless, like Susan, they cud view Their duty, plain, an' meet it, too; An' if she's single tain't because She hain't been asked / know she wasf SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 35 Brother Mine. JUST like we used to, brother mine, Let's wander back again Let's turn our steps from busy mart To meet there where our pathways part, And then go back my hand in thine Forgetting we are men. Just like we used to, brother dear, Let's link our hearts with joy, A-down the lanes and pleasant ways We knew and loved in boyhood days Forget the world is old and drear And be again a boy. Let's wander back again, we two, Beside the silvery stream Beside the wood where mystery lies Beneath the kindly summer skies With sunbeams glancing dancing through, And rest again, and dream. Let's wander back again and see The homestead, where, today The flowers weep for one Above And seem to breathe her mother love She cherished them so tenderly Before she went away! Let's wander back, O brother mine, And never more to roam; With all our boyhood shrines around Let's kneel beside her grassy mound And tell her, through the whisp'ring pine, Her children have come home. 36 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS The Children of Poverty Lane. LITHE little spirits of Poverty Lane, Down through the years they come running B again Faces as red as the pokeberries' glow, Happy and cheerful as any I know; Poverty stricken and curbed, but it seemed Never to darken the dreams that they dreamed Never to sadden the smiles that they smiled Want touches lightly the heart of a child! Lived in the huts at the edge of the wood, Back from the road where the landowners' stood; Quaint little houses with little above Little within but a surfeit of love; Happy and cheerful and careless and free, Now through the years they come running to me Still they are happy, their smiles never wane, Dear little children of Poverty Lane. Ho, I recall them, remember them still, Barefoot and happy, afoot to the mill Grist going through, or the wheel going 'round, Gave them more joy than verses can bound; Ho, I can see them in ginghams that glowed 'Gainst the red sumachs that guarded the road Homeward and happy they trundled again, Dear little children of Poverty Lane! Dear little scions of poverty's child, Blithe as a bird of the wood, and as wild, Bubbling over with laughter and glee, You taught a lesson 'twas lasting to me Taught me 'tis best to forgive the world's taunt Taught me "be happy in riches or want"; Ho, I am happy to see you again, Dear little children of Poverty Lane! SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 37 Old Fire Company. T dreampt last night! Hain't it the beatenest * The things a feller'll dream about, an' jest Ez natural-like, an' perfeck, I declare, A'most ez if a man was really there! Like when I dreampt last night, I seemed t' see Ez plain ez day, ol' fi-er company Of volunteers we used t' have 'round here That's been disbanded now fer twenty year. It seemed I 'us back a-sleepin' 'neath the eaves The night was still so still the lokus leaves A-droppin' on the roof, I heerd wunct more As I have heerd a thousant times before; Somebody passed I heerd 'em holler "Fi-er!" I seemed t' see the flames a-leapin' higher, A lurid glow, an' then I heerd the call The fire bell in air ol' Village Hall. Well I tell you, it wa'n't no circumstance, The time I spent a-gittin' in my pants An' histin' up my winder, no sir-e-e-e An' naybors' folks was doin' same ez me, A-histin' up their winders quick ez scat, An' lookin' out an' astin': "Where's it at?" Till someone sed, frum where he stood it 'peared "The Baptist sheds was burnin* up, he feared." An' then, thue all my dream, cum to my ears The warnin' bell of air ol' volunteers With Hi ahead, an' Henry Smith an' Tup An* others takin' holt, ez they ketched up Of that ol' hand injine. It seemed that it Fair seemed t' snort fer jist a chanct t' git At one more fire! An' then cum 'Vester Ladd Nigh petered out, his asthmay got so bad! 38 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS I follered 'em an' legged it down the road, Like years ago when we was boys an' go-ed T' fires nights, an' never missed a thing A habit that has left us now, I jing! An' there they was, a-fightin' flames again An' Hi a-callin' loudly: "Water, men!" ***** Them words they woke me up an', jiminey, 'Twas stormin' hard, an rainin in on me! Lessons. T RECKON y'll find wharever y' look A lesson in all that y' see, As I allus do. That ornery 'Ras Jones, He larned a lesson t' me When he seed a beetle sprawled out on its back 'N he stopped; "I reckon," sez 'Ras, "I'll turn him over and give him a chanct With other bugs in his class." It's a tolo'ble world a purty fair world, But a heap less o' smiling than tears, 'N it's all our own fault. When a man sort o' fails It seems as if nobody keers; Y' cud help it a lot jist give him yer hand 'N remember that lesson of 'Ras Stand him up on his laigs and give him a chanct With other men in his class! SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 39 A Birthday. OHE'S six today! She climbed my knee and ^ twined her arms about me, so, And whispered to me, joyously: ."I bet you dad, that you don't know What day this is!" I feigned to think, though well I knew what she would say, And shammed surprise when she exclaimed: "I'm growing up I'm six today!" What is it, when the years come on, that holds a man and makes his heart To soften toward a little child and makes the tears so quick to start! I had not noticed it before! I did not think until today! Her playroom's strangely silent now, her paper dollies laid away! The little finger marks we loved are gone from off the window sill Beneath the blossomed apple tree the swing I made is strangely still, And silence hovers 'round the house, unbroken by her childish glee She's six today, and growing up! No more a little babe to me! You're six today! Come, kiss your dad and hug him, too, you little elf, And romp with him and play with him nor ask him why he's not himself! Just follow him where'er he goes and let him take your little hand Don't ask him what he's thinking of you wouldn't know or understand! Let's go together down the lane, a-romping in your child-heart way We cannot play like this for long! You're growing up you're six today! 40 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS The Lonesome Time o' Night. HPHERE is sometimes in the evenin' jist beyant * the aidge of day When the whipperwills is "whipperwillin" yender in the gum, An' the cattle air a-chankin' in their shif'less sort o' way, An* most ever'thing that's kumpany is sort o' laid out dumb Oh, it's then a feller's feelin's seem t' sumhow gee an* haw, An' there's sumpin seems t' bubble up an' clog his wizzen tight Mother takes my hand in hern an' she kind o' whispers: "Paw, Ain't this * * * * a lonesome time o' night." Round the house there's shadders flittin' we can't see 'em, maw er me, But there's sumpin tells the both of us they hover 'round our chair Of a little brood o' childurn Heaven sent t' sich as we, An' we loved 'em O so happy-like untwell He took 'em There ! An' it left us sort o' gropin* fer the things we cudn't see; Though I'm past a-faultin' Providence, it didn't seem jist right An* I know that maw thinks on it when she whis pers low t' me: "Ain't this * * * * a lonesome time o' night." The Lonesome Time o' Night SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 43 We are agein,' me an' mother, an' we're turnin' in the lane We are reachin' what the deacon calls the end o' airthly strife; An' this silent evenin' hour now, strikes me purty plain As the correspondin' time o' day that we have reached in life, An' we hain't a chick ner grandchild for t' sum- how sort o' save These 'ere few remainin' minits an' to smile an' make 'em bright; An* I know that maw thinks on it when she whis pers to me: "Dave Ain't this * * * * a lonesome time o' night 44 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS The Hushed Voice. mother said it didn't matter then, A loving word, perchance, and then again, When childish wrath came in our simple play And little woes beset Youth's rosy way, Her sweetly gentle words dispelled the wrath, And coaxed the buds to bloom along our path; Her voice was sweet to greet the morning sun, And, sweeter still, when Golden Days were done, Her soft good night that sent us to our bed It didn't matter then what mother said. It didn't matter then, but now she's gone The world lacks all its sweetness, and, at dawn The sunbeams, coming down from Heaven's dome, But emphasize the loss from out the home; No kindly smiles to cheer the passing day No mother-words to guide us on the way No loving arms that wait but to enfold When world and all grow merciless and cold; The Kingdom There, I think, is made of such What mother said! O now 'twould mean so much! SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 45 'Vender." 44TT'S better hoein' yender ^ Fer they ain't no stones t' hender," The words that Silas Higginbotham allus sez t' me; "Th' patch that we're a-hoein' Is th* wust they is a-goin* It's better over yender, boy," Silas sez, sez he. "Th' clouds is breakin' yender I was 'feared th' shower 'd hender Air work t'day," sez Silas, kind o' happy-like, t'me; "I thort th' rain had found us, But I gess it's goin' 'round us A-goin' way off" yender, boy," Silas sez, sez he. Lor' bless sich men ez Silas, Teachin' trouble not t' rile us Lor* fill 'em full o' blessin's jist ez full eztheykin be; Them folks, so good an' tender, That see better things off yender, Th' same ez Silas Higginbotham allus shows t' me! SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS talk purty ' * The Conversazzhony . ' A " conversazzhony " is a certain line o' * ^ At which a man with work t' do is apt t' balk; It takes frum four t' six or eight who'd ruther loaf than not Whose ock-y-pation principally is keepin' chair- seats hot; 'Twas started by a poet wunct the late laymented Field (Of all his seeds o' trubble it has showed the biggest yield!) The which is appertainin'. Why, I'll bet Field's heart repines If he has heard of that one we pulled off at Bob Devine's ! There was Bates, that quiet oracle of wagon circus days, An' Arlt, who has Munchausen beat in forty different ways, An* Willyums, who has frequent ranged from here t' Timbuctoo, An' Phillips, Kell of "Lunnon, West," and Joey Murray, too; But they was merely nominal, who cum t' see an' saw The ones who railly give our "conversazzhony" eclcnu Was one named Martin Talbot, who cum here frum County Clare, An' Kempner, late of Palestine, who ock-y-pied the chair. SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 47 We settled of the tarriff as sich meetin's allus do At 10 o'clock we'd fixed up all the worldly ills but two! The neb-u-lar hy-poth-e-sis was pendin' with us still, When suddint-like we switched an* traced the tribes o' Israel; An' then there's sumthin* happened that I cayn't nowise explain, An' ever' time I think on it, it gives me rackin' pain! Jist like a fork o* lightenin' it cum a-crashin* through Our chairman, Simon Kemfner, sed Saint Patrick was a yew ! You've seen Missury mules that was startled in their rest ? You've set down absent-minded on a yaller-jacket's nest ? You've braved a buck-sheep stampede when they cum in twos an' threes ? You've give min-ute attenshun to the bizness ends o' bees ? If not I'm wastin' paper, fer no common ornery pen Pervides no real ideer of what happened there an' then! ! The airtb it turned an' sashayed, an' the air a greenish hue, When chairman Simon Kemfner sed Saint Patrick was a 48 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS The Dutch made fer the cellar an* us natives fer the stairs, An' left our tales behind us with our coats an' vacant chairs, The English jined the Germans, an' the Swedes went up above, Our chairman took t' cover 'neath a cordial red- hot stove! Within that cleared em-por-ium, a sight fer gods so rare, We caught a glimpse o' Talbot, who cum here frum County Clare, An* swearin' by the powers that if Simon's tale was right That Patrick was a Semite he wud faint the emerald white ! ENVOI. The certain sort o' moral that I've aimed fer in these lines Is "the place fer conversazzhonies " is not in Bob Devine's, Ner ennywhere ner ennytime, with safety, I'll be bound, When there's a Semite in the chair an' Irishmen around / SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 49 The Blues. nr*ELL you what, but yesterday I wuz blue! git that-a-way Jist about so often, an* Lord, how it upsets a man! When I had that tarnal fit 'Bout ez bad ez I cud git, Heerd a man cum up behind Thumpin' long the pathway blind! Blind 's a stun! An* durn my hide He was chipper too, beside What I wuz, an* cudn't see Railly why the blues shud be! To myself I sez, sez I : "You're too durned ongrateful, Hi 'Pears you'd orter have your pants Kicked beyant all circumstance!" Then the sun shun out on high Drivin' out the blues, an' I 'S glad I wa'n't that man behind, Thumpin' 'long the pathway blind I 50 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS A Song. "CV\R set in all this Song of Life That thrills our hearts and tones the strife, There is a dainty measure A pleasant, soft and happy trill To match the song of Whip-o'r-Will; It's sadly sweet and distant, still, It ever sings of pleasure. Above the ribald song of Greed, Above the wail of Tears and Need, It soars, ever higher; As clear as bells or pipes of Pan, It sings a song to every man Of woodlands, still, where brooklets ran, Of running vines and briar. As wild a song as mind could dream, It sings some merry, madcap theme, Then softly dropping, toning, It croons of amber autumn days, Or of a cot, where childhood plays By clover fields and pleasant ways, And burdened bees a-droning. Alone, in all this Song of Life, This dainty measure tempers strife And smooths the roughest places A strain as clear as silver bells That echoes through sweet mem'ry's dells And seeks us out the song that tells Of other days and faces. In the Toy Shop. T MET him alone in the toy shop, A pixy all dimples and curls and eyes, Reflecting there, like a dewey drop, His cheery face and his glad surprise; He took my hand and he led me through The Land of Tinsel and Penny Schemes He didn't know, but he led me to The cherished land of my boyhood dreams! What wondrous sights are there to see The beasts and birds of the farthest climes, Ferocious and stealthy, yet seem to be All set to the music of soothing rhymes; What wondrous books in the Land of Boysl What marvelous tales of the witches told! How much there is in the Land of Toys To cheer a heart that seems growing old! We wandered alone, we two, by ways That led us by castles of gold and paint, And on and on till the world was haze And din of traffic was far and faint; We came to a strange uncharted moat Where leaden soldiers stood guard, and then We sailed away in a pea-green boat To lands of Never Can Be Again, 52 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS We floated on 'neath the dreamiest skies, Past islands of wood and painted grass, And fishes looked up, in dumb surprise, From sea-green depths of a looking-glass; The breezes veered, and we turned our prow, His chubby hands brought our ship to stop, The anchor dropped o'er our painted bow At home at last in the Toy Shop! But O what we saw in that wondrous land, Not strange that it wearied a lad so small I He pillowed his head on my shoulder and Went out of the world of tinsel and all; Ah, sleep little chap, where the fairies spin gold, May dreams never end and your youth never stop Today you have taught me this heart isn't oldl Bless all little boys and the toy shop! SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 53 Genywine Joy. , yo-hey, a lazy day With sky-fleece skimmin' over The fields an' trees, an' honey bees A-dippin' in the clover; Then sky an' sod's akin to God, An* ever'thing of beauty 'LI smile at you an' mean it, too As if it was a duty. them's the times I live in rhymes When Natcher seems to grow 'em; When all y* see '11 seem t' be A part of Natcher's poem; When weed an' rose an' all that grows, An' yeller birds a-winging, An' fields an' trees an' honey bees Was fairly made fer singing! 1 allus feel I want t* steal Out yenderwards an' waller Stretch out sum place an' squint my face An' watch the sky-fleece foller; An' loaf a bit an' dream of it It makes me feel fergivin' I 'predate my happy state An* much oUeeged fer livin'/ 54 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS Triolet to Her. X1[7"HEN she comes tripping down the street * * I fear I lose my head a bit So blithely move her dainty feet; (She is, in truth, a coquette sweet!) It's always me she comes to meet My heart is lost she's captured it; When she comes tripping down the street I fear I lose my head a bit I She gives me first a dainty kiss; To hide my joy I do not strive; My word, but she's an artful miss To win me thus with just a kiss No shallow, passing love-match thisl It may be bold, but, sakes alive, Why should she not greet me like this, You see, she's mine and only five ! The Coquette SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 57 Pajamas at Traverse. TOE FULLER wuz a decent cuss an' good t' ^ man er beast Abarrin' sum ascendents that was livin' in the East He cudn't nowise help ner stand he w'an't t' blame, y' know They wa'n't no man on Stinkin' Creek more peaceabler than Joe; The effete East 's what broke him it will any man, I gess; His doom cum in a package that he got by Hank's express. He got a stock o' licker, an* with package on his arm, He lit straight out o' Traverse like he'd answered hell's alarm! 'Tware jest th' day a-followin' 'n purty nigh ez hot 's That other place, when all us boys at Sandy Bill's heerd shots 'N a cloud o' dust was cumin' down th' trail frum Stinkin' Creek A-howlin', shootin', sumthin' that wuz actin' like ol' Nick! 'N, stranger, it went by us like a striped an' check ered streak! Bill Sanders (he wuz marshal then) allowed t' take a peek, J N turned so white thet common chalk wud marked him black ez coal, "Onless I'm goin' daffy, boys, that streak that passed wuz Joel!" 58 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 'N Joe it wuz! 'N, stranger, how he scandalized that town In them ondecent clothes of his a-ridin' up an* down An* drunk ez seven dollars, an' ashootin' every chance 'N (shameful cuss) a-wearin' of his shirt outside his pants! His outfit it wuz striped, an* thinks I : "Th* durn galoot 'S been shootin' up sum China boy 'n took his clothes t' boot!" We thought he'd gone plum loco an' when Joe rode past agin, We plugged him. When we reached him why poor Joe wuz cashin' in! He 'lowed that he forguve us sez: "I gess yew boys dun right I wore these togs in daytime but I gess they're meant fer night; But bear in mind, yew fellers, if yew see their likes agin, Back East they're called * pajammers,'" an' with that poor Joe cashed in! We buried him at Traverse an* we marked it with sum boards Th' words w'an't literary, but th' best cowland affords; We cut 'em with a Barlow: "Here lies Highfalutin' Joe He wore th' first pajammers west of Kansas City, Mo." SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 59 The Chanty Song. T watched at the tide where a good ship lay * So eager to be on her trackless way I heard the song of her toiling crew, The chanty her sail was lifted to: "Yo yo he yo he-e-e Born of the bounding sea Clear and away Of the land today Yo yo he yo he-e-e " And all together they hauled it home, Till, white as snow against Heaven's dome, It spread to the breeze for the homeward run On the golden path of the setting sun. That men, the spawn of this worldly strife, Might take the chanty-men's way of lifel And make the road, as they go along, An easier one with a chanty song: "Yo yo he yo he-e-e Each a brother be, Ever to seek And help the weak Yo yo he yo he-e-e " And pull each man for the other's good, Till life is one sweet brotherhood, And we hoist our sails for the Homeward run In the Golden Path of the Setting Sun! 60 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS The Windows of My Memory- r T**HE windows of my mem'ry, overlooking gar- * dens fair Where dear old friends and faces live among the blossoms there Where all the recollections that I've cherished tenderly, Have lived in tinted roses and are blooming just for me. They look out on the mountains' tops, the valleys and the streams, Where childhood, O so happy, lived that distant day of dreams Where things so poor and homely, all became a cherished part Of Love, and lingered ever in a weary wand'rer's heart. They look out on the passes, and the lanes and quiet ways, Where daisies kissed my weary feet in those all- golden days The pathway, so seductive, leading to the world of men Another, leading homeward, that I'll never trod again ! The windows of my mem'ry! Each precious little square Reflects some cherished picture that I knew and loved Back There Fair visions that I fain would keep, but gradually they wane I cannot see beyond the tears that splash the window pane! SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 61 The Old Tramp Printer. (The reflections of a country editor.) ''I "'HE old tramp print! What's come o' him, * Who dropped around 'bout wunst a year In rimes gone by ? That cherubim We use t' see, half full o' cheer An' railroad cinders land o' love He's tail's a pole an' jest as ga'nt, And looked like sixteenth cousin of Sum boardin' house, er rest-er-rantl He'd walk right in an* git t' biz An' choose sum absent feller's case Ferever like the shop was his An' that was his pre-empted place, An' never say a word! But then It allus seemed he'd timed it so'st He'd git to us most usual when We seemed t' want an' need him most. The dust of many climes lay brown Upon his shoes; he used t' say That some was there from every town From Maine t' Cal-i-forn-i-a; Perhaps his morals wa'n't the best, Ner enny speshul good t' us, But we could overlook the rest In such an' interestin' cuss. 6a SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS There has been times, in twilight, when He felt right lonesome here, I gess, 'Mongst strangers, when he'd take my pen An' write rare lines of tenderness, Of mother, home an' faces fair An' fadin' dreams of other days, An' then I've knowed some good was there Behind his wild an' rovin' ways! But now he's gone, an* sometimes when The paper's out an' all is still, I seem t' hark back there again, An' my ol' wizzen seems t' fill; He wa'n't just what a man should be No doubt o* that but when I look There's sumthin* hurts me when I see That "30" 's missin' off his hook! SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 63 Doggone Homesick! (Lmes written on the final leaf of James Whitcomb Riley's " Farm Rhymes.") 'THHE book is shet! I've closed the kivers down, * It seems t' me on friends ez real an' true Ez them I knowed afore I moved t' town, An' nigh fergot the simpul fokes 'at you Have set t' rhyme without no jarrin' soun', So keerlesslike an' swe ter fer it, too. The book is shet, an' still the rhyme child romps Acrost each page, ez happy-like ez when He helt my hand, an' ol' Ben Johnson tromps His fiddle strings, ez dreamylike ez then; An' list'nin' I kin hear 'em callin' Thomps, An' paw an' maw, frum Bethel Hill again! The book is shet! I feel jist like I feel When evenin' ends a shinin' Apurl day There's sumpthin' in it allus seems t' keel My feelin's down, like dolls on circus day At three fer five; I swan, I want t' steal Back home again, an' never cum away! 64 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS When the Last Trumpet Sounds. Iwunder when the bugle blows its last endurin' blast, 'N every man has answered that is, every man that dast 'N the angel band is waitin' for the final word to march, Who'll be the men t' lead us through the portals of the Arch ? Will it be them that allus was conspicous here below The presudents 'n statesmeners 'n such as them y' know ? P'r'aps it will, but, durn it, it won't seem a fair divide It 'pears t' me that their reward come 'fore they up an' died. I've pitchered that 'ere spirit host an' allus there has been Away in front, a-leadin' 'em, a band o' joyous men Them patient chaps that waited fer reward till they was dead Who lived their lives an* done their best an' never got ahead. SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 65 Ould Barney M'Ginn. A JOLLY ould man was Barney McGinn! His spharklin' blue eyes had the blarney in A bit of a poipe hangin' over his chin An' an ould white hat, An' a woide cravhat, An' there yez have loikes of ould Barney McGinn. He sorreyed wid naybours whose hours was sad, An' sharin' the joys of thim thot was glad; He looked on the good and looked over the bad; An' the divil a wurrd Has a man iver hurrd Agin the ould man since he grew from a lad. His greetin* was glad as the flowers of June, As cheerful in mornin' as night or at noon; "The top of the morn t' yersilf, gossoon 'Tis a sphlendid day," Thin he'd go on his way, The tap of his cane always playin' a chune! A storm sthruck the church an' burned it wan day- An' paypul moved out an' the priest wudn't sthay, An' naught in the parish but wint to decay, But the divil, I'm blist, Was a bit of it missed, Till pore ould Barney McGinn wint away! The happy ould fellah wid poipe on his chin, His jolly blue eyes wid the sun shinin' in; The childer cry for him, an' wimin an' min, An' the place ain't the same Since the Black Hunter came An' tuk off the shmile of ould Barney McGinn. 66 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS The Old Fishing Hole. "V7"OU sing the song of the meadows who will, * The songs of the sumach and daisies and clover, Songs of the pathway, the highroad and hill Where clouds of the summer drift lazily over I'll sing a song of the old "fishing hole" And a wishing string on the end of a pole. Deep in the heart of the woodland it lies At the end of the pathway the boys have made to it, Still as the woods or the overhead skies And deep as the hearts of the youngsters who knew it. Ho, it's a throne for a towheaded king With a scepter of elder and bobber and string! Place where we wandered in Youth's rosy dawn Unmindful of life and its sweet necromancies Spot where in manhood we've stolen and gone And fished with indifference and dwelt with our fancies, Ever alert that our line should be taut To catch the "old sett'ler" that never was caught. The Old Fishing Hole SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 69 You sing the songs of the meadows who will, The songs of the sumach, the daisies and clover, I'D sing the song of the "fishing hole" still With old recollections all hovering over Throne in the woods where we loitered in state And learned to be patient and hopeful and wait. TO SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS The Tale the Stage Driver Told. "VXTHY, he was as straight as a limb, sir, * * Slim wus; His name ? Well we called him " Slim, " sir, Well cuz He never had no name around hare, As frequently happens to men fair an' square We never ast questions of such, do y' see ? fbe same *s apt to happen t' you or to me t Do y' savvy ? 'Twas thus ran the tale of the driver, as, hugging the road by the canyon, he pointed to a grave on the hillside, the goal of some luckless wand'rer An* the gal who cum with him was fair, sir, At least As any, I reckin, back thare, sir, Back East Where you hail, I take it with a face like a rose; She purty nigh worshipped that feller, I 'spose! Her eyes used to thank him like a fawn's allus will That's saved by a hunter from dogs or the kill Understand ? And here the man flicked his wheel-horse, gently, as if quite unconscious, and softly deplored the passing of gallantry there in the Westland. SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 71 They lived in a cabin, up yon, sir, I expect Fer six months er more, cum an' gone, sir, I reck'lect The stranger I brung along this same trail A Yankee, I tuk it, sort o' dudish an' pale; He ast whare she lived an' described her fair I p'inted the place an' I left him right thare Right yender! And then the sharp eyes of the driver seemed to scan the grey path in the mountains that led to the two lovers' cabin, clinging there on the edge of the canyon. But "Slim" saw him first saw the stranger, I ersume, An' I reckin, too, scented sum danger I persume, For he goes t' the cabin an' he fills up his gun An* he kisses the gal like he allus had dun, Then goes to the rock t' the left o' yon riff, *N blows out his brains an' goes over the cliff A tbousan' feet ! Then he told of the meeting of sister and brother the latter the stranger who marveled much at a woman who would live thus alone in those moun tains. We perjured airselves, like sin, sir, Fer "Slim"; Fer ever' dogged man that cum in, sir, Liked him; 72 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS We told him her brother she'd lived alone see ? That nary a word cud be sed agin she! He took her back East. We buried our pal Who'd blowed out his brains t' perteck a poor gal, Out yender; Game man ! The driver pulled up his horses and lashed them into a fury, roundly cursing society for press ing its foolish indictments. SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 73 "Discharged." r I ^HEY'VE drawed the shades behind me where * the free land rolls away, They've took my kit an* Betsy an' they've fig- gered up my pay. They've gived me just a bloomin' bit o' paper, stamped an' signed, An' when the troop goes out again I've got t* stay behind! No more o' sleepin* 'neath the stars along with horse an' men I'll never hear our trumpeter blow "reville" again! No more I'll stretch my achin' limbs an' drink the mornin's dew O Lordy, how they'll miss me when the cavalry goes through! I 'spose sum bloomin' rooky 's straddle Betsy! Like as not He don't know "boots an' saddles" from the "stable call" or "trot" An' her the best-trained trooper's mare in this division, sir! It hain't so much for me I whines, as what it is for her! 74 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS I hain't been decorated fer no speshul gallant stunt, Except a saber cut behind and one or two in front, But it don't seem but yesterday that them G. O.'s was read, "We mention Trooper Jackson for his gal lantry," they said. It seems but just a week ago, along that ornery trail That me an' Betsy crawled at night apast old Spotted Tail An' brought the Seventh up at dawn in time t' save 'em all An* now a rooky 's ridin' her an' I'm shoved in the stall! It's marvelous how grateful Uncle Sam is (in his mind) Now when the troop goes out again he lets me stay behind! But there's one grain o' comfort, an' I'm thankful for it, too It's knowin' that they'll miss me when the cavalry goes through! SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 75 A Cowpuncher and Prayer. T AIN'T much a prayerful man, I'spose it's 'cause I'm all alone; I've heerd some prayers, tho', off an' on,- A padre down t' San Antone Wunst prayed fer me, but hell-a-mile, I didn't feel no different when He'd ended up, as I cud see, Than when the geezer fust begen! An' wunst I heerd a feller pray Who'd stole a hawss at Eagle Nest, But shucks, when we-all strung him up He hollered jist like all the rest; I've heerd a feller pray t' live I've heerd another pray t' die; But, shoo, the fust one died that night, An' 'tother lived an' that's no lief But 'tother night whilst ridin' in I stopped at Dollar Billy's place Bill's got a parcel, now, o' kids He's married now fer quite a space; An' thar I heerd a prayer that was, That changed my prayer idees a heap! Have y' heerd a dad-burned little tad Pray "Now I lay me down t' sleep"? 76 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS Jist Loaf in' . r I ^HEY hain't no sense, ez I kin see, * Of workin' on etarnally 'Ithout no stops t' think er dream, Er study Natcher's pa feet scheme That's lyin' all around ye, jest Her happiest an' lov'liest! I swan, I like t' jist fergit, Occasional, the work in it, An' leave my hawsses standin' there In yender furrow -'bandon care, An' sort o* loaf a spell an' loll Agin some ol' snake-fence that's all Nigh busted down, an' listen to What Natcher's got t' say t' you In way o* cheer, an' think on it Jist loaf a bit! I like t' look beyant the woods To other farms an' nayborhoods, An' speckylate on what there is In all this hullsome world o' His; It cums t* you in consequence Of leanin' on a old snake-fence They hain't no view o' Life so rare Ez what y' git whilse leanin' there! Jist try it wunct an' take a rest You'll find that it'll pay the best, Fer him who 'complishes the most Is him who stops an' ponders so' st He'll value, when he plows agin, The fertile soil he's workin' in Jist try it wunct, an' think on it Jist loaf a bit! SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 77 In Dreamland. /"\ WHERE do you go, little Curlylocks ^* Where is it you wander and what to see ? O where do you ride when mother rocks, And what are the wonders denied to me ? So tightly your eyes close, dreamily, When chirp the birds from the cuckoo clocks And softly and sweetly they summon thee where do they call you, Curlylocks ? Across a bridging of silvery strands, And thence, by a path, to a laughing stream; And then, like a wish, into Fairylands 1 go my way on a golden beam; There's nothing for me but to play and dream, And join my song with the angel bands, And pluck the flowers that nod and seem To grow in the skies for a baby's hands. And what do you see in the Dreamland nooks, What fairy pictures are there to see ? ****** The little shepherds with dainty crooks Who leave their flocks to play with me; A prince in velvet who bends his knee; A gnome that lives by the laughing brooks; Away in our Dreamland fields I see The little friends of my picture books. 7 8 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS A Little Girl in Gingham. , outside, the winter's mantle kivers up the tired earth, An' within the glowin' embers conjure fancies 'round the hearth, O it's then whilse idly musin' that it seems, ez if on wings, All the years turn back to yender an' the other days an' things Thoughts so tender, Way off yender An' y' hain't no real ideer of the sentiment it brings. Hands I 'low that God pervided fer an' old man's foolish whim Seem t' take his mem'ry-pitchers an' to polish 'em fer him 'Twell he jist can't help but see 'em an' believe they're really there 1 An' there's one that's more heart-pleasin' than most enny ennywhere One o' many, Best o' enny Of a little girl in gingham with sum daisies in her hair. A Little Girl in Gingham SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 81 Seems t' me, by jist a-squintin', I kin see her jist ez plain Flittin' 'round among the flowers er a-swingin' down the lane Purty cheeks with blush o' roses, heart ez free an' light ez air An' a little bit o' feller tendin' to her smallest care Bashful lover, Freckled lover Of a little girl in gingham with sum daisies in her hair. 'Crost the shadders wife is settin* with her knittin' in her lap, An* her hair in snow-white ringlets creeps frum underneath her cap Age is tellin', time is spellin', yit I never, I declare, Seem t' git the knack o' seein' that it's mother settin' there Seems t' me I on'y see Jist a little girl in gingham with sum daisies in her hair! 8a SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS Far Apart. r "*WO seekers for the Polar climes * Both left from the Equator One north, one south, they went, agreed To meet and recount later. The first one found the North Pole, and The second found the other, And, as agreed, they met; one said: "What found you there, my brother?" "Beside the North Pole," he replied, "A wanderer abided." "Your name ?" I asked. "My friend, my name Is Theory," he confided. "And what found you?" the second asked; "It's passing strange, but fact is, I found a like chap at the South, Who said his name is Practice!" SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 83 "At Home." "AT Homes" are most pecoolyur, not t' say * ^ they're even quaint, Fer, though "at home" most ever'one attendin* of 'em hain't, The which is appertainin' an', as I set out t' do, Gives sumthin' of a idee of the one we anty-ed to; The cyards wa'n't delt permiscus-like, but only to the pick T' jist the soshul fav-er-ites up here on Skillin's Crick. The cyards they plainly specified "on Mondays, 8 t' 10," The which wuz first misleadin' to the hull of us, but then We sort o' kind o' figgered out, though down in black an' white, That she'd miss-delt an' didn't want us every Monday night! To which conclusion we agreed, resolved t' see it thue, An' so we togged in joy clothes an' Sunday slickers, too. 84 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS A greaser met us at the door a-hissin' : "Parlezvoo" ; We answered, pert an' proper-like; "An' thanky, same t' you"; An' showed our cyards (which we opined we'd really orter take T* show the man a-tendin' door they wuzn't no mistake); He sized 'em up an' let us pass with nary slip er hitch, An' showed us whare t' shed our coats an' check our guns an' sich. The real elite had gethered thare sum little time before I won't fergit the looks o' things when I cum in the door! The gals! I cayn't describe 'em an' do justice, ner I won't, With twict ez much of clothes behind ez what they had in front! An' ez fer men, why sum of 'em appeared in "huntin' case," But most of 'em wuz togged in what the boys called " open-face. " They talked of Elbert Hubbard an' of Wilde an' even wuss, An' lots o' poet fellers that are antedatin' us; An' then a vis'ter poured sum tea sum mixed Oolong an' Jap In little cups like thimbles that y' balanced in yer lap. An' jist a-summarizin', as it's given me t' see, They dealt too much of poets an' a little too much tea! SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 85 But this is incidental why, they wuzn't enny fun Till jist about the quittin' time an' then the fun begun, When Dollar Bill an' Ornery Ike an* Big Topeka Red Got playin' three-card monte on the aidge o' some one's bed; They'd delt around an' Dollar Bill wuz jist t' deal again An' banked t' git his losin's, when the tarnal clock struck ten! Well, say, 'twas most amazin', not t' say etarnal queer! We told him that the deal was closed, but Dollar wudn't hear; The way he shot that bedroom up wuz sure a shame t' own The pillers looked like peekaboos y' see at San Antone! I hain't no moralizer, but frum this y' sure kin see What cums o' talkin' poetry an' drinkin' too much tea! We know when we have got enough, an' we're content t' stick An' court our greasy deck o' cyards right here on Skillin's Crick! They hain't no way t' gentle men as rough an' gruff ez we An' hold 'em down t' poetry an' Jap an' Oolong tea! Hereafter all our cyards '11 read, if you'll jist take a peek: "At Home on Mondays, 8 t' 10 an all the rest the week/" 86 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS The Measure of a Man. TT'S no place to measure the soul of a man * Out here in the markets of Malice and Greed, Where men live the slogan " Survive if you can " And hear not the cries of the weaker or heed; It's no place to measure the soul of a man Where Strife lives to stifle each kindlier deed. It's no time to measure the heart of a man When drums beat to arms and he answers the call, And goes forth to battle to slay if he can, And gloat o'er the sorrows of others, who fall; It's no time to measure the heart of a man With duty and valor o'er shadowing all. It's no time to measure the faith of a man When darkness abounds and the terrors prevail We mortals are happy to believe if we can, But Doubt is a giant and humans are frail; It's no time to measure the faith of a man When doubt rages high and the strongest will quail. Be just to your brother and measure him well, Not out in the markets of Greed and of Woe, But there in the home, in the twilighted spell, With children and wife, 'neath the lamp's mellow glow, Where all of his virtues and qualities tell Where, if he's a man, all his manhood will show. SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 87 "Mutterin' Joe. ' Joe" is shot an' dead! Cudn't believe 'em when they sed It was so! Still Joe's been gone Forty years now, off an' on, T' all intents an' purposes, 'Cept sum lucid spells o' his. When the "Bucktails" marched away Sixty-one ol' res'dunts say Wa'n't a man on Broken Straw Ennywhere they ever saw, Shot ez straight an' true ez Joe Sure ez Jedgment Day, y' know! 'Fore he left the townfokes run Bullets fer him; give him one Fer each loyal State that staid In the Union, an' they say-ed, Ez they reckoned up the 'mount; "Joe make every bullet count." Then he went an', lawsy, son, You know what them "Bucktails" dun! Fredericksburg an' Richmond-way, Back t' Spotts-yl-van-i-a Fer the war! An' how they fit! Gess they hold the ry-cord yit ! 88 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS Finally Appamattox cum Brung the "Bucktail" boys back hum, 'Cludin' Joe er Joe that was Not the same young man because He was changed; his comrades sed War had sort o' "teched" his head. Greeted 'em an' speechyfied, Townfokes did; Joe drew aside Didn't seem t' know er keer Wasn't even bcin' here! Just wud mutter 'ternally: "Yes, I made 'em count," sez he. "Made 'em count," Fer forty years That's been ringin' in his ears; Sumtimes when there'd be a day That his head was clear, he'd say: "One fer every ball I had An' the last was jist a lad!" Townfokes allus humored Joe Harmless sort o' man, y' know; Never begged er stole, but dun Odd jobs fer most ever' one; "Friend t' all" he allus sed Only war had "teched" his head. Wa'n't upsettin' when I saw Found him dead on Broken Straw, Cold an' dead agin a tree Joe had planned it carefully; Seemed he never cud fergit ! Gess the war hain't over yitl SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 89 A Soldier's Appreciation. (The Philippine Service.) T'VE had a swell dame on the Bowery; I've * fondled a gal in St. Paul; I've had 'em, Caucasian an' yeller, an* told the same story to all; I've broke with a gal back in Denver; I left a case pendin' in Nome; I had one but that doesn't matter she's married an' settled at home; I've had 'em of various morals, in various parts of the earth, But I had t' cum out t' the Islands t* find what a woman is worth! A-lyin' here like a heathen, A fever-chart over my bed T' git me my pay while I'm breathin' An' check me up when I'm dead; (Say, nurse can't y' give me sum water ? Aw, please, jist a little bit more!) Y'll learn lots o' wimin or oughter Y' never have reckined before! She sits by my cot in the evenin', fer then's when the fever is high, An' sort o* smooths out the riffles in the path we all travel who die; She tells me the tales o' th' Homeland, an' settles old scores with my soul, An' squares me up with my conscience, against the Sergeant's Last Roll; 90 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS An' t' think of all of the females I've coppered all over the earth That I had t' cum out t' the Islands t' find what a woman is worth! (What does he say-the perfesser ? Now don't be afeered, mam, t' tell!) She lies like a lady, God bless her! She knows that I'll never git well! An' the rest of 'em always was lyin' They strung me all over the earth An' here at last when I'm dyin* I find what a woman is worth! T Defying Age. CHAT'S the story I am tol': "Gittin' ol' I Gittin' ol'!" Well, mebbe so, but seems t' me I'm spry as what I uster be! Git yer fiddle draw yer bow Rosum up an' let 'er go Louder! Faster! Let 'er sing! Watch this ol' time pigeon wing! What's the matter air y' dun ? Cracky, I have jist begun! IPhare's that weazened up ol' soul Telt me I wuz gittin' ol' ? SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 91 Little Lost Child. on the curb of the city street, quivering voice and helpless feet, No one to soothe you, caress or bind, Or kiss your curls, but the vagrant wind! No one to strengthen your faltering hand And lead you back into Happier Land; Poor little mite with your heart so wrung Your sadnesi; and sorrows begun so young! Little lost child! "Mike, the crossing cop," sheds a tear And hurrying people pause to hear Pause to pity you, lost alone Then hurry on to their home and own; Even a teamster slacks his pace And wipes a tear from his honest face; Coddled by women so kind and good Who lavish the pity of motherhood Little lost child! Poor little thing, with your curls wind-tos't, You make me pine for a child I lost Make me long for a baby face That shines Up There in the angel's place Cease your tears and your fears so wild, For all the world loves a little child Touched are the hearts of all who see And all the world is a parent to thee, Little lost child! 92 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS Understanding. T met a man today who understood " And loved the little things I love so well, Who, charmed by songs of birds in field and wood, Could tune his ear to what they had to tell; Who chose the paths that led through vale and dell- Let others stroll the crowded streets who would And walked where lilies struck their tiny bell In greeting, and I knew he understood. We walked along a quiet country road, And Banked by scenes we both left long ago Past many a little, humble, quaint abode Where dwelt the simple folks we used to know; He greeted honest faces, all aglow, With loving words and kindnesses that showed He'd not shut out those friends he used to know Who staid behind along the Quiet Road. He knew the paths that led by stream and wood, And loved the little things I love so well, And cherished all, so homely yet so good, And knew the homely tales they had to tell; He felt the silent forest's mystic spell The quiet charm quite as no other could, And loved it much, and then I knew full well At last I'd met a man who understood. SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 93 Where's He At? "VirHERE'S the feller we used t' know ? First name was Sam, er mebbe 'twas Joe, Mebbe 'twas Bill an' the 'tother was Joy Never got cure't of bein' a boy! Yew reckolect him like he was then ? Allus was smilin' an' bald ez a wen Had a big fambly five, more er less't, Last one, allus, he cottoned th' best Where's he at ? Allus used t' cum hum at night Hist off his coat an' light up the light, Flop over int' his big webbin' chair, Never would stop fer combin' his hair, Ease off his gallus an' remember, by jocks, Kicked off his shoes an' tromped in his sox, Romped with them kids till he mos' cudn't see They liked it purty nigh much ez he f Where's he gone ? Then when he sot t' the evenin* repast Nothin' was finer than hearin' him ast Blessin' fer all, with a smile that was meant: "Lord, we are thankful fer what y' have sent All of our enemies we freely fergive We're thankful t' yew fer lettin* us live " Where's he at? Well, wherever he be, Here's th' respecks of one humble ez me Good luck t' him I 94 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS The Man Who Lost. Tt's easy enough when a man has gained * The great success that the gods endow, To take his hand and, as fate ordained To place the laurel upon his brow; But what of the man who has paid the cost ? The wand'ring one of the Host That Lost ? For each who wins there is one who fails For every smile there's a teardrop shed; The scroll of fame, in the final scales, Will underweight all the woes it bred; There is no path to the goal but's crossed By scores of those of the Host That Lost. His hands are palsied, his wounds are sore! When, deep in his heart, sweet memories stir, What blame to him if he lingers o'er The cup that hides all the days that were The brimming cup that will shut from view The happier days that the Failure knew f Though bleared his eye, in its light there is A longing, deep, for a child's caress An humble wish for a child of his To lavish his treasured tenderness A mute appeal for a word a sigh From one of them all who pass him by! The Man Who Lost SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 97 The laurel wreath is a fair reward For him who won and who fought so well, Then why not save, from your liberal hoard, A word of cheer for the man who fell ? A thought for the man who has paid the cost A hand for those of the Host That Lost ? SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS When Pals Must Part. "Vyi7"HEN two strong men, who've passed the bowl and laughed at quip and jest Who've smoked their pipes, believed in life and looked upon its best Who've e'er been true when Failure claimed the toll it takes from men Who've given each the other's hand and helped him up again The world must turn aside nor heed the honest tears that start, When two such men shall reach the forks where best of pals must part! "Old pal" there lurks within the words a mean ing more than friend A pledge, a trust, a fellowship that only men can blend; They've shared their woes, their cheer and smiles, alike the worst and best, And pledged the world for what it's worth and overlooked the rest; They've drunk in silence 'round the board, and seen, with heavy heart, The time when they shall reach the forks where best of pals must part. SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 99 They've passed the bowl and ever made of Fate a happy jest, But, comes a time when cheer departs and Death becomes the guest Then two strong men shall clasp their hands and, ere the final ban, Can look into each other's eyes and each can see a Man! It is no woman's heart that quails, nor childish tears that start, When two such men stand at the forks where best of pals must part! The Happy Man. T do not toil that I may hoard * The tithe my labor brings to me The sweetest draught comes from a gourd, And happiness from poverty; I toil because I've hands to do, And love of men within my heart, And, when my sands have all run through, I want it said I did my part. The scanty tithe that men can give Is but a puny prize at best It is enough that I should live In happiness and peace and rest; I give my toil in humble pride, To merit, when its end shall come, The love that waits at eventide Within the open door of Home. ioo SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS Shadders. "DUD Sennett, where be you t'day * That you can't hear a feller, say, 'Ithout him shoutin' 'nuff t' wake The tarnal universe ? Less take I stump y', Pud take off these things, Air watch an' chains an' these 'ere rings, They're nuthin' needful, if y' please They're jist a Growed-up's vanities! Less peel air store-made coat an' vest, Air patent shoes an' all the rest, 'N wear a cap an* roundabout 'N a woolun scarf fer keepin' out The chisley air, an' I suppose We'd orter have sum "copper toes"; Less put hoss-ches'nuts 'round air neck T' stave the measles off, I 'speck, 'N wipe air nose, fer all we keer, Acrost air sleeve, there's no one here That knows er cares fer us, I vum, We're boys agin us two back hum! 'N now cum on, fer I'm doggoned, There's skatin* down on Green's old pondl Of course we can't! I wish we cud! My words is fig-ger-a-tive, Pud, A sort of dream, an' every day The past gits more an' more that way! SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 101 Occasional I seem t' see The boys we knowed, an' you an' me, A-startin' top o' Millses Hill T' slide clean down t' Scouller's Mill, Then double back t' Green's old pond Where, over night, sum magic wand Had waved, it seemed, with gen'rous poise With jist a mind t' please us boys! The girls an' boys of boys we knew Air skatin' like we used to do; I wonder if they ever feel The shadders 'round them gently steal, Er take 'em by the hand an* spin Acrost the pond an' back agin ? I wonder do they know er care That 'mongst them shadders flittin' there Are shadders, Pud, of you an' me Er of us as we used to be ? SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS Old Rosemont. (Rosemont, Near Winchester, Virginia.) r I ^HERE'S something in the magic of the gentle * evening haze That seems to conjure visions of your past for gotten days A time 'twixt day and darkness when the shades dispel the glow, A subtle something whispers of the days so long ago. I hear the hunter's tocsin sound, and, ere its call has died, Comes Chivalry upon a steed with Beauty by his side; A smile to greet, a hunting song and then away away Across the blue grass meadows where the quarry's courses lay. I see the packs return again, the huntsmen, at their ease, Tell tales of those old hunting days beneath your spreading trees; I see your open portals shed a golden path, and then Your friends of olden, olden times pass through your doors again. SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 103 Your festal boards are spread once more and Beauty banters Wit, And favored is the ruby wine by ruby lips to it; The sighing evening zephyrs that across the blue grass steal, Bring music of the dance again the old Virginia reel. The picture sadly vanishes beyond the evening haze Your silence but a mockery of those forgotten days! Your portals wide have closed upon your last departing guest, And Death has met him at your gate and led him toward the West. Your thatch is hoary now, as mine, your comfort, as my own, Is looking back and living in the joys you have known, And cherishing old memories a smile a face a name The winters of our lives, old manse, are very much the same! 104 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS Winter Mornin's. HPHERE'S mornin's when my roomatiz is worse * than ordinary, An' wakes me up 'bout four o'clock, er mebbe nigher three. An* here I lay an' think an' dream, all soul alone, with nary A thing except my roomatiz t' keep me company; It somehow seems t' soothe the pain, jest lookin' out the wender, The lights from Mem'ry's candles come a- gleamin' 'cross the snow An 'luminate a pitcher that I see again, off yender, Them good old winter mornin's in the Long Time Ago. Them frosty winter mornin's, how I reckolect an' love 'em, As peaceful as the mornin's was before a woe was born; As crispy as the ling'rin'stars a-twinklin' above 'em, An* every sound was carried like 'twas blasted from a horn! I see 'em in the kitchen there, my mother, father, brother, The hired hand a-dozin' in a straight-back kitchen chair, An' 'Lizebuth, the orphant girl, our fambly used t' mother, A-turnin' golden buckwheats on the smokin' griddle there. SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 105 Acrost the mantled medder lot the nayburs' lights come shinin', A twinkle here, anotner there, a-gleamin' 'cross the way, They seem t' call in gentle voice, that's way beyant definin', "Good mornin', naybur, God has spared us fer another day." An' lyin' here, jest musin'-like, an' watchin* Mem'ry's prism, An' seein' lights of other days cum shinin' 'cross the snow, I swanny, seems t' have the knack o' killin* roomatism, Jest thinkin' on them winter mornin's Long Time Ago! io6 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS Fall. "DRUSHWOOD burnin'- ^ Leaves a-turnin' Yaller, gold and red; Wind's a-singin' Birds a-wingin* South'ards, overhead. Geese a-honkin' Cattle chawnkin' 'Round th' pastur gate; Trees stopt gummin' Fall 's a-cummin' Jist 's sure 's fate. Corncrib 's heapin Grainbin 's keepin' Fuller than two ticks; Turkeys bluffin' Right fer stuffin' 'Bout th' Twenty-six. Crops all tended Work all ended We're right snug at hum; Fall 's a-cummin' Jist a-hummin' Durn it, let 'er cum. Fall SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 109 The Last Edition. WHEN the last of Life's Copy is finished And edited, baring the sin; When the stress of the toil is diminished, And final forms wait to go in; When the types are locked fast in their places Our lives written there, and their sum And we're gathered 'round here in our places All waiting for "30" to come; When the Master Hand touches the lever To run the edition That Day Then, my brothers of Ever and Ever, Then what will our printed page say ? Will the Chief edit each little error ? Each minor mistake will He see f Will He visit the punishing terror On mortals as helpless as we ? Will He see the turned-rule in the column Each marking a task left undone ? Will He note with a mien, grave and solemn, Good works that were never begun ? When the Master Hand touches the lever To run the edition That Day, Then my brother of Ever and Ever Look well to what your pages say I no SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS Dan M'Carty of the Crossing Squad. A man of emotions and various notions is Officer ** Danny McCarty, He's always bossing the jam at the crossing with some an unpopular party; He's a heart that is swelling beyond a man's telling, but in spite of all of his bossing, He's a saint, he's a lamb, when he holds up the jam for a Little Babe at the Crossing. "Hold up yer car! Sthop^where y' are You wid the dumpin' cyart, see 111 Er I'll bump y' with this! Come on, little miss, Over the crossin' wid me." He's hale and he's hearty, is Danny McCarty a tower 'midst greatest confusion, He's like to be laughing and joking and chaffing, and often he swears in profusion! 'Till there comes a child with eyes blue and mild, with ringlets of gold all a-tossing, And traffic must pause for a minute, because, there's a Little Child at the Crossing. "Sthop! That's enough! Nun o' yer guff, Er I'll run yez in, d' y' see ?!! You go to Well, Come on, little gel, Over the crossin' wid me." SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS in His hand clasp is tender, his life is a fender, keeping all harm from the baby (Why, Danny, you're blinking; something, I'm thinking, has blown in your eye, sir, maybe!) She crosses the street and kisses him sweet and leaves him there, standing alone (Those are tears in your eyes ! Ah, Dan, I surmise, you've babies at home of your own !) Then here's to you, Dan, You've no medals, man, Nor do they bedeck you in flowers But, if danger e'er lures, May the Lord care for yours As safely as you've cared for ours! SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS Gone. r I ""HE house is strangely silent now, * And not the same to me It lacks the joy and sunshine that Its chief charm used to be; It's like unto a golden crown That's lost its richest jewel The brightest part of home is gone Since baby went to school. Her playthings ? Yes, we keep them here In orderly array, But they but seem to emphasize The truth that she's away! They used to be all strewn about Without regard to rule, But O, they are so orderly Since baby went to school! Beneath the tree the garden swing Sways sadly in the wind, And all the place fair seems to weep With us she left behind; There is no glint of golden locks, Like flashes from a jewel, But all about it's lonely now. Since baby went to school. She didn't know how hard it was To break those ties that bind The day we started her to school And bade the world be kind! She couldn't feel the sorrow pangs As she passed out our door! It seemed the babe we loved her so! Was gone for evermore! SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 113 Romancin'. r l"*HERE'S sumtimes when the gloamin' sort o' ^ gets the best o' me A time when silent shadders makes the choicest kumpany When ol' time fokes an' faces seem t' steal from out the gloom An* wait here at my elbow whilse 1 shift Life's creakin' loom; It's then I git t' musin' an' I rosum up my bow An' take down my ol' fiddle an' caress her soft an' low She seems to git the speerit, an' I coax her 'twell she jest Swells out her th'oat an' sings 'em sings the songs I love the best. I foller her in rapshure whilse she leads me on an' thue, Beside the "Swanee River" an' "In Ole Vir- ginny," too; I peer thue storms o' teardrops ez her voice drops soft an' low An' fairly seems t' whisper to me "Ol' Black Joe"; There's one more sympathetiker than what the others air, An' when she starts t' sing it I kin see them shadders there Draw closter 'round the fiddle fer to' hear it "Nellie Gray" They hain't no other music ever teched me that-a-wayl Ii 4 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS I love 'er how I love 'er! every soul en- durin' note I love her from her tailpiece to the latch around her th'oat! They hain't no other music short o* what the angels sings That's nowhere nigh ez purty ez th* music of her strings I swanny, 'tisn't music really music that she plays, It's actool conversation with the past and other days! If I cud have my ruthers when I die I 'low I'd jest Perfer t' hear my fiddle play the songs I love the best! SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 115 The Place and Time for Prayer. met down there at Lonesome on the Spittin' Adder Crick They was Ike an' Humpy Larkin an' in fack the ch'ice an' pick Of all the men an' wimin in the Basin that p'tend They're ennywise religus. I cut in about the end As our old Parson Highbee give the floor t' Izzy Say re Ter talk about the ethics an' the time an' place fer prayer; Iz 'lowed he was pertickler 'bout the way he chose t' pray Perfurred ter kneel beside a bed most enny time o' day. The Parson an' Bill Thompkins an' Catamount Tom Lesch Allowed they'd dun their prayin'est prayer out in the bresh With no one there to listen, an' ol' Stinkin* River Rice Maintained, fer bang-up prayin', why the cow range was his ch'ice. An' then I reckoleckted of a time out in the hill Whilse chasin' of a rustler known as Silver Dollar Bill; I'm purty tarnal handy with a gun, but I'll be cuss't The rustler saw me cumin', an' he drawed his cannon fust! ii6 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS I riz rite up in meetin* an', sez I, rite then an' there, "Now I hain't hell fer prayin' enny time er enny where, But I have prayed sum off an' on an' the best I ever dun Was wunct I 'us lookin' crosseyed into Silver Dollar's gun." Outweighing All. every man, on reaching fame And fortune, be it good or bad, Doth meditate at times upon The helps and hardships he has had; The fellowship of men is much As shaping ends, but, back of it His life and all depends upon A mother's love or lack of it. The Paths to Th re are rough at best, And tortuous, we're apt to find, And yet, in spite of what men say, The world and all is good and kind; There's less of sorrow and of tears Than pleasure in this life-long quest, And cheering words are plentiful, But mother love outweighs the rest. SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 117 Old-Fashioned Flowers. I" fer one, hain't over-het 'Bout new-fangled things, jist set That down in yer book! I jinks, Ever' half-baked man that thinks Things is better, as a rule, Than they used t' be 's a fool (Course, friend, I'm exceptin' you) Tell him that I sed so, too. More improvement, seems t' me, In things as they used t' be; Flowers in par-tick-i-ler Growed a heap site puttier Then as now, is my surmise; Land o' livin', close my eyes See them flowers maw set out Je-e-emuny, I wanna shout! Climbin' roses! lawsey day Runnin' this and thataway, Reechin' out an' smilin', too, Twistin' 'round the heart of you, Breathin' tender words o' love Underfoot and up above Sweetest things I ever saw Allus 'minded me of maw! US SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS Slips from maw's ger-a-nium Growed us out o' house an' hum; Wa'n't a bare spot, I declare, But maw planted flowers thare! Hollyhawks an' pinys, too, Smilin' through the years at you Wunder, do y', that one sings 'Bout the good old-fashioned things ? Whare's yer new-style orchids at ? Cyclmuns an' sich as that, 'Side o' these ? Why I kin see More real beauty, seems t' me, In a rose er clover-tops Than in them 'ats growed in shops. You take them I'll take the rest! Old-time posies I love best! SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 119 The Folly of Superstition. A S it's give me to percieve ^^ Fokes that hold, er tend t' b'lieve, That hawss-chessnuts he'p, er is, Cuore fer, the rheumatiz, Er that things more foolisher 'N chessnuts, wuz invented fer Cuorin' an' p'ventin' death, Better hold their doggone breath; Them fokes allus seemed t' me 'Bout the foolishest they be! Take fer instance Mylo Bee, Dumbdest fool I evur see; Wa'n't a pocket in his vest, Coat er pants that wuzn't jest Crammed with vegetables an' sich Keepin' ever'thin' frum itch Clean 't black dipthery frum Mylo, an' I gess they's sum Doctors nevur heerd of, sir, Mylo had pervided fer! Wore sum fetty 'round his neck Fer the janders, I expeck; Toted taters all about Fer t' keep numony out; Buckeyes fer the rheumatiz Wuz a fool idee o' his! , * * * Nevur dun a bit o' good Knowed they wa'n't no liklihood Mylo got perhaps you've seen B lowed up by a thrash in' 'chine/ iao SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS Ben Tarr Opines. r I ''HERE'S nuthin' I know, er that ever I see, * That's half 's contrary ez human fokes be! They're sartin an* sure t' put plans out o* j'int An' right here in Swazy 's a sample in p'int. Why, ever since I cum t' Swazy, I gess, Sam Davis 's been purrin' t' Myry Ann Kress Jist lookin' at others neither one cud abide, An' ever'one said it was all cut an' dried. An* Myry wus pert-like an' purty an' bright, Whilse all 'at Sam knowed wudn't last over night; Yit Sam went t' Congerss, contrary t' plan, An Myry run off with a ligbtenin* rod man. 1 Ol' Ben Tarr SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 123 The Old Back Stoop. , yes, the house is finished an' it's bigger 'n creation ! There's nuthin' in the township that is half ez big er fine; The wimin folks kep' naggin' fer t' build it, till, darnation, I jist plumb had t' build it t' presarve my peace o' min'. We moved the old place backurds, tew the orchard over yender; It's purty, hain't it, stranger ? How them mornin' glories droop, An' see that mountain ivy how it clings s' soft an' tender Around the ellum timbers of the old back stoop. Air new house is more competint an* cost a heap, by towhitt A sta-shun-ary wash troff an' them fixin's ever'where But sumhow, jist betwixt us (but I ivudn't have them know it/) I feel jist twict as happy in the old house over there! We built it when we married an' we cleared the oak an' beegum Around it all air babies uster romp an' play an' troop; They're mostly sleepin* yender an' the only time I see 'em Is whilse I set an' romance on the old back stoop! 124 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS It seems I 'low I'm foolish but it seems t' me the flowers Grow sweeter 'round the old place than the new place over there; It seems the vines cling closer, and I believe the evenin' showers Fall softer on that mossy roof than mostly ennywhere! It seems the birds sing sweeter an' that Natchur is more tender An', O them old man's fancies that, so soft an' silent troop, Acrost an' old man's eyesight an' jist fade away off yender, Look sweetest frum the settle on the old back stoop ! SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 1x5 The Nursery Battle. IHHERE'S a battle that's waged without Away from cantonments of men; No heroes to figure in story Or claim the historian's pen; The battlefield ? Here by the fire. The time ? When the shadows creep out, Then I hear the soldiers conspire And hear their chief officer shout: "Forward, kids, guide right Let's have a tickle fight!" They come pajama-ed and nighty-ed, I hear their soft tread in the hall (But, of course, they mustn't be sighted At risk of spoiling it all!) Their chieftain, he is the oldest, His aide is the next little lad And the army God bless it! is boldest, The baby, the pet of its dad! Still on, "Guide right Now to have a tickle fight!" The onslaught is more than I bargain! No martyr more freely has bled! But I'm caught by the narrowest margin The army sits down on my head! And they torture their captive outrageous When once they subject him like this, Till the clock calls the soldiers courageous And the army's dismissed with a kiss. "Night, dad, good-night We won the tickle fight!" n6 SWA ZY FOLKS AND OTHERS To your rest and God keep every laddie, Each brave, curly head of the line; Ho, you think that you won from your daddy But the spoils of the battle are mine! And the fruits I shall cherish forever, And down through the haze and the years, I shall see your bright faces whenever Your battle-cry sounds in my ears: "Forward, kids, guide right Let's have a tickle fight!" The Lonely Man. r\ON'T want t* be no prince ner king, ^"^ Ner armurd knight ner anything 'Ats got a title hitched tew it Don't hanker after that a bit! Don't want no flunkies standin' 'roun' T bow an' scrape an' mop the groun' 'N call me "king" er sumpin wuss; I 'low I wudn't give a cuss T* be a "jedge" er even "squire," Er " Congersmun, " er mebbe higher, But (durn thet sweat-bug in my eye!) There's times I jist swell up an* cry T' have sum dad-burned little tad Look up at me an' call me "Dad!" SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 127 Folks Back Home. TT'S mighty good a-gittin' back to see * The fokes an' things familyur-like to me, Espeshully since I've been gone away Fer quite a spell o' years; I want t' say There's nuthin' does me nowhere nigh sich good Ez gittin' back in air ol' naybur-hood Where I wuz born, brung up an' orter staid; "It makes a feller young," I allus say-ed. I like to loaf around the ol' hotel 'N gas Grip Martin, mebbe hear him tell Them ol'-time stories like he allus does An' how things looked afore the fire was In '84; an' how, afore it got Cooled off a bit Nobe Terrell went an' bought Sum hemlock boards an* built a new store where The Soldiers Monyment stands now rite there I I like t' sort o' stretch my hide an* hoof In Billy Ross's store an' talk of Rufe An* Billy Braden, too; they played less see The tuba horn an' drum, respectively, In air old band O years an' years ago! But sumtimes when I listen, soft an' low I seem t' hear their music, an' I get The idee in my head they're playin' yetl I like t' meet 'em all, but seems t' me There's sum o' them whose blunt veracity I can't endorse I mean the ones who say: "I swan, my boy I swanny! but you're grayl" But others of 'em them I like t' hear Say, "Sakes alive, you're younger every year!" The tarnal liars! But sumhow, when I jest Get thinkin' on't, / like them liars best/ 128 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS Come Back Again. /"^OME, grand-dad, please come back agin, and ^"^ all you old-home fokes, You Wigginses an* Bannisters, an' Mary Ellen, too, Less set around the livin' room an' have charades an' jokes And gas about the nayburhood jest like we used t' do; I want t' hear again about the bear Hi Burden shot, Whare Himses house is standin' now, an' when y' finish, jest Switch off an' tell 'bout Herkimer whare you lived 'fore y' got The idee in your head that you wud like t' come out West. An' tell us 'bout your journey here, an* when the army was An' how you marched t' Richmond with the 1 6th Illinoy, How grandma hauled the cordwood after you enlisted, 'cause They's no one here t' do it durin' the army man er boy; Y' mind that Hampshire feller that y' used t' tell about They captured after Gettysburg along with 'Bige an' you, An' he dug out o' Libby an' went back an' he'ped you out, An' all o' you was safe an' sound ? Well, tell that story, too! SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 129 An' tell us 'bout the doin's here when you come marchin' home, An' all that you remember of the speech Jedge Acker made 'Bout copperheads an' stay-at-homes, an' then recite that pome That Lidy wrote when you come back; "The Soldiers' Last Parade"; Come, tell us all you used t' tell, when we was gethered here, 'Bout fokes an' things that used t' be in that old airly day I'll call 'em back, the Wigginses an' all them nayburs dear They're only jest beyant a spell beyant the evenin's grey. An' when the talk an' embers drap t' jest a glow, er less, We'll gether 'round the organ here, jist like we used t' do, An' sing the songs that mother loved, that spoke her tenderness, "The Gipsy Boy," " Kentucky Home, "an' "I Shall Wait Fer You," An' all them songs! O please come back, it's only jest a step, An' take my hand an' speak t' me an' clear my dimmin' sight, An' let these golden mem'ries that I've cherished an' I've kep' Fer all these years, be real again, an' mine fer jest t' night! 130 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS Christmas Eve in the Old Manse. T^HE flame burns low in the friendly grate " And, as in dreams, from the magic haze They step with a carriage gallant, sedate, The maids and men of the olden days; The manse is silent and drear within The embers drop to a throbbing glow 'Tis midnight strikes, and then begin The Christmas revels of Long Ago. Fair maids look down from the ancient walls, Milady steps from her golden frame To join her lord in the musty halls In minuet or a madcap game; Bright eyes repeat what the roses said And upturn under the mistletoe Till lips meet lips that are cold and dead And turned to dust since the Long Ago. From out the nooks of the years they come, The soldiers, brave, in their trappings gay Come back from the trumpet and throbbing drum To eyes that wept when they marched away; Their dreams of valor have fled tonight, And now when the shadows softly steal, Each clasps the one of his heart's delight To dance his love in the Christmas reel. SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 131 And then to the board, to the festal place, A feast of beauty and wine and wit, Where quip meets quip and each smiling face Reflects the joy that beams on it: A moment the revels cease; each glass Is raised and vies with the lips it nears A sparkling toast from gallant and lass To Christmas Eves of the future years. But see, a queen with a silver staff Stills Christmas cheer and marshals all Bids host and guests, with a mocking laugh, To follow on through the hollow hall; The fairy tread of their slippered feet Sounds faint beyond where the embers glow, As back they dance to the grave's retreat, The Christmas sprites of the Long Agol L'ENVOI. Old manse, how lonely it is tonight! How far it seems to tomorrow's dawn! The embers die and, from out my sight, Fade Christmas revels of Days Long Gone! 132 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS An Investment. I bought some stock upon the mart, no sordid money-bearer, With coupons on and countersigned and sealed with careful heed, That I must hold by lock and key and suffer con stant terror For fear some person purloins it and leaves me poor indeed! Ah, no, the stock I bought today was not that kind of treasure, I have no means by which to get that special class of fee, Nor do I care! My stock is in the Bank of Children's Pleasure. That always pays the greatest rate of dividends to me! My purchase was a woolly dog, a drum, a cart and dolly, A Beau Brummell in gaudy vest upon some magic strings, A manikin in red, and crowned with mistletoe and holly, A wond'rous book, an expose of fairy queens and kings; A toy boat with luffing sail for strange, uncharted oceans, With rudder true and fearless crew and cables always taut, A prancing horse and building blocks, and hosts of childish notions, All struck my reckless fancy as investments and I bought. ' SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 133 Ah, poor, indeed, is he who gets his chief or only pleasure From clipping coupons from his bonds that lie in musty piles! So poorly is he recompensed, and, O how small the measure Of gain he gets when it's compared to child hood's happy smiles! I pity him! I envy ? No, all envy dies aborning All doubt concerning which of us the wisest choice has made Will disappear on Christmas in the nursery Christmas morning Amid the joy of children where my dividends are paid! 134 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS John Thompkins' Fiddlin'." TOHN Thompkins take yer fiddle down ** It's been so long ago I seed y' wrassle her aroun' An' heerd y' tromp her bow, 'At all the notes y' conjured then Sound further off each day, an' when I ast ye, John, t' play again, Yew understand, I know. I want t' hear y' take an' play Them tunes I understand, That "Ryestraw" jig an' "Trainin' Day" An' "Far Frum Native Land." An' that "My Saylor's On the Sea," An' "Nellie Gray" an' "Hummin' Bee" O, them's the tunes t' play fer me, John Thompkins, try yer hand! Jes' tune her up untwell she screams Fer them 'at's livin', John, Then drap her 'twell she chords with dreams Fer them we knowed 'at's gone; Jes' take her down frum off the shelf An' rosum up her bowstring 'twell 'f She's let alone she'll play herself, Jes' on an* on an' on John Thompkins' Fiddlin' SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 137 It's long ago I heerd y', John, There's ages passed since then, But still yer notes jes' linger on In Memory, an' when The bluebirds sing, it seems their vent Is nuthin' but the notes unspent Persarved frum your ol' insterment I wish y'd play again! 138 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS Old Ben Tarr's Idee. r I ''HE man who smiles an' sez "Amen" * When rain's a-fallin', same ez when The sun is shinin', seems t' me Hez got about the right idee Who's never faultin' Providence Per things it sends. In consequence, I reckin he is God's own ch'ice, An' fair well on to'rds Paradise. I b'lieve the plainest man, whose plumb Hangs true along his life at hum Who's square with men in day's affairs An' fair with God in evenin' prayers Who sleeps an' leaves his latch unslung Fer ennything he's ever done Now such a man, it seems t' me, Ain't needin' much filosophy! I argy he who duz his best An' trusts in Him fer all the rest Who don't doubt Jonah and the whale But b'lieves it cuz it's God's own tale Though humble is thet man, an' may Have failed in every airthly way, Yet, peer he is to you an' I, An' fit as saints t' up an' die ! SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 139 A Man. "P\ON'T tell me that his faith was true, *-^ Nor that his trust was firm, nor laud His virtues, as they seem to you, Nor praise his honesty with God. For praise of these is small indeed; The while he lived his earthly span He only kept a given creed, And God expects as much of man. But tell me, was it in his heart To leave his beaten path, and seek Less happy souls and take their part ? To give his might to help the weak ? Was he the man who measured life In dollars, cents and days and years? Or gauged, beyond the sordid strife, In joys and sorrows, smiles and tears ? Did he perceive, and love to read, The message, sweet, each flower brings ? And did he pause in life to heed And learn to love God's little things ? Was woman's faithful love the best Of all his life gave him of good ? And what found he the tenderest ? The soft caress of babyhood ? The while his sands are ebbing low And earth and all around grow dim, Please tell me, friend, so I may know A man greets death, and weep for him. 140 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS The Martial Band from Big Elm Flat. , mebbe they don't, jist as yew say, Trill their cadenzers 'n whirligigs. They Ain't up t' it, mebbe 'tain't zackly their kin', 'N mebbe yer idee is duffurnt 'n mine; Their music sounds sweet t' my tarnal old ears It carries me back'urds fer forty-odd years 'N I'll tell y' aforehandt, I'll wallop y' one If y' don't stop bedevilin' an' pokin' yer fun At the "rooty-toot-toot," 'N the"ratty-tat-tat" Of themarshul band frum Big Ellum Flat! I 'low they ain't straight on the "p" an' the "q" 'N don't ack as pert as yer city bands do, But they got the knack o' playin' t' please 'N puttin' the limber juice back in yer knees "The Camptown Races" an' " Rye-straw, " tew, 'N all them old ones that ferever is new; An' if it ain't music, whatever it be, It's tarnation pleasin' t' fellers like me Is that "rooty-toot-toot," 'N the " ratty-tat-tat " Of the marshul band frum Big Ellum Flat. SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 141 Another reason I lean tew 'em for, Is 'cause I follered 'em all thru the war An' fit t' their music more'n wunct, I declare They was more of 'em then hain't all of 'em there; Most of 'em's gone. Eh ? Never mind, son, Y' needn't apolergize fer pokin' yer fun, I knowed y' wudn't if ye'd jist understand 'N knowed what I knowed 'bout that little band With its, "rooty-toot-toot," 'N its "ratty-tat-tat" The marshul band frum Big Ellum Flat. SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS Old Ben Tarr's Filosofy. T>LESSED is thet mortul who ^^ Has lived his life, an', gittin' thue, Kin wander back'urds in his mind T' whare a cottage stands, all vined With trumpet flowers, red an' white, Er mornin' glories after night Blessed is thet man, I say. Blesseder by far is he, Still havin' her, who tenderly He's loved an' kep' frum passin' harm, Kin take her by the willin' arm An' lead her tew them joys again The joys made fer simple men Blesseder by far is he. But blesseder than all is he, Who, closin' of his eyes, kin see The evening sun kiss golden hair Of youngsters 'round his cottage thare, 'N have sum dad-burned little chap Cum thru the years an' whisper: "Pap"- Blesseder than all is he! SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 143 An Old Man's Deductions. I" dunno, but it seems ter me, * Things ain't like they uster be Folks wuz diffurnt, too, I 'low, Years ago than they be now I Uster be sum kindness showed Folks y' mebbe never knowed Wa'n't s' stuckup-like an' classed Bowed t' ever' soul they passed! Skies don't shine one haff s' blue 'Pears-like, as they uster do; Each fermilyur field an' nook 'S changed frum how it uster look. Gals ain't haff s' shy an' pert 's When they wore them flarin' skirts, Pantelets an' all the rest Old time gal 's what I like best! Weather's got the same idee Great jemmimy, seems t' me, Orgust hain't one haff the git Up an' git it bad to it! I dunno, but thinkin' 'long, Mebbe 'tain't the things that's wrong After all, perhaps it's me Changed frum what I uster be! 144 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS The Old Home Town. r I "'HE thoughts of home, they seem to bloom * and grow As faithfully as blossoms used to blow And drop away, to follow in the fall With ripened fruit aplenty and for all; So thoughts of home will linger for a bit, Then fade, and we are happier for it. ****** The village street that came a-winding down Since stage coach days, whence gypsies came to town, The fright and fear of children there at play They stopped to "feed" then on its creaking way Their caravan went, its white tops showing still For miles away, beyond the tow'ring hill That rose abrupt, obscuring from our eyes The world beyond and all its glad surprise. The "Old Main Road" 'twas called and, wending down, Audaciously, it cleft the little town To two quaint streets where village merchants thrived, And where it seemed the care free people hived On summer days or cheated summer showers, And whiled away, and talked, the blessed hours. A tinshop here, and there, with cheery ring, The blacksmith toiled and did his part to sing The day away; and stealing o'er the hill, O'er clover bloom and fields, the ancient mill Sent out its song, a crooning soft and low It sang at work and let the village know; 55 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 147 And yet 'twas still the sounds of toil were few Familiar sounds that all the village knew! 'Round open doors were grouped the patriarchs, The older men the group that ever marks The village life and talked of other years When war was rife and all was woe and tears; And oftentimes their fancies, turned to mirth, Some new device, some new-found trick gave birth By subtle twist their crooked canes made fast 'Round sunburned legs of freckled boys who passed! The freckled boys who found the path unseen That led away, through pasture and ravine, To Scouller's Mill where youngsters got their dole Of boyhood fun beside the swimming hole. ******* And this was home, where evening stars looked down Their kindliest and blessed the Old Home Town The place of dream that we remember yet And cherish still and never can forget! I 4 8 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS Friends. TX7HEN Fortune smiled And days were bright, it seemed I had more worthy friends than I had dreamed, Who clustered 'round, felicitating me, Whose joy at my good fortune seemed to be Without an end. When Fortune frowned! I know what you would say: "They shunned you then and let you go your way. " Not so! Not one of them but heard my call Of dire distress, and came, for after all A friend's a friend! SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 149 To a Boy. a little freckled kid, Let us go together Swingin' down a lane again, Smilin' as the weather. Let us go beyond the wood, Where there's nun t' bother Whilse we smoke some mullin-leaf Keep an eye on father! Take me to yer swimmin' hole Lemme have my "ruthers" Don't fergit t' dry our hair Mothers will be mothers! Take me home again at night, When the cricket 's crickin' Lemme go today with you, An' I'll take the lickin'l 150 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS Going to Town With Pa. T TELL you what I liked to do * When I was 'bout as big as you, Was go t' town with pa! They ain't been nuthin' 'fore or sence, Of nigh one half the consequence, Nor half s' full of pure joy As when my mother'd holler: "Boy, It's brekfus time, nigh five o'clock 'F y'll hurry up an' feed the stock Y' kin go t' town with pa." Beyond the ridge the white road bent The furthest then I'd ever went ! An' then went lea din' down Past Jackson's Crick an' Possum Gap, Through woods so dark I hung t' pap, An' ever* step showed more an' more The world I'd never knowed before; Past fields o' wavin' wheat an' flax An' then across the railroad tracks, An' then t' Burgettstown! Ah, Burgettstown! Me-trop-o-les Of all my youthful dreams, I gess, Nun half so great cud be! The biggest millwheel ever wrought Was turned to grind the grist we brought! The biggest things the world aroun' I saw right thare in Burgettstown No buildin's half so big an' tall! It seemed that there was nuthin' small Exceptin' pa an' me! 'Beyond the ridge the white road bent,' SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 153 The sun'd be edgin' to'rds the West When pa'd allow: "Well, bub, you best, Climb up here with yer pa," An' out from 'neath the seat 'ud cum The snack that pa had brought from hum Sum hard-biled eggs an' ginger snaps Was allus fa-vor-ites o' pap's An' I'd eat, too, till I cudn't see, An' be plum glad, as glad cud be, T' git back hum t' ma! 154 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS Two Songs. A singer touched a lofty note * ^ An eerie something far from me That seemed through broadest space to float And echo back from land and sea; It was so rich and full and clear, It pleased my heart and made me cheer. Then through the years another rang A song borne up on mem'ry's wings, A lullaby my mother sang Of cradle time and homely things; It roused the memories that sleep And touched my heart and made me weepl LO. GO. 224 W. F ay Glendale, Calif. 91204 Phone: CT 4-( UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FAOL TV A A 000291252 5