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Un des symboles suivants apparaitra sur la derniAre Image de cheque microfiche, selon le cas: le symbole —*> signifie "A SUIVRE", le symbole V signifie "FIN". Maps, plates, charts, etc., may be filmed at Afferent reduction ratios. Those too large to be entirely included in one exposure are filmed beginning in the upper left hand corner, left to right and top to bottom, as many frames as required. The following diagrams illustrate the method: Les cartes, planches, tableaux, etc., peuvent dtre filmAs i des taux de reduction diffArents. Lorsquc le document est trop grand pour dtre reproduit en un soul clich6, il est film6 d partir de Tangle sup6rieur gauche, de gauche A droite, et de haut en bas, en prenant le nombre d'images nAcessaire. Les diagrammes suivants illustrent la mAthode. 1 2 3 1 2 3 4 8 6 ^be Canterbury ]pocte. Edited by William Sharp. AMERICAN HUMOROUS VERSE. R MERICAN HUMOROUS VERSE. SELECTED AND EDITED, WITH INTRODUCTION AND NOTES, BY JAMES BARR. LONDON : WALTER SCOTT, 24 WARWICK LANE, PATERNOSTER ROW. Jtsw. iia»l»»tll*«w-.;a»^j|^^p THK WALT I R SCOTT PRESS, NEWCASTLE-ON-TYNE. AUTHORS AND TITLES. -♦♦- M New England's Annoyances . Adams, Charles Follen— Dot Baby off Mine . Yaw, dot is so 1 . , Yawcob Strauss Mine Vamily . Adams, John Quincv— The Plague in the Forest Anderson, Aristine— A Mosquito Tiiolet . A Lenten Rondeau Is that so ? . PAGE . 1 3 5 7 8 9 li 15 Bark, Robert - ■*■ Class of '88 17 »»■■ a*.. \<( VI AUTHORS AND TITLES, Beers, Henry A. A Fish Story Bumble Bee Bellaw, a. W.— Conjugal Conjugations Knittiu' at tli' Stocking The Old Line Fence . The Indian Rubber Trunk Tho Sunday Fisherman PAGE . 19 jfl . 21 V 1 . 22 , 25 1 . 27 '1 . 29 . yi 1 Best, Eva— Bric-a-brac . 34 Brown, J. T.— This Old Joke . The W. «3e Phrenologist / "^ ' chman's Dog Story S6 . 37 . 40 BUNNER, H. C- Candour Forfeits . . 42 , 43 BuRDETTE, Robert J.— The Romance of the Carpet . Wilhelraj A Friend of yours WhatwiUwedo? . 44 . 47 . 48 . 49 Carleton, Will— Eliphalet Chapin's Wedding Uncle Sammy . . 50 . 63 h4 ■'""31 nrtT» iia 11 II -I - rr-i A UTHORS AND TITLES, Vll PAQE . 19 . 21 Cmeney, John Vance— The Kitchen Clock . The Trapper's Sweetheart . PAGE . 69 . 61 22 25 27 29 31 Dodge, H. C— Tom and Jerry's Duel • • < 63 Signs of the Timea . . 65 Bait of the Average Fisherniiiii 67 If m A Spleniliil Fellow . 68 A Coat Tale .... . 69 34 36 37 40 42 43 44 47 48 49 DowE, Jennie E. T. Wait a Bit . Heart and Hand Drummond, W. H.— The Wreck of the " Julie Plante" . " De Papineau Gun" Field, Eugene— VI 73 74 7C A Leap-Year Episode . 79 Apple-Pie and Cheese . 81 The Little Peach .... 84 A White-House Ballad . 86 Ben Apfelgarten .... . S7 Ye Divell and Ye Miller his Wife . . 89 50 53 Fink, W. W.— Hanner Michael Maloney's Serenade 93 95 ■'"4i,fti****'-*i- ■ •»4y "y M e >fc *fc M i>#'*»t-itWJt'«a^«---* ■-jsrvsv--^ p i!. Vlll AUTHORS AND TITLES. Foss, S. W. ^ TAGE "Hullo" 97 He wanted to know , . OS An Kcononiical Man . . 101 Thon Ag'in . . 102 Shorteni's (Question . . 104 Sebastian Morey's Oration . 106 Husband and Heathen . 108 The Rattle of til e Dollar . 109 Tellin' what the I3aby did , . 112 Gkkknk, Alkkrt U.— Old Grimed . , , , Harris, Joel Chandleu— My Honey, my Love . Harte, Bret— Dow's Flat .... "Jim" .... Plain Langua . 109 1 . 112 .'•'i . 114 116 118 122 124 127 129 132 lo4 136 137 142 ^% Huntley, Stanley— The FirHt Sorinon . Kimball, Mather Dean— or Pickett's Nell , Attributed to Wyoming Kit— Ye Wild WeHtern Man The Cowboy's Tale . Lanigan, George T.— The Ahkoond of Swat Dirge of the Moolla of Kotal The Amateur Orlando The Latest Version . Leland, Charles Godfrey— Hans Breitmann's Barty Carey, of Carson The Coloured Fortune-Hunter Logan, John E.— "The Injun" .... Lowell, James Russell— What Mr. Robinson Thinks The Pious Editor's Creed , Miller, Joaquin— VVMlliam Brown of Oregon . That Gentle Man from Boston Town Saratoga and the Psalmist . A Cincinnati Blue-Stocking Mix, Parmenas— The New Doctor Accepted and Will Appear . He came to pay PAUK . Ul , 151 164 157 159 101 104 170 172 174 178 179 . 185 . 188 192 107 202 204 205 206 208 b"^ <». . ,»««»^«»,-^.-. mammmK^ waamm AUTHORS AND TITLES, MUNKITTRICK, RICHARD KENDALL— PAGE 1 October ..... . 210 ■| What's in a Name ? . . 212 At Dewy Morn .... . 214 t Put to Sleep ..... . 215 M To Miguel De Cervantes-Saavedra . 216 ■m The Patriotic Tourist . 217 yjjjfe Newall, Robert Henry— A Great Fight RiLEv, James Whitcomb— The Old Man and Jim Little Orphant Annie When the Frost is on the Punkin . Jim . . . . . . 219 223 226 228 230 Roche, James Jeffrey— A Sailor's Yarn .... . 232 A Boston Lullaby .... . 235 "Don't" . 236 If . 237 TheV-a-s-e . . . . . 238 Russell, Irwin— The First Banjo ... . 240 Nebuchadnezzar .... . 243 A Practical Young Woman . . 245 4 I Saxe, John Godfrey— The Ghost-Player . Ho- Ho of the Golden Belt . Wouldn't You Like to Kno>v ? 246 249 254 AUTHORS AND TITLES, XI SCOLLARD, Clinton— A Colonial Valentine Miss Anonymous Nouieddin, the Son of the Shah Clarinda takes the Air A Love Lesson At Eastertide Sherman, Frank Dempster— The Book-Hunter . Sill, E. R.— A Baker'z Duzzen uv Wize Sawz Smith, William Wye— The Second Concession of Deer Stkdman, Clarence Edmund— Pan in Wall Street . Thompson, Maurice- DroppingCorn Trowbridge, Robertson^ To Betsey Prig Vandkgrift, Margaret— Lagyland A Culprit The Real Reason Beautiful Spring Webb, Charles Henry Little Mamma Deacon Brown page . 256 . 258 . 259 . 260 . 261 . 263 . 264 . 266 . 267 . 269 . 273 . 275 . 277 . 279 . 280 . 282 • 283 . 287 tr ,' xu A UTHORS AND TITLES. Wilcox, Ella Wheeler— A Pin . Bedlam Town Willis, N. P.— Love in a Cottage Anonymous— Dixie . Russian and Turk . The Piazza . "Harper's Magazine"— 'Specially Jim PAGE . 291 . 293 . 295 . 296 . 298 . 300 . 299 eMi /* A' I I INTRODUCTION. Ho, room ! my Lords Ptnd Ladies blest — Room for ye funnie man his jest. f Until the present time there has been published in this country no representative collection of American humorous verse. Many volumes of humorous American prose and poetry have been issued, some of them attaining marked popularity, but, so far as I can learn, no collection, consisting exclusively of the humour of the verse-writer, has made its appearance here. Hitherto, as far as anthologies of verse are concerned, Americans have had to content themselves with such representation as a few pages, generally at the end of volumes of English written verse, aftbrded. It has been my great privilege to gather together for the first time in this kingdom a coller.tion of poems which, I hope, will be considered to do justice to the humour of the United States and Canada. It is an easy task to introduce an old favourite. The mere mention of the popular name at once secures attention and sympathy, and the introducer BWi^(— i< — -J- * HiMM ^IB XIV INTRODUCTION. I may say his bay well or ill, it matters very little. Such is the position in which I find myself. For a large section of the humorous poetry of America is as well known and appreciated in this United Kingdom as in America itself. In this country, the names of Lowell, Holmes, Hay, Harte, Saxe, and Leland, to mention only a few, are household words. Indeed, it is just a question if some of these authors be not a little oftener read, and a trifle more thought of here than in their native land. Their works have been published and republished in all shapes and sizes ; their names have appeared in every anthology where Americans found admission ; and their popularity, as great now as it ever was, shows no sign of waning. All that can be said for and against their work has been said many times over, and so, in this introduction, I will content myself with the privilege of mentioning their names. Many people are inclined to think that the humour of America reached its zenith a couple of decades ago, and that there is no younger genera- tion of writers on whom the mantle of the gods has fallen. This is a mistake. There are plenty o^ young writers to-day upholding the best traditions of humour in America. A glance at the periodical literature should convince any one that the writing of humorous verse is not a decaying art on the m * INTRODUCTION. XV other side of the Atlantic. In the newspapers and magazines of to-day, humour is a necessity. The American is a humour-loving humorist. He demands humour in and out of season ; he demands it not only in specific channels, but where an Englishman never dreams of looking for it, in his daily newspapers and his monthly magazines. In his busy life — in the rush and worry that con- stitutes the life of the average American — anything that diverts his mind from business after business hours, and affords him a quiet smile (for the American is not given to boisterous or even hearty laughter), is exactly what he requires and appreciates. As a natural result, a quaintly flavoured humour flourishes in America as it does in no other country. But much of the humour of the present day is diflierent in style from that of twenty years ago. Indeed, the humorous verse most appreciated to- day was not in existence in the "sixties." I refer to verse such as James Whitcomb Riley, S. W. Foss, and others of the same way of expressing their ideas, are writing. The works of some of the better known writers of the old school might just "iS well have been written in England, or Australia, or any other English-speaking part of the globe, as in America. The authors made no attempt to identify their work with America. It has nothing •^^Mi^m<^i£Sih3imm XVI INTRODUCTION, distinctively American in it. Saxe, for instance, one of the brightest versifiers the West has pro- duced, set his ghost player on the stage of Drury Lane Theatre, and his Briefless Barrister had not "half-a-crown" in his purse. Now of late years there has been a tendency to introduce more of the new world air and spirit into the humorous verse — in fact, into the whole literature of America. There is more of the old log cabin and bush farm in the work of the present-day humorist than is to be met with in that of the writers of twenty years ago. Possibly this is because the poets of our time have the blessed privilege of seeing the swamp farm, with its fat pork and malaria, through the kind haze of vanished years, for a bush farm has very little enchantment indeed until distance lends it. But from the backwoods comes the kind of verse referred to as having no counterpart even a few years ago. This verse it seems to me is entitled to particular attention just now, for it has sprung into existence within recent years, and has become the most popular verse in America. It is a combination of quaint humour and homely pathos set in the sample, ungrammatical idiom of the country people. The inhabitants of rural America are a peculiar people — a people richly imbued with an almost pathetic humour, and born to the knack of speaking JNTRODUCTIO^, xvii instance, has pro- )f Drury had not te years more of umorous \merica. nd bush lumorist Titers of luse the ilege of 3rk and d years, antment om the jrred to irs ago. Lrticular cistence most ation of Simple, )eculiar almost )eaking good common sense in «'i quaintly back-handed wording. The rejoicings and the sorrowings of this class; their love-making and their stories of " the war" ; their heavy debates around the grocery stove on a keen winter's night, or that still more exciting and strenuous mental effort, the spelling- bee in the old log school-house ; the cheerful, hard-working, self-denying life of the man who owns a five-hundred dollar farm with a thousand- dollar mortgage on it; the whole simple life of the countryside folk, told in their own humorous phraseology, is a rich field for the humorist. And the new school of humorists has sprung into existence. The result is that in the papers and magazines of America are to-day appearing poems that are a delight to every one acquainted with rural America. This poetry may not specially appeal to any one but an American. The dialect must be a stumbling-block to many, but the dialect, and the idiom, and the pictures are typically American, and touch the very heart of the Ameri- can. Chief among writers of this type of verse is James Whitcomb Riley. Mr. Riley is a great deal more than a humorist. He is a true poet first and a humorist after. I am sorry I have not been able to give more of his work in this volume, but to have done so would have been unfair to Mr. Riley and his publishers. However, there is no need for xviii INTRODUCTION, ^i ? *i L I! any one to depend on this or other anthologies for Mr. Riley's work. Old Fashioned RoseSy an attractive volume published by Messrs. Longmans, Green, & Co., has already run through a large edition. A second volume, which is, I understand, to appear simultaneously in England and America, will be published by the Century Company soon, and is to contain all Mr. Riley's latest and strongest work. I hope the few examples of Mr. Riley's style which appear in this anthology will lead many a reader to turn to his collected poems ; for Mr. Riley is a writer of exceptional humour and pathos, and to my mind one of the greatest literary geniuses that America has produced. Another author who is rapidly gaining a well-defined position in the literature of America as a writer of this typically American humour is Sam Walter Foss. I have been fortunate in getting permission to use a fair number of his poems in this book. "Hullo" and "Tallin' what the baby did" are delightful blendings of the humorous and serious. Other poems in the later style of dialect are Kimball's " 01' Pickett's Nell," Bellaw's "Knittin' at the Stockin'," and Cheney's " Trapper's Sweet- heart." But because of the dialect I have had to leave out many pieces that, had this anthology been intended for American readers, would have been included. %.{ I «L -^m~*lf-^lm INTRODUCTION, XIX hologies oses^ an ngmansj a large erstand, Vmerica, oon, and est work, e which I reader Riley is los, and i^eniuses author position riter of Walter mission is book, d '* are serious. Bct are Knittin' Sweet- had to thology Id have I The greatest medium in the world for the propagation of the English language is North America. From every quarter of the globe there pours into her sea-ports tens of thousands of emigrants jabbering in all the many tongues, civilised and uncivilised. Long before these same people have drifted half-way across the great con- tinent they are conversing, and their children are thinking, in English. America on the point of language is inexorable. Every one must use the English language to the best of his ability. As a consequence of this imperative rule of speech, and of the immense number of emigrants that land on her shores. North America is a continent of dialects. In England there is a new dialect to each parish. But the dialects of America are of widely different origin from those of England. In America it is not an English-speaking people forming for their own use a corruption of their own tongue, but a foreign people tuning their tongues to the requirements of the all-prevailing English speech. The result of this is that, on the long and weary journey from the leave-taking of their native language until the time when they arrive at a thorough understanding of a strange and difficult speech, many dialects are formed, — curious mixtures of what is English and what is foreign in words, and pronunciation, and idiom. And the native American has been quick il XX INTRODUCTION. I- .' ' M m I" t to note the humour of this transitory state, and to seize the kinks and pecuUarities of the speech. So we have Charles G. Leland's German-English Breitmann Ballads ; his Indian-English and his Pidgin-English (the latter almost as unreadable as the original Chinese is to most of us) ; Charles Follen Adams' humorous-pathetic poems with " Yawcob Strauss " at the head ; Dr. Drummond's typical French-Canadian poems ; the negro verse of Joel Chandler Harris, Irwin Russell, Nelson Page, and many more that could be mentioned — poems to which there are none that correspond in the literature of any other country. In this anthology will be found a fair number of the more representative phases of dialect verse. I have limited the choice, for dialect, however good and humorous, is troublesome to read. But these poems, difficult as they are, will live long. They are the scouts of a rapidly conquering and desuned-to-be- universal language. The present writers of verse in America have one great advantage which was not shared by their proto- types of a dozen years ago even. To-day a number of the foremost American periodicals are published simultaneously in England and America. It is rather a strange thing that America, comparatively weak as she admittedly is in great literary lights, should turn out week by week periodicals that INTRODUCTION, XXI circulate in every part of the world where the English language is spoken ; while the magazine and weekly of England do not as a rule find popular circulation outside the United Kingdom. Here, in London, The Century^ Harper's^ Scribnet^s^ Lippin- cott^Sy Outings St Nicholas^ and other magazines, and the Detroit Free Press and New York Herald^ weekly papers, are published as regularly as they appear in America, and find wide circulation among the English people. This gives the Ameri- can an opportunity to place his work before the reading world of both hemispheres, — surely an exceptional privilege. Before these maga- zines and weekly papers crossed the ocean and established themselves in England, a reputation had first to be achieved in America, and then it was just a toss-up whether it ever filtered across to England or not. In the old days, the lucky accident of a work of genius falling into the hands of an influential and discerning Englishman was the making of a reputation in England for at least one American. Now no such chance is needed. At the present time the American humorist or novelist can place his work before the whole English-speaking world on the same day. "Bric-a-Brac" in The Century is a department almost entirely devoted to humorous verse. There each month appear examples of the highest .J5Wr">t"r,c»K=-!4-.2.-or--i (f M V xxu INTRODUCTION, class of humour, usually a charming and varied selection. In The Century much of James Whit- comb Riley's work is first given to the public, and the wayward verses of Jennie E. T. Dowe, the fantastic poems of John Vance Cheney, the thoroughly enjoyable and humorous writings of Margaret Vandegrift, W. J. Henderson, Richard A. Jackson, Mather Dean Kimball, Robertson Trowbridge, and the polished poems of Clinton ScoUard and Frank Dempster Sherman, are to be found in " Bric-a-Brac." Harper's Magazine as a rule publishes one or two bright pieces each month, and Lippincott 2X^0 finds room for humorous verse occasionally. In the English edition of the Detroit Free Press^ Sam W. Foss's touching poems, Charles Follen Adams' German-American dialect verses, and H. C. Dodge's queerly-shaped and strangely worded verse are found ; and Eva Best, A, W. Bellaw, and Aristine Anderson are constant contributors to itscolumns. In America,the mediums for humorous verse are almost innumerable. Puck is edited by H. C. Bunner, the novelist and poet ; and in its pages the poems of the editor are one of the many attractions of that attractive weekly. The New York Lije^ Thejudge^ The Yankee Blade (edited by Mr. Foss), The Chicago Daily News, to which Eugene Field contributes most of his verse; The Arkansaw Traveller^ with Opie P. Read at INTRODUCTION, XX111 varied s Whit- »lic, and we, the ;y, the :ings of Richard ibertson Clinton are to agazine es each imorous I of the poems, dialect ed and a Best, onstant ediums Puck d poet ; are one weekly. e Blade ^ews, to 1 verse; Lead at the helm ; The New Orleans Picayune^ The Bur- lington Hawkey e^ The Atlanta Constitutiony The San Francisco News Letter^ The Argonaut^ Munsefs Weekly ^ The Boston Pilot (edited by Jeflf Roche), The Pittsburg Dispatch^ The Illustrated American^ Louisville Courier Journal^ Harper^ s Weekly^ Pecks Sun^ and many other papers contain much jood work in almost every issue they publish. Of Canadian papers the only one entirely devoted to humour is Grip^ published in Toronto. Grip is edited by that famous cartoonist, J. W. Bengough, and for humorous literature and cartoons it is one of the cleverest papers in North America. At the commencement of this introduction 1 probably should have stated that, for convenience, the word "America" is here used as covering both the United States and Canada, and also that, although the great majority of authors in this anthology are citizens of the United States oj )f Canada, this is a volume of verse by authors whose work appeared originally in America and attained popularity there, no matter to what country the authors themselves belong. I have gratefully to acknowledge the kindness of those authors and friends who assisted me in preparing this anthology. To the Century Com- pany and Messrs. Scribner & Son, of New York ; to Messrs. Longmans, Green, & Co., Messrs. --^iimi^ -^mMtfS!t/mf»^v^'^K XXIV INTRODUCTION, Marmillan & Co., Messrs. Chatto & Windus, and to Messrs. Routledge & Sons, of London, and Messrs. Houghton, Mifflin, & Co., Boston, U.S.A., my thanks are given for their permission to include much of the best work that appears in this volume. I also gratefully record my obligations to Miss Lanigan, of Philadelphia; Mr. W. D. Lighthall, of Montreal (who obtained for me much information, and placed the literature of Canada at my disposal); to Mr. S. S. McCIure, of New York ; and Mr. John Barr, of Detroit, Michigan, for their valuable assistance. JAMES BARR. Detroit Free Press Office ^ March 28M, 1891. ^ I f '*! iiii.';;.-:^!^ 1 >. ^ ;, / ■- -(^ ,-.- dus, and to •1 ■-^t;;' r: '' ';M. ; ' > J id Messrs. 4 .. -'^■'(■^. :. -i. my thanks M 'J "■,'*■ •.■ ""' ' e much of M ..,„...., le. I also W\ '■i-'\fn r:i i .-. J ) s Lanigan, ■fl ,..!-• f Montreal • ISf Bntctfcs ill and placed 'a-; ^^W ■ 1 W ^r % % ^^ W\ > ■ 1 ; to Mr. S. ■fll'' m Barr, of JK- istance. ^m - , i BARR. ^m New E 1 i,. '•• ' ■,' ...r-. ^• ; 1 ;: .:;- u- 1-^ /, ■ J. ' „ .. V # New England's annoyances, you that would know them, Pray ponder these verses, which briefly do show them. The place where we live is a wilderness wood, Where grass is much wanting that's fruitful and good ; Our mountains and hills and our valleys below Being commonly covered v/ith ice and with snow : And when the north-west wind with violence blows, Then every man pulls his cap over his nose ; But, if any's so hardy and will it withstand, He iorfeits a finger, a foot, or a hand. / * Author unkwiown. The first known pojm by an American colonist. Written about the year 1630. Serious enough in those days, but Time has developed its humorous features. 772 2 NEW ENGLAND 'S ANNO YANCES. But, when the spring opens, we then take the hoe, And make the ground ready to plant and to sow. Our corn being planted and seed being sown, The worms destroy much before it is grown ; And when it is growing some spoil there is made By birds and by squirrels that pluck up the blade ; And, when it is come to full corn in the ear. It is often destroyed by racoon and by deer. And now do our garments begin to grow thin, And wool is much wanted to card and to spin. If we get a garment to cover without. Our other in-garments are clout upon clout. Our clothes we brought with us are apt to be torn, They need to be clouted soon after they're worn ; But clouting our garments they hinder us nothing, — Clouts double are warmer than single whole clothing. ?l If fresh meat be wanting, to fill up our dish, We have carrots and pumpkins and turnips and fish : And, is there a mind for a delicate dish. We repair to the clam -banks, and there we catch fish. 'Stead of pottage and puddings and custards and pies, Our pumpkins and parsnips are common supplies: We have pumpkins at morning and pumpkins at noon ; If it was not for pumpkins we should be undone. I \NCES, I the hoe» to sow. wn, m; is made le blade ; ar, » f *^ er. thin, spin. ii^^ DOT BAB Y OFF MINE. If barley be wanting to make into malt, We must be contented and think it no fault ; For we can make liquor to sweeten our lips Of pumpkins and parsnips and walnut-tree chips^ Now while some are going, let others be coming, For while liquor's boiling it must have a scumming ; But I will not blame them, for birds of a feather, By seeking their fellows, are flocking together. But you, whom the Lord intends hither to bring, Forsake not the honey for fear of the sting ; But bring both a quiet and contented mind. And all needful blessings you surely will find. Dot Baby off Mine. Mine cracious I Mine cracious ! shiTst look here und see A Deutcher so habby as habby can pe. Der beoples all dink dat no prains I haf got, Vas grazy mit trinking, or someding like dot ; Id vasn't pecause I trinks lager und vine. Id vas all on aggount of dot baby off mine. 4 DOT BABY OFF MINE, Dot schmall leedle vellow I dells you vas qveer ; ' Not mooch pigger round as a goot glass off beer, '•' Mit a bare-footed bed, and nose but a schpeck, A mout dot goes most to der pack of his neck, Und his leedle pink toes mid der rest all combine To gife sooch a charm to dot baby off mine, I dells you dot baby vas von off der poys, Und beats leedle Yawcob for making a noise ; He shust has pegun to shbeak goot English, too, Says ^' Mamma," und *'£apa,*' und somedimes "ah-gool" You don*t find a baby den dimes oudt off nine Dot vas qvite so schmart as dot baby off mine. He grawls der vloor over, und drows dings aboudt, Und puts efryding he can find in his mout ; He dumbles der shtairs down, und falls vrom his chair, Und gifes mine Katrina von derrible schare. Mine hair stands like shquills on a mat borcupine Ven I dinks of dose pranks off dot baby off mine. '!«»; '% Der vas someding, you pet, I don't likes pooty veil ; To hear in der nighdt -dimes dot young Deutcher yell, Und dravel der ped-room midout many clo'es, Vhile der chills down der shpine off mine pack quickly goes. Dose leedle shimnasdic dricks vasn*t so fine Dot I cuts oop at nighdt mit dot baby off mine. ;uji<&. "tttim- eer; t)eer, ' ck, k. ibine too, omedimes YAW, DOT IS SO/ Veil, dese leedle schafers vos goin' to pe men, Und all off dese droubles vill peen ofer den ; Dey vill vear a vhite shirt-vront inshted of a bib, Und vouldn't got tucked oop at nighdt in deir crib. Veil I veil 1 ven I'm feeple und in life's decline, May mine oldt age pe cheered by dot baby off mine. Charles Follen Adams. 5 i>oudt, his chair, 3ine ne. r veil ; »er yell, -^ A quickly Yaw, dot is so! Vaw, dot is so! yaw, dot is so! '* Dis vorldt vas all a fleeting show I '* I shmokes mine pipe, I trinks mine bier, Und efry day to vork I go; *' Dis vorldt vas all a fleeting show; " Yaw, dot is so 1 Yaw, dot is so ! yaw, dot is so ! I don't got mooch down here below. I eadt und trink, I vork und sleep, TT I . i VAIV, DOT IS SO/ Und find out, as I oldter grow, I haf a hardter row to hoe ; Yaw, dot is so ! Yaw, dot is so ! yaw, dot is so ! Dis vorldt don't gife me half a show ; Somedings to vear, Some food to eadt ; Vot else ? Shust vait a minude, dough ; Katrina, und der poys 1 oho ! Yaw, dot is so ) Yaw, dot is so ! yaw, dot is so ! Dis vorldt don't been a fleeting show, I haf mine frau, I haf mine poys To sheer me, daily, as I go ; Dot's pest as anydings I know ; Yaw, dot is so ! Charles Follbn Adams. ^*K ^i_ YAWCOB STRAUSS, Yawcob Strauss. I HAF von funny leedle poy, Vot gomes schust to mine knee; Der queerest schap, der Greatest rogue, As efer you dit see. He runs, und schumps, und schmashes dings In all barts of der house ; But vot off dat ? he vas mine son, Mine leedle Yawcob Strauss. He get der measles und der mumbs, Und eferyding dot's oudt ; He sbills mine glass of lager bier, Foots schnuff indo mine kraut. He fills mine pipe mit hmburg cheese,— Dot vas der roughest chouse; I'd dake dot vrom no oder poy But leedle Yawcob Strauss. LBN Adams. He dakes der milk-ban for a dhrum, Und cuts mine cane in dwo, To make der schticks to beat it mit,— Mine gracious, dot vos drue ! I dinks mine hed was schplit abart, He kicks oup sooch a touse : »* * ' But never mind ; der poys vas few Like dot young Yawcob Strauss. ;-i— fciais*E:.'ii'!t:>wPT"W*"*'w?*"l i i , I i i f: ^ I 8 J/TA^^" VAMILY. He asks me questions, sooch as dese : Who baints mine nose so red ? Who vas it cuts dot schmoodth blace oudt Vrom der hair ubon mine hed? Und vhere der blaze goes vrom der lamp Vene'er der glim I douse. How gan I all dose dings eggsblain To dot schmall Yawcob Strauss. I somedimes dink I schall go vild Mit sooch a grazy poy, Und vish vonce more I gould haf rest, Und beaceful dimes enshoy; But ven he vash asleep in ped, So guiet as a mouse, I prays der Lord, ** Dake anyding, But leaf dot Yawcob Strauss." Charles Follen Adams. .'i v <■■ Mine Vamily. w \V'i DiMBLED scheeks, mit eyes off plue, Mout' like id vas moisd mit dew, Und leedle teeth shust peekin* droo — ,£ : i. Dot's der baby, ^c^^ ^^j i THE PLAGUE IN THE FOREST e oudt amp t, Curly head, und full off glee, , [ Browsers all oudt at der knee — He vas peen blaying horse, you see — Dot*s leedle Yawcob. Von hundord-seexty in der shade, Der Oder day vhen she vas veighed — She beats me soon, I vas avraid — Dot*s mine Katrina. Barefooted head, und pooty stoudt, Mit grooked legs dot vill bend oudt. Fond off his bier und sauer-kraut — Dot's me himself. Adams. Von schmall young baby, full off fun, Von leedle prite-eyed, roguish son, Von frau to greet vhen vork vas done — Dot's mine vamily. :.. Charles Follen Adams. ■ t ( -■ • 1 ."'i . SI The Plague in the Forest. Time was when round the lion's den A peopled city raised its head ; ^Twas not inhabited by men. But by four-footed beasts instead. to THE PLAGUE IN THE FOREST \ I The lynx, the leopard, and the bear, The tiger and the wolf, were there ; The hoof-defended steed ; The bull, prepared with horns to gore ; The cat with claws, the tusky boar. And all the canine breed. In social compact thus combined, Together dwelt the beasts of prey; Their murderous weapons all resigned, And vowed each other not to slay. Among them Reynard thrust his phiz ; Nor hoof nor hoin nor tusk was his, For warfare all unfit. He whispered to the royal dunce, And gained a settlement at once ; His weapon was — his wit. i One summer, by some fatal spell, (Phoebus was peevish for some scoff) The plague upon that city fell. And swept the beasts by thousands off. The lion, as became his part, '■% Loved his own people from his heart ; And, taking counsel sage, : ^ r His peerage summoned to advise, And offer up a sacrifice To soothe Apollo's rage. ■■vn ,tyn II ^ THE PLAGUE IN THE FOREST, ii Quoth Lion, " We are sinners all; And even, it must be confessed, If among sheep I chance to fall, I — I am guilty as the rest. To me the sight of lamb is cursed ; It kindles in my throat a thirst,-— I struggle to refrain, — Poor innocent I his blood so sweet 1 His flesh so delicate to eat 1 I find resistance vain. '* Now to be candid, I must own The sheep are weak and I am strong, But, when we find ourselves alone. The sheep have never done me wrong. And, since I purpose to reveal All my offences, nor conceal One trespass from your view, My appetite is made so keen That with the sheep the time has been I took the shepherd too. . '* Then let us all our sins confess. And whosesoe'er the blackest guilt, To ease my people's deep distress, Let his atoning blood be spilt. My own confession now you hear, Should none of deeper dye appear Your sentence freely give; If 19 THE PLAGUE IN THE FOREST, And, if on me should fall the lot. Make me the victim on the spot, And let my people live." . The council with applauses rung, To hear the Codrus of the wood ; Though still some doubt suspended hung If he would make his promise good . Quoth Reynard, ** Since the world was made, Was ever love like this displayed ? Let us like subjects true Swear, as before your feet we fall, Sooner than you should die for all, We all will die for you. ** But please your majesty, I deem, Submissive to your royal grace, You hold in far too high esteem That paltry, poltroon, sheepish race ; For oft, reflecting in the shade, I ask myself why sheep were made By all-creating power : And, bowsoe'er I tax my mind. This the sole reascu I can find — For lions to d«»;V0ur. /* I " And as for eating now and then As well the shepherd as the sheep,— How can that braggart breed of men Expect with you the peace to keep ? '^^T'm^i^mfwm THE PLAGUE IN THE FOREST, 13 'Tis thine their blustering boast to stem, That all the world was made for them — And prove creation's plan ; Teach them by evidence profuse That man was made f ;r lions' use, Not lions made for man." And now the noble peers begin, And, cheered with such examples bright, Disclosing each his secret sin. Some midnight murder brought to light. Reynard was counsel for them all ; No crime the assembly could appal, But he could botch with paint : Hark, as his honeyed accents roll, Each tiger is a gentle soul. Each bloodhound is a saint. When each had told his tale in turn. The long-eared beast of burden came, And meekly said, " My bowels yearn To make confession of my shame; But I remember on a time I passed, not thinking of a crime, A haystack on my way: His lure some tempting devil spread, I stretched across the fence my head. And cropped a lock of hay." ■■■i H ' A MOSQUITO TRIOLET. **0h monster ! villain !** Reynard cried — ** No longer seek the victim, sire; Nor why your subjects thus have died To expiate Apollo's ire." The council with one voice decreed ; All joined to execrate the deed, — " What, steal another's grass 1" The blackest crime lAeir lives could show Was washed as white as virgin snow ; The victim was — the Ass. John Quincy Adams. I 1 ' A Mosquito Triolet. He presented his bill, And I could not evade it. In valley, on hill^ He presented his bill, With stinging ill-will ; So with blood, sir, I paid it. He presented his bill, And I could not evade it. Aristine ^Inderson. •«*'*-«-*«ft»*^yi^ t •■■r II iiu ," J«n«jf jjii'iifli « w. ^ LENTEN RONDEA U. 15 A Lenten Rondeau. Across the aisle she'll often peep, The while with graceful ease she'll keep Her place, the Lenten service through, And make response whene'er 'tis due. Anon into her face will creep A look of envy, when will sweep Before her eye^^ with gleaming leap Of cut steel beads, a bonnet new, Across the aisle. Ah ! woman-nature then will weep^ And good- will to her neighbour sleep ; Because this dainty thing in view — Though ashen grey, and strictly true To Lent — compared to hers is "steep," Across the aisle. Aristine Anderson, '!>% i6 IS THAT SO? V t 11 ; «2 :1 [T WmJ Is That So ? No matter what I told her, Was it grave, or was it gay, She looked so interested, And she smiled in such a way, That I thought how very charming 'Twould be to have her go, Just listening on for ever With her "Is Tha/ So?" And her (4 Is That So?" But as the months sped onward, I found her pretty head Held thoughts as few within it As the words so often said. And when I told I loved her. And begged my fate to know, She was quite too aggravating With her '• Is That So?'* Aristine Anderson. CLASS OF '88, i (': Class of '88. ■■']. Young Lady Graduates — Ann Arbor University, 1888. Oh, charming girls of '88 ! ' I bitterly bemoan the fate That landed me in 'yy^ And thereby made me miss the heaven- Ly class of '88. Oh, lovely girls of 88 ! As I walked down the Rue de State In fair Ann Arbor town, I saw a photographic print Mounted on card of amber tint, A group of sweet and pretty girls, Where some had bangs and some had curls, And a// had cap and gown. Ah, girls! Ah, girls of '88 ! The day was wet, the hour was late. I stood there in the falling rain ; I knew I'd miss the evening train ; But early, late, or wet, or dry, I breathed a long regretful sigh. To think that you, and yet not I, .. T Belonged to 88. 773 , v'i tS CLASS OF '88. \\ <1 Beauty and grace of '88 ! You look so learned and sedate In mortar-board and gown. What awful lots of things you know 1 How water is but H 2 O ; The cause of swift paralysis ; The specttum analysis ; How to pronounce in proper fettle That mountain Popocatepetl. . . The fit . 1 parallel Achenia ; The Stat^, torn Main to fair Virginia : The fifteen flowered Sericocarpus ; The whale, the sword-fish, and the porpoise. You know minutely each particular, Of how a straight line perpendicular, Bisects some obtuse stupid angle, And leads us to a tiresome jangle About the figure ABC, Brings therefore equal to F D. And so quod erat demonstrandum, All things exact and none at random, You've gathered this enormous knowledge By days and days at that big college. In fair Ann Arbor town. Yet graduate of '88, i When yoii and he lean o*er the gate Before your father's door, Those learned, abstract useful themes Will then give place to sweeter dreams ; .1 A FISH STORY. 19 Backward will turn the years for you, That grammar lesson meant for two Yr^u will recite. Then ^^ and ^^ of '88 The verb **to love " will conjugate Some starlit night. That tender verb of school-day hours, Perfumed with breath of woodland flowers, Excels all college lore. I know the truth of what I state, Though you*re 19 in *88, And I am 44. Robert Barr. 'im I 11 A Fish Story. A WHALE of great porosity And small specific gravity, Dived down with much velocity Beneath the sea's concavity. But soon the weight of water Squeezed in his fat immensity, Which varied — as it ought to — Inversely as his density. F V M* f- ^ ^b V i i l$W I ! 'I a^ y4 FISH STOR V. It would have moved to pity An Ogre or a Hessian, To see poor Spermaceti Thus suffering compression. The while he lay a-roaring In agonies gigantic, . , ^ The lamp-oil out came pouring, And greased the wide Atlantic. (Would we'd been in the Navy, And cruising there 1 Imagine us All in a sea of gravy, With billow oleaginous 1) At length old million -pounder, Low on a bed of coral. Gave his last dying flounder. Whereto I pen this moral. MORAL. O, let this tale dramatic, Anent the whale Norwegian And pressure hydrostatic. Warn you, my young collegian, That down- compelling forces Increase as you get deeper ; The lower down your course is, The upward path's the steeper. / f I : Henry A. Beers. BUMBLE BEE. 21 Bumble Bee. As I lay yonder in tall grass, A drunken bumble-bee went past Delirious with honey toddy. The golden sash about his body Could scarce keep in his swollen belly Distent with honey-suckle jelly. Rose liquor and the sweet-pea wine Had filled his soul with song divine; Deep had he drunk the warm night through; His hairy thighs were wet with dew. Full many an antic he had played While the world went round through sleep and shade. Oft had he bit with thirsty lip Some flower-cup's nectared sweets to sip, When on smooth petals he would slip, Or over tangled stamens trip, And headlong in the pollen rolled, Crawl out quite dusted o'er with gold. Or else his heavy feet would stumble Against some bud and down he'd tumble Among the grass ; there lie and grumble In low, soft bass — poor maudlin humble ! With tipsy hum on sleepy wing He buzzed a giee — a bacchic thing, Which, wandering strangely in the moon, He learned with grigs that sing in June, 111 ITlTm & 22 CON/ [/GAL CONJUGATIONS. Unknown to sober bees who dwell Through the dark hours in waxen cell. When south winds floated him away, The music of the summer day Lost something: sure it was a pp.in To miss that dainty star-light strain. Henry A. Beers. vH Conjugal Conjugations. Dear maid, let me speak What I never yet spoke: You have made my heart squeak As it never yet squoke, And for sight of you both my eyes ache as they ne'er before oak. > »i .i.i •i? With your voice my ears ring, And a sweeter ne'er rung, . Like a bird's on the wing ' When at morn it has wung. And gladness to me it doth bring, such as never voice brung. rx ;.„ .,4,..- •.;,, • ■,-:.>. : i< ^ CONJUGAL CONJUGATIONS. 23 My feelings I'd write, But they cannot be wrote, And who can indite What was never indote I And my love I hasten to plight— the first that I plote. Yes, you I would choose. Whom I long ago chose, And my fond spirit sues As it never yet sose. And ever on you do I muse, as never man mose. The house where you bide Is a blessed abode ; Sure, my hopes I can't hide, For they will not be hode. And no person living has sighed, as, darling, iVe sode. i'-M Your glances they shine As no others have shone, And all else I'd resign That a man could resone, And surely no other could pine as I lately have pone. 1/ \ m nm iaWMMHMMP*>IBWI 24 CONJUGAL CONJUGATIONS, WW 11 1 And don't you forget » ' You will ne'er be forgot, You never should fret As at times you have frot, I would chase all the cares that beset, if they ever besot. For you I would weave Songs that.never were wove, And deeds I'd achieve Which no man achove, And for me you never should grieve, as for you I have ■ 8'ove. ^^^,_^ ,^, , ., .,, , ,,^; I'm as worthy a catch As ever was caught. O, your answer I watch As a man never waught, And we'd make the most elegant match as ever was maught. , , . j 1 *■ ■ ^ Let my longings not sink ; I would die if they sunk. O, I ask you to think As you never have thunk, And our fortunes and lives let us link, as no lives could be lunk. A, W. Bellaw. .1;, !':?^ ii I •» M«>.:'f- 'i-i.; i ;■ - -• 'I f •!;•■:. ? ;...'* ., ' ihl'i \; it. KNITTJN' AT TIP STOCKING. 25 Knittin' at th* Stocking. Gosh ! But Phebe did look sweet ! Scrumptious ? I should say so. Hed her ha'r all fixed in kinks That I wished 'ud stay so. Thumpin* on th' floor my hoofs Went, ez I sot rockin*; She jis' made the yarn-ball hum — Knittin' at th' stockin'. vn > \ I Tork was never my bes' holt, Ain't thet kind o' chicken. •D ruther set'n lis* to Pheeb's Needles clickin', clickin' ; Watch her fingers an' her face, Ez I went on rockin', An* she never once looked up — Knittin' at th' stockin'. ill ** Pheeb," at las' I sez, sez I, With my heart a thumpin'. ** Well, what is it, Ab?" sez she. " Mayn't I tell you sumpin'?" '* Lawsey ! What you got to say ? Better go on rockin' ; Reckon I don't keer," she said, Knittin* at th' stockin'. mm >l III I, 11^"— r il^ KNITTIN' A T TW STOCKING. ** Waal, I know a feller, Pheeb, What 'ud like to marry, *N he'd like to marry j^ou, Sartain ez Ole Harry." Then my breath jis' los' its grip, Worse I went to rockin', " Is he han'sum — rich ? " sez she, Knittin' at th' stockin'. 1- Gee I But wasn't I sot back ! Rich ? Good lookin* I Sunday I jis' put on style in clo'es Thet I worked in Monday I ** Guess he's neether, Pheeb,'* sez I, Ruther narvous rockin' ; " Dassent tell his name," sez she, Knittin' at th* stockin*. I' m\ "No — I dassent — 'taint no use, Things looks blue'n yeller; Ther's no hope fur me — I mean, Fur that uther feller.'* " Ab, I knowed that you meant j/^tm, Sure ez you'se a rockin*. Ain't you libbin' now ?'* sez she, Knittin* at th' stockin*. THE OLD LINE FENCE. 27 '* Pheeb, you hit th* post first shot." "Why," says she, "thefs funny." " Funny? Pheeb, now won't you be Mine in matrimunny?" *' Yes, " sed she, 'n then I jumped, Left th' cha'r a-rockin', 'N I kissed her on th' lips, Ez she toed thet stockin'. A. W. Bbllaw. \\\ \ < The Old Line Fence. ZiG-ZAGGiNG it went On the line of the farm. And the trouble it caused Was often quite warm, The OLD LINE FENCE. It was changed every year By decree of the court, To which, when worn out, Our sires would resort : ; With the old line fence. ' In hoeing their corn, When the sun, too, was hot, They surely would jaw, Punch or claw, when they got To THE OLD LINE FENCE. \l\ II 1 I" IWPUI 28 THE OLD LINE FENCE, t I >: '« i. 1 . ^* ) In dividing the lands It fulfilled no desires. But answered quite well In *' dividing" our sires, • This old line fence. Though Fomet'^es ir ♦his It would happen ti fail, When, with top rail in hand, , ,.;, ,/ ^ One would flare up and scale The old line fence ! The 1 the conflict was sharp On debatable ground. And the fertile soil there Would be mussed far around ' •' Tfe old line fence. It was shifted so oft ;-a ^ .1 ; - ? • » That no flowers there grew. -;* r What frownings and clods, .»;MEf i And what words were shot through ■■■"■ ; i ^j ^ The old line fence I f.'' , : .' -'. ' ' Our sires through the day There would quarrel or fight. With a vigour and vim, : . But *twas different at night I' ^ -" « .3' > By the old line fence. = >^ i i 1 ^ . k- :iU The fairest maid there >- <.."ji'r :; -i . | You would have descried i' ' v it That ever leaned soft • ; {; h \'-^&*i ,/ :.. On the opposite side .•(■'. a' ,;*.•.« ; -JJ'-J 'Iri j i;vi - Qp AN OLD LINE FENCE. THE INDIAN RUBBER TRUNK. 29 "Where ouk* fathers built hate There we buiided our love, Breathed our vows to be true With our hands raised above The old line fence. Its place might be changed, But there we would meet. With our heads through the rails, And with kisses most sweet, At the old line fence. , , It was love made the change, And the clasping of hands Ending ages of hate, . .,. ^.,. ^ And between us new stands Not a sign of iine fence. No debatable ground Now enkindles alarms. I've the girl I met there, And, well, both of the farms. And no line fence. A. W. Bellaw. }' :•' ''. •f; !• - T -■ , ■ - ■ V ■. / ir^i^r yi '■. \.- The Indian Rubber Trunk. I ; ( i i\ ^ ;• * »*; -- I - It had on it, '* Please don't monkey -^' '• ' With this Indian rubber trunk, ' It has loaded guns and pistols. And it won't stand any monk ; Ml W^' 1^1*^ I)' 30 THE INDIAN RUBBER TRUNK, It holds glasswarci bombs, and children, And you want to touch it light, Nitro-glycerine, gun cotton, And a lot of dynamite t " Fierce the baggage-master grabbed it, For it roused his savage ire. And he smashed it, crashed it, dashed it, In a manner that was dire ; And he bounced it, and he trounced it. And he caved, and raved, and swore, And he bumped it, and he stomped it, And he whooped, and howled, and tore. He ill-used it, and he bruised it, And he tossed it, and he crushed. And he pitched six trunks upon it. But this one would not be mushed. •1 t -.,j\ HI • I \{ ) II ., ?l . And he pounded, and he bumped it, And he heaved it, and he dumped it, For it rendered him insane ; Then upon the top pile humped it ! As he shrieked with might and main. But this trunk slid down upon him, And it bounced him, and it trounced him, And it chugged him, and it mugged him, And it stamped him, and it tramped him, THE SUI^DA Y FISHERMAN. And ill-used him, and contused him, And it kicked him, and it licked him ; And when they had stopped its jumping, And its thumping, and its bumping ; The last words they heard from Chunkey As they bore him to his bunk, Were, " My friends, don't ever monkey With the Indian rubber trunk.*' 31 A. W. Bellaw. The Sunday Fisherman. A FISHERMAN, on angling bent. One Sabbath morning left his tent. The ^i'ent, A He took his can, and very quick He dug his fish-worms with a pick. The Pick, ("" The Worms, GO GO He thought he'd try for bass and smelt. And fixed his fish-bag to his belt. The Belt, \^ The Bag, q 32 . THE SUNDA V FISHERMAN. I * In case some fish of size he'd get, ;-:' He took along his landing-net. ;i U.iA The Landing-Net, H^ f The Flask, 6 -'!.t ^rr As fishermen get very dry, , . , ;,.; ( , k They always have a flask hard by, ... » As fishermen get hungry, too, Of pretzels he procured a few. n The Pretzels, "^ "fg ''8 'V ! 'II ti: ' iff- a ifk. if Ji ■ iff A 1 I H-, Some lines he took along on spools t. To teach them to the finny schools. The Spools, »— H t— < »— I h ■ / r ' -^ iX) ex- He had some entertaining books Of highly-tempered Limerick hooks. The Hooks, J J J And thus prepared, he got his boat, And out upon the stream did float. ^ a The Boat, > \1 THE SUN DA Y FISHERMAN. Whene'er the wind began lo fail He used the paddle with the sail. '. The Paddle, He stopped to fish, among the sedge, A mile or so below the bridge. The Bridge, -nmmmm^i:^ Some bite« he straight began to get. It was the gallinippers bit. • : i The Gallinippers, ^ i^ ^ N^ 3Z H»l One of his lines spun oflf the reel ; He landed in the boat an eel. The Eel, ^^ Then quickly it began to rain, But his umbrella was in vain. The Umbrella • 1 Above his head the thunder crashed, And all around the lightning flashed. The Lightning, 774 (■ Br H^t r^^^H v^^K-V''.'* In ' ^im Be.* ' w |S: \ \ !mmk wMm J mw l^Pi^ •% '^^Ri^' |ff^ fftHIS S't " >«^iBP ^w< ' mi C't ) 34 f »%•' BRIC'A-BRAC. The storm blew, and the boat upset ; The man went down into the wet. The Upturned Boat, And as he sank, his bubbles rose, Smaller and smaller toward the close. The Bubbles, O O O O o Oh, Sunday fishers, old and young, You will get drowned, or you'll get hung ! The Gallows, PI V - A. W. Bellaw. ■,i, n • *t A > Bric-a-Brac The tramp went up to the cottage door To beg for a couple of dimes or more. • ^y}^ The cottage door was open wide, So he took a cautious look inside. Then over his features there spread a grin. As he saw a lovely maid within. A lovely maid within the gloom Of the shadiest part of a shady rooip. BRIC-A-BRAC. Into the door the tramper went ; Over a dog the maiden bent. His eyes were set and full of fire, And he viewed the tramp with evident ire. 35 1 < ' f '.Vl ** Run for your life ! " the maiden cried ; ** I clean forgot to have him tied ! " " Run for your life through yonder door — I cannot hold him a minute more ! " Without a word he turned his face And leaped the fence with a careless gii.ce. Then lightly along the road he ran — A very-much-put-out young man. ^ The maiden loosed her bull -dog's neck, And gazed at the tramp — a vanishing speck, .f And peal after peal of laughter rent The air with the maiden's merriment. The dog was of terra-cotta ware — '^ She won him that week at a lottery fair. , ^^--M =- 1. * . f i •>- ■ r.j. : I .'- -M-V? Eva Best. ; 11 mmmam 36 THIS OLD JOKE. This Old Joke. ■ii k When this old joke was new, This time-worn heritage, The monkey man its point did scan. On pre-historic page. His footprint was the only print, His leaves were leaves that grew. And Nature's was the only tint, When this old joke was new. When this old joke was new, Our literature was scant. And littirateurs had no reviewers With hearts of adamant. No wild-eyed poets raved of Spring,- We had our tales^ it's true, But novels weren't a general thing When this old joke was new. When this old joke was new We drew an easier breath, For we had then no Funny Men To make us long for death ; No '* Comic Paper," stale and flat, To paint our faces blue. They wouldn't have tolerated that When this old joke was new. . V.«!- UlWUItJU THE WISE PHRENOLOGIST. 37 When this did joke was new We somehow hadn't hit The lack of shame that builds up fame On other people's wit. Perhaps folk were more honest tne^. ; Had consciences a few ; And differed from our race of men, When this old joke was new. J. T. Brown. r^ s^ i.Lll f The Wise Phrenologist. Professor Feelabout could read Your character — he could indeed ! All bumps upon the head he knew, And from them calculations drew ; The salient points he never missed, — He was a wise phrenologist. He had a shop with casts displayed Of murderers' heads in rows arrayed, With labels on to indicate The bumps that lured them to their fate. Statesman, poet, lawyer, thief, Each stood out in bold relief; Shelf on shelf, and bust by bust, All the best and all the ivust ; Charts and wise delineations Of heads of men of different nations, n < I ««v mrw^S'-'^ mmmm B im 38 THE WISE PHRENOLOGIST. Nuinlered in sections with a key Showing what each one ought to be ; If this proved wisdom I insist : He was a wise phrenologist. To Feelabout one day there came A stranger, hearing of his fame. If looks could be relied on, then He was the softest of all men ; A simple, guileless, country son, A fitting subject to be ** done." The wise professor said, ** Ha, hum I I'm very glad that you have come ; Step in, my friend, and sit you down. Whilst I manipulate your crown: A casual look proclaims your fate To be the greatest of the great." The stranger — ne'er a word spake he — Stept in and paid the usual fee ; Sat down and waited with a grin For the Professor to begin. Commencing then, the wise man read Tho surface of the stranger's head ; From point to point his fingers strayed And lavish compliments he paid (He had no bad points on his list, He was a wise phrenologist). Towards the close, whilst here and there He searched amongst the stranger's hair, r THE WISE PHRENOLOGIST, The wise professor's digits found Ensconced a veritable mound. ** Aha, my lucky friend," he said ; *' A fitting finish to your head ; This bump proclaims you, I declare, Predestined for a millionaire." 39 The stranger softly muttered ' * Whew ! I guess, purfessor, that 11 do; Just hand me back my money quick ; That bump's the product of a brick," And then the irate stranger swore With Feelabout to wipe the floor, And other things too shocking quite To be divulged to eyes polite. ill Amazed the wise professor stood ; Could it be true ? It never could. Return his fee? His art a sell? And he so wise to go to— well, In short, to pay up he demurred ; The stranger spake no further word. But rose, and doubling up his fist, Just " went for" that phrenologist, II Then to the peaceful skies arose The sound of swift-descending blows, And many fragments strewed the ground. And busts all busted lay around. f ■f J' I 40 A DUTCHMAN'S DOG STORY. Draw we a veil, the scene must close. When the next morning's sun arose, The stranger to his home had flown, The wise professor was alone ; A sadder, sorer man — I wist, In truth, a wise phrenologist. J. T. Brown. '*i A Dutchman's Dog Story. Ijil 1 \ '! 11 I' I Dere vhas a leedle vomans once Who keept a leedle shtore, Und had a leedle puppy dog Dot shtoodt pefore der door. Und evfery dime der peoples coom He opened vide him*s jaw. Schnip ! Schnap ! shoost so, Und bite dem. Vun day anoder puppy dog Cooms runnin' down der shtreet, Oudt of Herr Schneider's sausage-shop, Vhere he had shtoled some meal ; Und after him der Schneider man — Der vhind vhas not more fleet. Whir-r-r ! Whist ! shoost so, Like vinkin 1 y A DUTCHMAN'S DOG STORY. 41 Der leedle voman's puppy dog Vhas lookin* at der fun, He barkit at der Schneider man, Und right pefore him run ; Den fell him down, dot Schneider man, Like shooted mit a gun. Bang ! Crash ! shoost so, Und voorser. Der puppy dog dot shtoled der meat, Roon'd on und got avhay ; Der leedle voman's puppy dog Der Schneider man did slay, Und make him indo sausages — Dot's vot der peoples say. Chip ! Chop ! shoost so, Und sell him. DER MORAL. Der moral is, don't interfere Vhen droubles is aroundt ; Der man dot's in der fightin' crowd Vhill get hurt I'll be pound. Mind your own peesness, dot is pest, In life she vhill be found. Yaw ! yaw ! shoost so, I pet you. J. T. Brown. mmm i*ipiJM.Jif.»l4Wif«!«lil" 4J CANDOUR. Candour. October — A Wood. " I KNOW what you* re going to say," she said, A.nd she stood up looking uncommonly tall ; " You are going to speak of the hectic Fall, And say you're sorry the summer's dead. And no other summer was like it, you know, And ran I imagine what made it so? Now, are n't you, honestly?*' ** Yes," I said. 1 1'^i w ** I know what you're going to say," she said; " You are going to ask if I forget That day in June when the woods were wet. And you carried me " — here she dropped her head- *•' Over the creek ; you are going to say. Do I remember that horrid dny, Now, are n't you, honestly ? " " Yes," I said. " I know what you're going to say,'* she said ; ** You are going to say that since that time You have rather tended to run to rhyme, And" — her clear glance fell and her cheek grew red- • * And have I noticed your tone was queer ? — Why, everybody has seen it here ! — Now, are n't yoU; honestly ?" '* Yes," I said. .fw^sn-wrr*' trrnw" m— FORFEITS. 43 " I know what you're going to say," I said; ** You're going to say you've been much annoyed, And I'm short of tact — you will say devoid — And I'm clumsy and awkward, and call me Ted, And I bear abuse like a dear old lamb. And you'll have me, anyway, just as I am. Now, are n't you, honestly? " "Ye-es," she said. H. C. B^NNEK. I Vk> Forfeits. They sent him round the circle fair. To bow before the prettiest there. I'm bound to say the choice he made A creditable task displayed; Although — I can't say what it meant- The little maid looked ill-content. \^:a His task was then anew begun — To kneel before the wittiest one. Once more that little maid sought he, And went him down upon his knee. She bent her eyes upon the floor^ — I think she thought the game a bore. 44 THE ROMANCE OF THE CARPET. He circled then — his sweet behest To kiss the one he loved the best. For all she frowned, for all she chid, He kissed the little maid, he did. And then — though why I can't decide — The little maid looked satisfied. H. C BUNNER. Is ^f \ m \ I The Romance of the Carpet. Basking in peace in the warm Spring sun, South Hill smiled upon Burlington. The breath of May ! and the day was fair, And the bright motes danced in the balmy air. And the sunlight gleamed where the restless breeze Kissed the fragrant blooms on the apple-trees. His beardless cheek with a smile was spanned, As he stood with a carriage whip in his hand. And he laughed as he doffed his bobtail coat, And the echoing folds of the c*»ii*i» fXm M F^^^m^^^mmmt^mmm ith I 11 46 TNJS /ROMANCE OF THE CARPET, Over the fence and down the street Speeding away with footsteps fleet. And never again the morning sun Smiled on him beating his carpet-drum. And South Hill often said with a yawn, "Where's the carpet-martyr gone? " Years twice twenty had come and past, And the carpet swayed in the Autumn blast. And never yet, since that bright spring-time. Had it ever been taken down from the line. Over the fence a grey-haired man Cautiously dim, dome, clem, clum, clam. He found him a stick in the old wood pile. And he gathered it up with a sad, grim smile. A flush passed over his face forlorn, As he gazed at the carpet, tattered and torn. And he hit it a most resounding thwack, Till the startled air gave his echoes back. And out of the window a white face leaned, And a palsied hand the pale face screened. t wi »- ■.Mmnmm wmm WILHELMJ, 47 She knew his face, she gasped, and sighed, "A little more on the under side." Right down on the ground his stick he throwed, And he shivered and said, ** Well, I am blowed." And he turned away with a heart full sore, And he never was seen not more, not more. ■ Robert J. Burdette. Wilhelmj. Oh, King of the fiddle, Wilhelmj, If truly you love me just tellmj ; Just answer my sigh > By a glance of your eye, Be honest, and don't try to sellmj. With rapture your music did Ihriilmj ; With pleasure supreme did it fillmj. And if I could believe • That you meant to deceive — Wilhelmj, I think it would killmj. Robert J, Burdette. V-Wi\ I til SJ^*"*' .■ns) — **.nri(l, A>'^ ever, I'm your friend." 776 66 SIGNS OF THE TIMES, '' Dear Smith'' (I like him not at all; I tolerate him merely ; He bores me when he makes a call) " And 1 am yours sincerely." '< ''Dear WilV (It certainly would please Me if, for lack of breath, He'd go where he would never freeze)- ** With love I'm yours till death." ''Dear AW (I hope he'll not again Ask favours from me) — "and I have the honour to remain Yours humbly to command." Dear FrienJs — When we're obliged to sign Our names to letters duly, Poth much and nothing we combine By f.ayingjust — •* Yours truly." II. C. Dodge. THE AVERAGE FISHERMAN, 67 Bait of the Average Fisherman. This is the bait the fishermen take, the fishermen take, the fishermen take, when they start out the fish to wake so early in the morning. They take a nip before they go — a good one, ah ! and long and slow, for fear the chills will lay them low so early in the morning. Another — w hen they're on the street, which they repeat each time they meet for "luck" — lor that's the way to greet a fisher in the morning. — Ami when they are on the river's brink again they drink without a wink — to fight ma laria they think it proper in the morn- ing. They tip a flask with true delight when there's a bite; if fishing's light they "smile" the more, till jolly tight all fishing they are scorning. An- other nip as they dej)art; one at the mart and one to part, but none when in the house they dart, ex pecting there'll be mourning. This is the bait the fisher- men try, who fishes buy at prices high, and tell each one a bigger lie of fish ing in the morning. II. C. Dodge. I IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) A A f/. 1.0 1= 1.25 1^ ■so i— IIM 1. 1.4 6" IIM 1.6 V] vg ^> ^"^A^ 'V' y /A Photographic Sciences Corporation 7i WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, NY. 14S80 (716) 87}<«S03 iV #^ <^ '<^>. O^ 1^ o^ 68 A SPLENDID FELLOW, If. If a man could live a thousand years, When half his life had passed, He might, by strict economy, A fortune have amassed. Then having gained some common-sense, And knowledge, too, of life, FTe could select the woman who Would make him a true wife. But as it is, man hasn't time To even pay his debts, And weds to be acquainted with The woman whom he gets. II. C. Dodge. A Splendid Fellow. ■ Ml W Deimonico's is where he dines On quail on toast, washed down with wines; Then lights a twenty-cent cigar With quite a flourish at the bar. I A COAT TALE. He throws his money down so proud, And '* sets 'em up " for all the crowd ; A dozen games of billiards, too, He gaily looses ere he's through. Oh, he*s a splendid fellow, quite ; He pays his debts with such delight, And often boasts of — to his clan — His honour as a gentleman. 69 ¥ I -i \ But when this splendid fellow's wife, Who leads at home a frugal life. Begs for a little change to buy A dress, he looks at her so wry, That she, alarmed at his distress, Gives him a kiss and sweet caress, And says, '* Don't worry so, my dear, I'll turn the dress I made last year." H. C. Dodge. A Coat Tale. Old Tommy Taylor, tailor and Retailer, doth retail Old army coats and coats of arms, And also coats of male. 70 A COAT TALE. With coats of paint he paints his coats Of arms above his door ; His motto is, "I sew the tares, Sew all may rip the more." lie is an artist tailor, and His artist work, he'll tell, Is getting pay from customers Until he custom well. Whene'er his sewing was a lot His owing was a little. And though ill fits he never got, He often got a fit ill. He seldom tore his clothes, although He'd often close his store, And then he'd eye his clothes a while, Then close his eyes and swore. To thread a little needle he Would needle little thread : When cutting dandy's suit he'd say, " This scissor cut I dread." In winter he invests in vests; In summer pants in pants; In spring he sews some seedy things; In fall be rips, perchance. WAIT A BIT, 7i llu would make breeches oi the piece Which he was bound to keep, But none cared for his little lleece Bccai'se his goods were sheej). 11. C. l^OUGh. i| Wait a Bit. HUi When Johnny came a-courtin^, I thought him over bold, For I was but a young thing, And he no' very old. And though I liked him well enough, I sent him on his way, With '* Wait a bit, bide a bit, Wait a week and a day !" When Johnny passed me in the lane, And pleaded for a kiss, And vowed he'd love me evermore For granting of that bliss ; Although I'd like it ower well, I ran from him away, With ** Wait a bit, bide a bit, Wait a week and a day I " 72 WAIT A BIT. When Johnny fell a-ranting, With, *• Jenny, be my wife! " And vowed I never should regret, However long my life ; Although I liked it best o' all, I turned from him away, With, " Wait a bit, bide a b=l, Wait a week and a day !" 1 j; ,(! Oh, Johnny was a ninny, He took me at my word ! And he was courting another The next thing that I heard. Oh, what a ninny was Johnny, To mind me when I'd say, "Wait a bit, bide a bit. Wait a week and a dayl" Heigh-ho, I've met my Johnny, I gave him a blink o' my eye. And then he fell a-raving, For want o' my love he'd die ! I ne'er could be so cruel, So I set the wedding day, With, ** Haste a bit, nor waste a bit, There's danger in delay!" Jennie E. T. Dowe. HEART AND HAND. 73 Heart and Hand. I LOVED her in the early bpring, When bluebirds mate and robins sing ; My heart cried haste ! oh, speak ! make haste ! My head made answer, haste is waste ! I dropped the corn, I sowed the wheat, The summer came with blossoms sweet ; And all the time my heart cried haste, And head made answer, haste is waste ! 'la ! I stacked the grain, I sheared the sheep, I reasoned that my love would keep ; My heart's loud cry of hast ', oh, haste ! Was silenced still by haste makes waste ! I V The ground is covered o'er with snow, Another wed her weeks ago ! — My mocking heart cries haste, make haste! And mocking head, oh, haste makes waste ! Jennie E. T. Dowe. li' i 74 WRECK OF THE ''JULIE PLANTE:' The Wreck of the "Julie Plante. n A LcL^cnd of Lake St. Peter. i,l1r < li On wan dark nijjht on Lac Saint Tierrc, De win' she blow, blow, blow, An* de crew of de wood scow "Julie Plante Got scar't, an' run below — For de win' she blow lak hurricain, liimeby she blow some more, An' de scow buss h'up on Lac Saint Pierre Wan h'arpent from de shore. De captinne walk h'on de fronte deck, An' walk de n* deck too — He call de crew from h'up de 'ole, He call de cook h'also. De crew she's name was Rosie, She's come from Montreal, Was chambre maid h'on lombaire barge, H'on de Grande La Chine Canal. De win' she's blow from nor'-eass-wess — De sout* win' she's blow too, Wen Rosie cry, ** Mon cher caplinne, Mon cher, w'at I shall do? " -t — ~ WRECK OF THE ''JULIE PL ANTE!' 75 Den de captinne trow de big h'ankerre, But steel de scow she dreef, De crew he can't pass on de shore, Becos he loss bees skccf. !t ! De night was dark lak' wan black cat, De wave run 'igh an* fas', Wen de captinne tak' de poor Rosie An* tie her to de mas'. Den he h'also tak* de life preserve, An' jonip h'oif on de lak', An' say, ** Good-bye, ma Rosie dear, I go drown for your sak'.' .» »» Nex' morning very h'early Bout haf-pas* two — t'ree — four — De captinne — scow — an' de poor Rosie Was corpses on de shore. For de win' she blow lak' hurricain, Bimeby she blow some more, An' de scow bus' h'up on Lac Saint Pierre, Wan h'arpent from de shore. \t \ \ li \\ MORAL. Now h'all good wood scow sailor man Tak' warning by dat storm, An* go an' marry some nice French girl An' leev on one beeg farm. _^^ ■'^"^^m^^.. u .;i 76 ''DE PA PINE A U G UN:' De win' can blow lak' hurricain, An' spose she blow some more, Y^ou can't get drown h'on Lac Saint Pierre So long you stay h'on shore. W. H, Dkummond. " De Papineau Gun/* Bon jour, Monsieur, — you want to know About dat gun — w'at good she's for ? V^ Tean Baptiste Bruneau— mon pere, Y\^ wit* dat gun on Pap'neau War. Long time since den you say— c'est vrai, An* me too young for member well, But how de patriot fight an* die, I h'offen hear de h'ole folk tell. m De H'Engleesh don't h'ack square dat time, Don't geev de habitants no show ; So long come Wolfred Nelson Wit* Louis Joseph Papineau. "/7/r PA PINE A U GUNr An' swear de people have deir right, Wolfred, he's write Victoriaw; But she's no good— so den de wnr Commence among de habitants. Pap'neau an' Nelson, 'fraid noting, Dey fight an' bleed pour la patrie; I hope le bon Dien have 'em bote — Salut Wolfred! Salut Louis! 17 Mon pere he leev to Grande Brule, So smarter man you never see, Was h'alway on de grande hooraw, Plaintee — w'at you call dat ? Esprit. I vf So w'en dey form wan compagnie, All dress wit' tuque an' ceinture sash, My fader tak' hees gun wit* him, An' marche away to Saint Eustache. Were many patriots was camp Wit' brave Chenier deir capitaine, W'en 'long come H'Engleesh generale, An' more two t'ousan' sojor man. i\ — =»»«iea«eB, ". *l 78 ''DE PAPTNEAU GUN:' An' den de church she come on fire, An' burn h'almos' c^nwn to de groun'; So w'at you tink our man can do Wit' all dem H'Engleesh h'armee roun'? 'Poleon, hees sojor never fight More brave as dem poor habitants ; Chenier, he try for broke de rank, Chenier come dead immeiliatement My fader shoot so long he can, An* den he's load hees gun some more, Jomp on de river quick like flash, An' try for pass a I'autre bord. Sure 'nuflFde water's cole an' damp, Mos' h'alway lak' dat on de fall; My fader's tak' hees gun wit' heem, De powder don't get wet at all. Well, he reach home 'bout next morning. An' keep perdu for many day, Till h'everyling she come tranquille, An' sojor man h'all gone away. An* h'afifer dat we get our right, Les Canayens don't fight no more ; My fader's never shoot dat gun, But place her up above de door. A LEAP-YEAR EPISODE. 79 So w'en yon h'ax queslyinne, my frien', 'Bout dat h'ole gun — w'lit good she's for — I h'answer, Jean Baptiste Bruneau Fight wit' dat gun o'^ Pap'neau War. W. H. Drummond. A Leap- Year Epls.^de. Can I forget that winter night In eighteen eighty-four, When Nellie, charming little sprite, Came tapping at the door ? "Good evening, miss," I blushing said. F'or in my heart I knew — And, knowing, hung my pretty head — That Nellie came to woo. ; I, I 'I f h' \\ If She clasped my big, red hand, and fell Adown upon her knees, And cried : "You know I love you well, So be my husband, please ! " And then she swore she'd ever be A tender wife and true — Ah, what delight it was to me That Nellie came to woo ! 80 Vl LEAP-YEAR EPISODE, ^ She'd lace my shoes and darn my hose And mend my shirts, she said ; And grease my comely Roman nose Each night on going to bed ; Slie'd build the fires and fetch the coal. And split the kindling, too — Love's perjuries o'erwhelmed her soul When Nellie came to woo. And as I, blushing, gave no check To her advances rash, She twined her arms about my neck, And toyed with my moustache ; And then she pleaded for a kiss, While I — what could I do But coyly yield me to that bliss When Nellie came to woo ? ,1 I am engaged, and proudly wear A gorgeous diamond ring, And I shall wed my lover fair Some time in gentle spring. I face my doom without a sigh — And so, forsooth, would you. If you but loved as fond as I The Nellie who came to woo. Eugene Field? f -^ y APPLE-PIE AND CHEESE. 8l Apple- Pie and Cheese. Full many a sinful notion Conceived of foreign pow'rs Has come across the ocean To harm this land of ours; And heresies called fashions Have modesty effaced. And baleful, morbid passions Corrupt our native taste. femfora! O mores t What profanations these That seek to dim the glories Of apple-pie and cheese ! I'm glad my education Enables me to stand Against the vile temptation Held out on every hand ; Eschewing all the tittles With vanity replete, I'm loyal to the victuals Our grandsires used to eat ! I'm glad I've got three willing boy? To hand around and tease Their mother for the filling joys Of apple-pie and cheese ! ^^ t-^ ^m / /7 ■ ■K.i S2 APPLE-PIE AND CHEESE, Your flavoured creams and ices And your dainty angel-food Are mighty fine devices To regale the dainty dude; Your terrapin and oysters, With wine to wash *em down, Are just the thing for roisters When painting of the town ; No flippant, sugared notion Shall my appetite appease Or bate my soul's devotion To apple-pie and cheese ! vt • The pie my Julia makes me (God bless her Yankee ways !) On memory's pinions takes me To dear Green Mountain day And seems like I saw mother Lean on the window sill, A-handin' me and brother What she knows '11 keep us still; And these feelings are so grateful — Says I: "Julia, if you please, I'll take another plateful Of that apple-pie and cheese !" And cheese ! No alien it, sir, That's brought across the sea — No Dutch antique, nor Switzer, Nor glutinous de Brie ; APPLE-PTE AND CHEESE. There's nothing I abhor so As mawmets of this ilk — Give me the harmless morceau That's made of true-blue milk ! No matter what conditions Dj^speptic come to feaze — The best of all physicians Is apple- pie and cheese! 83 De gustibnSy 'tis stated. Non disputandtim est — Which meaneth, when translated, That all is for the best. So let the foolish choose 'em The vapid sweets of sin — i: Tho' ribalds may decry *em, For these twin boons we stand, Partaking thrice per diem Of their fulness out of hand ; No enervating fashion Shall cheat us of our right To gratify our passion With a mouthful at a bite t We'll cut it square or bias, Or any way we please, And faith shall justify us When we carve our pie and cheese ! H -~'ti»m*i4i^n-, -fi,..^ . 84 THE LITTLE PEACH. I will not disabuse 'em Of the heresy they're in ; But I» when I undress me Each nijrht, upon my knees Will ask the Lord to bless me With apple-pie and cheese ! Eugene Field. The Little Peach. A LITTLE peach in the orchard grew, A little peach of emerald hue : Warmed by the sun, and wet by the dew It grew. One day, walking the orchard through, That little peach dawned on the view Of Johnny Jones and his sister Sue— Those two. Up at the peach a club they threw: Down from the limb on which it grew, Fell the little peach of emerald hue — Too true ! A WHirE-HOUSE BALLAD, 8; John took a bite, and Sue took a chew, And then the trouble began to brew, — Trouble the doctor couldn't subdue, — Paregoric too. Under the turf where the daisies grew, They planted John and his sister Sue; And their little souls to the angels flew Boo-hoo ! But what of the peach of emerald hue. Warmed by the- sun, and wet by the dew ? Ah, well! its mission on earth is through — Adieu ! Eugene Field A White- House Ballad. The Pic. KiiNG G ROVER at his table round Sate feasting once, and there was sound Of good things said and sly; When presently, King Grover spake : ** A murrain seize this futile cake! Come, Daniel, pass the f>ie!" 86 A WHITE-HOUSE BALLAD, Then quoth Sir Daniel, flaming hot, '* Pie hath not been in Camelot Since Arthur was our king ; Soothly, I ween, 'twere vain to make Demand for pie where there is cake, For pie's a ribalu thing 1 " * ' Despite King Arthur's rash decree, Which ill-beseem'»th mine and me," King Grover answered flat, '* I will have pie three times a day, — Let dotards cavil as they may, — And piimpkin-^\t, at that 1 " Then, frowning a prodigious frown, Sir Daniel pulled his visor down. And, with a mighty sigh. Out strode he to the kitchen, where He bade the varlet slaves prepare Three times each day a pie. Thenceforth King Grover was content, And all his reign in peace was spent ; And when 'twas questioned why He waxed so hale, and why the while. The whole domain was free from guile. He simply answered, " Pie ! " Eugene Field. BEN APFELGARTEN. tl % Ben Apfelgarten. There was a certain gentleman, Ben Apfelgarten called, Who lived way off in Germany a many years ago, And he was very fortunate in being very bald, And so was very happy he was so. He worshipped all the day Such songs as only they Who are very, very circumspect and very happy may ; The people wondered why. As the years went grinding by, They never heard him once complain, or even heave a sigh 1 i m 1 The women of the province fell in love with genial Ben, Till (may-be you can fancy it) the dickens was to pay Among the callow students and the sober-minded men With the women-folk a-cuttin' up that way ! Why, they gave him turbans red To adorn his hairless head, And knitted jaunty nightcaps to protect him when abed ! In vain the rest demurred — Not a single chiding word Those ladies deigned to tolerate — remonstrance was absurd ! ¥ 8g BEN APFELGARTEN. 1 ,- I u Things finally got into such a very tlreadiul way That the others (oh, how artful!) formed the politic desij^n To send him to the Reichstag ; so, one dull Novcmbet day, They elected him a member from the Rhine ! Then the other members said : " Gott in Ilimmel ! what a head ! " But they marvelled when his speeches they listened to ot read ; And presently they cried : *' There must be heaps inside Of the smooth and shiny cranium his constituents deride ! " ! II Well, when at last he up 'nd died — long past his nine- tieth year — The strangest and the most lugubrious funeral he had, For women came in multitudes to weep upon his bier — The men all wond'ring why on earth the women had gone mad ! And this wonderment increased. Till the sympathetic priest Inquired of those same ladies, *' Why this fuss about deceased ? ** Whereupon were they appalled, For as one those women squalled, " We doted on deceased for being bald — bald — bald!" n K i YE niVELL A AD YE MILLER. 89 He was bald because his genius burnt that shock of hair away, Wliich elsewise clogs one's keenness and activity of mind, And (barring present company, of course) I'm free to say That, after all, it's intellect that captures womankind. At any rate, since then (With a precedent in lien), The women -folk have been in love with us bald-headed men ! Eugene Field. Ye Divell and Ye Miller his Wife. I. A FEENLY divell of renowne Upp on ye earth ffor evill strode, «& roaming upp and rooring downe hee came perchaunce unto ye towne Where Hodge ye miller bode. II. The devil comes Co The miller s cottagCy and tempts Hee knockit at yt Hodge hys doorc - Hodge^ Sales : "hodge, giflf you will gang with mee who To do my service evermore, is Noe longer shall you be so pore dazzled Nor meke as now you bee I " hy the :i , i -^««.**,.:a«J«..,. WT I' J'liia w T'^^'-'l*' ?*'^V*^ '.■^»'» w^v'-w^itr.* 94 , M ? It ' ;'i: I MANNER, Well, we kind o' took to roaming, 'Til we l.:inded in Wyoming. It'fi the most confounded kentry That a Koosier ever struck ! Injen-fighters, woman's-righters, Long-nosed Yankees, pome-inditers — I'm all business, but what's business Where no one but fools have luck. Fust I merchandized and busted 'Til I couldn't uv got trusted For a plug of black terbacker, Let alone a bag of flour. But my Hanner went to cook in'. And fust thing I knowed she's took in Twenty boarders, and the money — Goodness sakes, she mad „ a power ! Well, my life was gvowin' sunny With the shine of Banner's money ; But the woman's-righters ran her For a Justice of the Peace. And you bet it riz my dander For to see her turnin' gander, Supersedin' uv her husband, Leavin' him among the geese. ■ MICHAEL MALONEV'S SERENADE, 95 But the long-nosed pome-inditers, Inj en -fighters, woman's -righters, 'Lected her ; but you can bet your Boots I didn't 'lectioneer. And I told her, that's what I did, That I'd finally decided That the kentry wasn't healthy. And we'd better come back here. So we came to Indianner, And I must confess that Hanner Had electioneered so honest That she hadn't spent a dollar. And my life is once more sunny, Hanner's keerful of my money. And she's now a modest female, Not ashamed her spouse to foller. W. W. Fink. i\ \ Michael Maloney's Serenade. Oh ! Nora McCune ! Is it ilraimin' ye are ? Is it wakin' or shleepin' ye be ? 'Tis the dark of the moon, An' there's niver a star To watch if ye're peepin* at me. i'i m 96 MICHAEL M ALONE Y\S SERENADE, Throw opin yer blind, shweet love, if ye're there; An' if ye are not, plaze be shpakin' ; An' ye're inclined, ye might bring yer guitah. An* help nie, me darlint, to wakin'. I am lonely ! ahone ! An' I'm Michael Maloney, Awakin', shweet Nora McCune. For, love, I'm alone. An' here's Larrie Mahoney, An' Dinnis O'Rouk an' Muldoon. I've brought them to jine in the song I'll be singin'; For Nora, shweet Nora McCune, You've shtarted me heart-strings so loudly to ringin', One person can't carry the chune! u .^ ] t But don't be unaisy. Me darlint, for fear Our saicrit of love should be tould. Mahoney is crazy, An' Dinnis can't hear; Muldoon is struck dumb wid a could. Their backs are all facin' the window, my dear. An' they've sworn by the horn of the moon. That niver a note of me song will they hear That refers to shweet Nora McCune. W. W. Fink. I '' hullo:' 97 *' Hullo/^ W*EN you see a man in woe, Walk right up and say •* hullo I ** Say ** hullo," an' " how d'ye do 1 " ** How's the world a-usin' you ? " Slap the fellow on his back, Bring yer han' down with a whack ; Waltz right up, an* don't go slow, Grin an' shake an' say ** hullo 1 " Is he clothed in rags ? O sho ! Walk right up an' say ** hullo ! " Rags is but a cotton roll Jest for wrappin' up a soul ; An' a soul is worth a true Hale an* hearty ** how d'ye do !" Don't wait for the crowd to go ; Walk right up and say ** hullo 1" i Wen big vessels meet, they say, They saloot an* sail away. Jest the same are you an' me, Lonesome ships upon a sea ; Each one sailing his own jog For a port beyond the fog. Let yer speakin'- trumpet blow, Lift yer horn an* cry ** hullo 1" 778 98 HE WANTED TO KNOW. Say " hullo," an* " how d'ye do ! " Other folks are good as you. Wen ye leave yer house of clay, Wanderin* in the Far- Away, Wen you travel through the strange Country t*other side the range, Then the souls you've cheered will know Who ye be, an* say "hullo!" S. W. Foss. 1 He Wanted to Know. He wanted to know how God made the worl' Out er nothin* at all ; Wy he didn' make it square, like a block or a brick, Slid er roun*, like a ball ; How it managed to stay held up in the air. An' w*y it didn't fall ; All sich kin' er things, above an' below, He wanted to know. He wanted to know who Cain had for a wife. An* if the two fit ; Who hit Billy Paterson over the head. If he ever got hit; HE WANTED TO KNOW. 99 An' where Moses wuz w'en the candle went out, An* if others were lit ; If he couldn' find these out, w*y his cake wuz all dough, An* he wanted to know. An' he wanted to know 'bout original sin, An' about Adam's fall ; If the snake hopped aroun' on the end of his tail Before doomed to crawl, An' w'at would hev happened if Adam hedn' et The ol* apple at all ; These ere kin' er things seemed ter fill him 'ith woe, An' he wanted to know. An' he wanted to know w'y some folks wuz good An' some folks wuz mean ; W'y some folks wuz meddlin' an' some folks wuz fat. An' some folks wuz lean. An' some folks wuz very learned an' wise, An' some folks dern green ; All these kin' er things they troubled him so That he wanted to know. An' so he fired conundrums aroun', For he wanted to know ; An' his nice crop er taters did rot in the groun', An' his cabbage wouldn't grow ; i: 100 HE WANTED TO KNOW, For it took so much time to ask questions like these, He'd no time to hoe ; He wanted to know if these things were so, Course he wanted to know. An' his cattle they died, an' his horses grew sick, 'Cause they didn't hev no hay ; An* his creditors pressed him to pay up his bills. But he'd no time to pay, For he had to go roun' askin' questions, you know, By night an' by day. He'd no time to work, for they troubled him so. An* he wanted to know. An' now in the poor-house he travels aroun* In jest the same way. An' asks the same questions right over ag'in, By night an' by day ; But he hain't foun' no fellow can answer 'em yit, An* he's ol' an' he's grey ; But these same ol' conundrums they trouble him so That he still wants to know. K i ' yi ) i, S. W. Foss. frp'XT"*'^ T^^ -•W-^J. v.1»..«»#**» 'i.-t«-r~*!ftSBs(!(»*-w«si.sN. •arSij^- - 1 i ; 5. ^iV ECONOMICAL MAN. An Economical Man. He lived on thirteen cents a day, — Ten cents for milk and cracker, One cent for dissipation gay, And two cents for tobacco. And if he wished an extra dish He*d take his pole and catch a fish. And if his stomach raised a war 'Gainst his penurious habit. He'd go and kill a woodchuck, or Assassinate a rabbit ; And thus he'd live in sweet content On food that never cost a cent. lOI And, that he might lay by in bank The proceeds of his labour, He'd happen round at meals, the crank ! And dine upon his neighbour I And then he'd eat enough to last Until another day had passed. '4 I'll I ri r :»*♦• t-^AviSs^jsjsaiWS: 1 02 THEN AG' IN, He bought nor pantaloons nor vest, Nor rich, expensive jacket ; He had one suit — his pa's bequest — He thought would *' stand the racket.' He patched it thirty years, 'tis true, And then declared 'twas good as new. I He owned but one suit to his back, And minus cuffs and collars. He died, and left his nephew Jack Nine hundred thousand dollars t And Jack he run this fortune through, And only took a year or two. S. W. Foss. 'i Then Agin. Jim Bowker, he said, ef he'd had a fair show, And a big enough town for his talents to grow, And the least bit assistance in hoein' his row, Jim Bowker, he said, i^Z-S. ■:jr!^ZIZy"^^ THEN AG' IN. 103 He'd filled the world full of the sound of his name, An' dim the top round in the ladder of fame. It may have been so; I dunno; Jest so, it might been, Then ag'in — But he had tarnal luck — everythin' went ag'in him. The arrers of fortune they alius' 'ud pin him; So he didn't get no chance to show off what was in him. Jim Bowker, he said, £f he'd had a fair show, you couldn't tell where he'd come. An' the feats he'd a-done, an' the heights he'd a-clum — It may have been so ; I dunno; Jest so, it might been, Then ag'in — But we're all like Jim Bowker, thinks I, more or less- Charge fate for our bad luck, ourselves for success, An' give fortune the blame for all our distress, As Jim Bowker, he said, £f it hadn't been for luck an' misfortune an' sich, We might a-been famous, an' might a-been rich. It might be jest so; I dunno; Jest so, it might been. Then ag'in — S. W. Foss. -I04 SHORTEM'S QUESTION, Shortem's Question. Young Shortem he has much to learn, And, though he's round and fat. He stubs to everything he sees And points and says, ** Wot's that?" The trees, the grass, the sticks, the stones. The horse, the dog, the cat, They all are wonders of the world, And so he asks, •* Wot*s that? " t' i f '; i I Young Shortem sits upon my knee And in my knowledge basks; In my omniscient wisdom I Can answer all he asks. He thinks the fount of learning springs From just beneath my hat; He comes right to the fountain head And asks and asks, " Wot's that ? '* We all are Shortems larger grown Who roam with curious eye. And when we cease to say, " What's that? " Why then it's time to die. Life's baffling, endless mystery — We wonder much thereat; Before the riddle of the world We only say, *• What's that?" i ', f,- SEBASTIAN MOREY'S ORATION. 105 The sages of the elder world, The thinkers of to-day, All ask young Shortem's question in The same, old, curious way. A million worlds whirl round their view, They wonder much thereat; They stand in the immensities And only ask, ** What's that ? " The mighty serial goes on With wonders manifold, The story of the universe Will never all be told. And through the great, eternal years We'll wonder much thereat, Forever and forever ask, "What's that, what's that, what's that?" S. W. Foss. Sebastian Morey s Oration. I MADE a speech the other day down to the County Fair : — My wife sez I'm a norator; I guess I be, I swear. For I bust out with elerkunce so full, an' strong, an' rich, Thet I jest beat Bob Ingersoll an' Sissero an' sich ! or*f'IVWC',a„»^x VmC!li!i~-'*S.X6*~J 5««.- io6 SEBASTIAN MOREY'S ORATION, I've speechified town-meetin' days an' made consid'ble noise, An' stirred the waters of debate an' edified the boys ; An' I hev howled at korkusses an' made the Mugwumps r'ar — But my tongue wuz greased with glory down there to the County Fair! The Gov'nor spoke a purty speech, without much gush an' frothin', Our Congressman he tried to spread, but didn't say much er nothin', Deacon Jones he made 'em tired, all the folks begun to go. Then I heerd Squire Plummer whisper: " Let ol' Hay- seed hev a show." This kinder got my dander riz ; by gosh, the shots I sent ! I filled my lungs, onhitched my jaw, an' then I let her went! The people thought a thunderbolt had bust an' cracked the air Wen my unmuzzled elerkunce went t sarin* thro' the Fair ! . Why, my lips seemed wet with frankincense an' honey mixed with spice. An' ile scraped from the hinges of the gates of paradise ; SEBASTIAN MORETS ORATION. 107 An* thet ol' wooden platform at the Chester County Fair Seemed the ridge-pole of creation w'ile I wuz spoutin' there. Why! cataracts an' cyclones seemed whirlin' in my brain, An' all mixed up with waterspouts an' winds an' harry- cane; My tongue it seemed a fiddle on w'ich whirlwinds played their tunes, An' ol' St. Paul's Euroclydon, tornadoes an' typhoons ! My hair riz up, my coat tails waved like banners of the free, My eyes they squirted lightnin' until I couldn't see ! I flapped my hands like eagles' wings a-soarin' up on high ; My arms swung roun' the firmamunt, my whiskers swep' the sky t When I sot down the air it biled, the people cheered and cried ; The Durham bull he give one blart, stretched out his hoofs, an' died ; I poked Squire Plummer in the ribs till he wuz nearly kilt, An' axed him: *< How's ol' Hayseed now?" you ort to see him wiltt S. W. Foss. 'L' p. H- !' ' M' io8 HUSBAND AND HEATHEN Husband and Heathen. O'er the men of Ethiopia she would pour her cornucopia, And shower wealth and plenty on the people of Japan, Send down jelly cake and candies to the Indians of the Andes, And a cargo of plum pudding to the men of Hindoostan ; And she said she loved 'em so, Bushman. Finn, and Eskimo. If she had the wings of eagles to their succour she would fly Loaded down with jam and jelly, Succotash and vermicelli. Prunes, pomegranates, plums and pudding, peaches pineapples, and pie. She would fly with speedy succour to the natives of P^olucca With whole loads of quail and salmon, and with tons of friccasee. And give cake in fullest measure To the men of Australasia And all the Archipelagoes that dot the southern sea ; And the Anthropophagi, All their lives deprived of pie, She would satiate and satisfy with custards, cream, and mince ; And those miserable Australians And the Borrioboorighalians, She would gorge with choicest jelly, raspberry, currant, grape, and quince. 1 I THE RA TTLE OF THE DOLLAR, 109 But like old war-time hardtackers, her poor husband lived on crackerSi Bought at wholesale from a baker, eaten from the mantel- shelf; If the men of Madagascar, And the natives of Alaska, Had enough to sate their hunger, let him look out for himself. And his coat had but one tail And he used a shingle nail To fasten up his ** gallus " when he went out to his work ; And she used to spend his money To buy sugar- plums and honey For the Terra del Fue«jian and the Turcoman and Turk. S. W. Foss. I \ If The Rattle of the Dollar. The air it tastes like nectar oozed from Heaven's own laboratory. And the sunshine falls like ointment on the forehead of a king, When a man feels in his pocket, flushed with fuli financial glory. And he hears the nickels rattle, and he hears the quarters ring. Hi ^ 110 THE RATTLE OF THE DOLLAR, Though the winter storms assault his path, and drift his way and block it, In his heart he feels the sunshine of an endless summer-time, For he listens to the music of the money in his pocket, To the rattle of the dollar and the jingle of the dime. The famous violinists. And the fiddlers and cornettists, And the mighty organ-players Of every age and clime, Make a slow and droning music. Full of discord and of jangle, When you match it with the rattle, With the rattle of th(; dollar and the jingle of the dime. Then the star of hope arises, and in Hitter>ng ascendance It lights the rugged pathway and the labyrinth of gloom ; For we feel the swelling majesty of perfect independence, Ai.d, though the universe is large, we shout, ** More ^ jom ! more room ! " The pangs of penury are hard, howe'er the sages talk it. And poverty is perilous — the borderland of crime ; But there's courage in the clatter of the coin within your pocket, In the rattle of the dollar and the jingle of the dime. Like the music of King David On the dulcimer and tabret ; ii *•■ \ i THE RA TTLE OF THE DOLLAR, 1 1 1 On the harp whose strings were many, In that old melodious time, Is the music of the clinking Of the jolly halves and quarters, And the ringinp^, resonant rattle, The rattle of the dollar and the jingle of the dime. And the time we hope is coming v.'hen the millions and the masses May hear this merry music with no interval between ; Life cease to be an endless quest for meal and for molasses, And a long unanswered problem of coal and kerosene. And we hear it in the distance — woe to him who tries to block it, Tries to block the onward progress of the struggling march of time. When all shall hear the music of the rattling of the pocket, Hear the rattle of the dollar and the jingle of the dime. And the patient wives and babies Shall not starve for lack of money, Shall not dress in rags and tatters In that happy coming time; For the world shall ring with music Of a billion bulging pockets, Each one ringing with the rattle, With uic rattle of the dollar and the jingle of the dime. S. W. Foss. i: 3 i ! ; I 112 IVNA T THE BAB Y DID. Tellin' what the Baby did. In the cosy twilight hid, Tellin' what the baby did, Sits Matilda every night, 'Twixt the darkness and the light. Tells me in her cutest way All t^ f! hist'ry of the day, Gives 11 ; leaves nothin' hid, Tellin* iii what the baby did. Beats the whole decline an' fall Of the Roman Empire. Gol I William Shakespeare never hed Cuter thoughts than baby said. An* he hez, to sing his thoughts, Sweeter words than Isaac Watts. Tildy, she leaves nothin' hid Tellin' me what the baby did. Pooty hard schoolmarm is Fate To her scholars, small and great ; I hev felt upon my han' Tingle of her sharp rattan; But she pities our distress, An' she gives a glad recess When Matilda sits, half-hid, Tellin' what the baby did. ¥ f i IVHAT THE BABY DID, Trudge off with my dinner-pail Every mornin* without fail; Work, with hardly time for breath ; Come home, tired half to death ; But I feel a perfect rest Settle down upon my breast, Settin', by the twilight hid, Hearin' what the baby did. Sometimes I cannot resist, An* I shake my doubled fist In the face of fate, and swear, ** You don't treat a fellow fair! " Then, when I go home at night, My whole system full of fight, Tildy, she sits there, half-hid, Tellin' what the baby did. "3 Then I jest make up with fate, An* my happiness is great ; But if fate should lay its han' On that baby, understan', Through the worl' I'd sulk apart, With red murder in my heart ; If she sat no more half-hid, Tellin* what the baby did. S. W. Foss. m 779 ^inmmmm^x-i^ !l> '1 ! U* I k K i W r. 1 ' 1 1 i i A / I E ' ( 1 1 ' { |f |«,' i f i !^ ] 1 ; i "' : i i ■ i 1 r 114 OLD GRIMES, Old Grimes. Old Grimes is dead : that good old man We never shall see more : He used to wear a long black coat, All button'd down before. His heart was open as the day ; His feelings all were true : His hair was some inclined to grey — He wore it in a queue. Whene'er he heard the voice of pain, His breast with pity burn'd : The large round head upon his cane From ivory was turn'd. Kind words he ever had for all ; He knew no base design : His eyes were dark and rather small, His nose was aquiline. He lived at peace with all mankind, In friendship he was true: His coat had pocket-holes behind. His pantaloons were blue. li' 1 OLD GRIMES. Unharm'd, the sin which earth pollutes, He pass'd securely o'er, And never wore a pair of boots For thirty years or more. "5 • I; But good old Grimes is now at rest, Nor fears Misfortune's frown : He wore a double-breasted vest — The stripes ran up and down. He modest merit sought to find, And pay it its desert : He had no malice in his mind, No ruffles on his shirt. His neighbors he did not abuse — Was sociable and gay : He wore large buckles on his shoes, And changed them every day. His knowledge hid from public gaze. He did not bring to view, Nor make a noise town-meeting days. As many people do. His worldly goods he never threw In trust to fortune's chances, But lived (a^ all his brothers do) In easy circumstances. -r-i ii6 MV HONEY, MY LOVE. Then undisturb'd by anxious cares, His peaceful moments ran ; And everybody said he was A fine old gentleman. rt. Albert G. Greene. kS My Honey, My Love. Hit's a mighty fur ways up de Far\vell Lane^ My honey ^ my love ! You may ax Mr. CroWy you may ax Mr, Crane^ My honey y my love ! Deyil make you a bow^ en dey^ll tell you de same^ My honey y my love i Hit's a mighty fur waysfer to go in de nighty My honey y my love ! My honey, my love, my hearths delight — My honey, my love t Mister Mink, he creep twel he wake up de Snipe, My honey, my love t Mister Bull- Frog holler. Come a-light my pipe, My honey, my love ! a-V MV HONEY, MY LOVE, 117 En de PaUridge ax^ Ain't yo' peas ripe ? My honey ^ my love / Better not walk erlong dar much alter night , My honey , my love I My honey, my love, my heart's delight — My honey, my love I De Bully-Bat fly mighty close ter de groun\ My honey t my love ! Mister Fox, he coax *er. Do come down I My honey, my love ! Mister Coon, he rack all ^routC en *roun. My honey, my love ! In de darkes* night, oh, de nigger, he*s a sight I My honey, my love I My honey, my love, my heart's delight — My honey, my love I i( m h\ Oh, flee, Miss Nancy, flee ter my knee. My honey, my love ! *Lev*n big fat coons lives in one tree. My honey, my love ! Oh, ladies all, won* t you marry me? My honey, my love ! TtCn lef*, ttCn right, we'ull dance all night. My honey, my love ! My honey, my love, my heart's delight — My honey, my love I x«. I ii ^ II I h i ii8 DOW'S FLAT. De big Owl holler en cryfer his maie^ My honey t my love! Oht dont stay long I oh, dotit stay late I My honey, my love I Hit ain't so mighty fur ter de Good-Bye Gate, My honey, my love / Whar we all got ter go v/en we sing out de night ^ My honey, my love t My honey, my love, my heart's delight — My honey, my love ! Joel Chandler Harris. If I Dow's Flat (1856.) Dow's Flat. That's its name; And I reckon that you Are a stranger ? The same ? Well, I thought it was true, — For thar isn't a man on the river as can't spot the place at first view. It was called after Dow, — Which the same was an ass, — And as to the how Thet the thing kem to pass, — Jest tie up your hoss to that buckeye, and sit ye down here in the grass. DOW'S FLAT. 119 You see this *yer Dow Hed the worst kind of luck ; He slipped up somehow On each thing thet he struck. Why, ef he'd a straddled thet fence-rail, the derned thing 'ed get up and buck. He mined on the bar Till he couldn't pay rates ; He was smashed by a car When he tunnelled with Bates ; And right on the top of his trouble kem his wife and five kids from the States. It was rough,— mighty rough ; But the boys they stood by, And they brought him the stuff For a house, on the sly ; And the old woman,— well, she did washing, and took on when no or:2 was nigh. But this 'yer luck of Dow's Was so powerful mean That the spring near his house Dried right up on the green; And he sunk forty feet down for water, but nary a drop to be seen. n 4 ffi' I '\\ f>i J) 120 DO W'S FLA f. Then the bar petered out, And the boys wouldn't stay; And the chills got about, And his wife fell away ; But Dow in his well kept apeggin' in his usual ridikilous way. r \ \\ ^}■ One day, — it was June, — And a year ago, jest, — This Dow kem at noon To his work like the rest. With a shovel and pick on his shoulder, and a derringer hid in his breast. He goes to the well, And he stands on the brink, And stops for a spell Jest to listen and think : For the sun in his eyes (jest like this, sir!), you see, kinder made the cuss blink. |-.i His two ragged gals In the gulch were at play, And a gownd that was Sal's Kinder flapped on a bay : Not much for a man to be leavin*, but his all, — as I've heer'd the folks say. DOW'S FLAT. 131 likilous Tinger u see, And — That's a peart boss Thet you've got,— ain*t it now? What might be her cost ? Eh? Oh !— Well, then, Dow- Let's see,— well, that forty- foot grave wasn't his, sir, that day, anyhow. For a blow of his pick Sorter caved in the side, And he looked and turned sick. Then he trembled and cried. For you see the dern cuss had struck — ** Water?" — Beg your parding, young man, — there you lied 1 It was gold, — in the quartz, And it ran all alike ; And I reckon five oughts Was the worth of that strike ; And that house with the coopilow's his'n, — which the same isn't bad for a Pike. Thet's why it's Dow's Flat; And the thing of it is That he kinder got that Through sheer contrairiness: For 'twas water the derned cuss was seekin', and his luck made him certain to miss. « fS'»M(7f«''?BrH»rJti' I ■ HI 122 yiMJ' Thet's so ! Thar's your way, To the left of yon tree; But — a — look h'yur, say ? Won't you come up to tea ? No? Well, then the next time you're passin'; and ask after Dow, — and thet's m{?. Bret Harte. oi *-Jim." |:i- ,1 Say there ! Fr'aps Some on you chaps Might know Jim Wild ? Well, — no offence : Thar ain't no sense In gittin' riled I Jim was my chum Up on the Bar : That's why I come Down from up yar, Lookin' for Jim. Thank ye, sir ! you Ain't of that crew, — Blest if you are ! Money? — Not much; That ain't my kind : I ain't no such. Rum? — I don't mind, Seein' ii's you. 123 Well, this yer Jim, Did you know him ? — J^ss 'bout your size ; Same kind of eyes ; — Well, that is strange : Why, it's two year Since he came here, Sick, for a change. Well, here's to us : Eh? The h you say ! Dead?— That little cuss? What makes you star, - You over thar? Can't a man drop *s glass in yer shop But you must rar*? It wouldn't take D much to break You and your bar. ■'hi ;• 1-. I « : \ 124 TRUTHFUL JAMES, Deadl Poor— little— Jim ! Why, thar was me, Jones, and Bob Lee, Harry and Ben, — No-account men: Then to take him ! Well, thar— Good-by,— No more, sir,-^I — Eh? What's that you say? — Why, dern it 1 — ^sho ! — No? Yes I By Jo! Soldi Sold I Why, you limb, You ornery, Derned old Long-legged Jim ! Bret Harte. Plain Language from Truthful James. Table Mountain, 1870. Which I wish to remark. And my language is plain. That for ways that are dark k i 1: TRUTHFUL JAMES. And for tricks that are vain, The heathen Chinee is peculiar, Which the same I would rise to explain. I2S Ah Sin was his name ; And I shall not deny, In regard to the same, What that name might imply ; But his smile it was pensive and childlike, As I frequent remarked to Bill Nye. It was August the third. And quite soft was the skies ; Which it might be inferred That Ah Sin was likewise; Yet he played it that day upon William And me in a way I despise. Which we had a small game, And Ah Sin took a hand : It was Euchre. The same He did not understand ; But he smiled as he sat by the table, With the smile that was childlike and bland I 1i ll r ; !»1 ^ [I 'Ml I 'I ii ^ J *i 126 TRUTHFUL JAMES. Yet the cards they were stocked In a way that I grieve, And my feelings were shocked At the state of Nye*s sleeve, Which was stuffed full of aces and bowers, And the same with intent to deceive. But the hands that were played By that heathen Chinee, And the points that he made, Were quite frightful to see, — Till at last he put down a right bower, Which the same Nye had dealt unto me. Then I looked up at Nye, And he gazed upon me; And he rose with a sigh. And said, *«Canthisbe? We are ruined by Chinese cheap labour," — And he went for that heathen Chinee. In the scene that ensued I did not take a hand. But the floor it was strewed Like the leaves on the strand With the cards that Ah Sin had been hiding, In the game "he did not understand." 'i Ji V THE SOCIETY. 127 In his sleeves, which were long, He had twenty-four packs, — Which was coming it strong, Yet I state but the facts ; And we found on his nails, which were taper, What is frequent in tapers,— that's wax. Which is why I remark, Ana my language is plain, That for ways that are dark, And for tricks that are vain. The heathen Chinee is peculiar, — Which the same I am free to maintain. Bret Harte. r«' ') .i ^u The Society upon the Stanislaus. I RESIDE at Table Mountain, and my name is Truthful James ; I am not up to small deceit or any sinful games ; And I'll tell in simple language what I know about the row That broke up our Society upon the Stanislow. But first I would remark, that it is not a proper plan For any scientific gent to whale his fellow-man, And, if a member don't agree with his peculiar whim. To lay for that same member to '* put a head " on him. \ I v> f % 128 r/r^ SOCIETY. Now nothing could be finer or more beautiful to see Than the first six months' proceedings of that same Society, Till Brown of Calaveras brought a lot of fossil bones That he found within a tunnel near the tenement of Jones. Then Brown he read a paper, and he reconstructed there, From those same bones, an animal that was extremely rare; And Jones then asked the Chair for a suspension of the rules, - Till he could prove that those same bones were one of his lost mules. Then Brown he smiled a bitter smile, and said he was at fault. It seemed he had been trespassing on Jones's family vault ; He was a most sarcastic man, this quiet Mr. Brown, And on several occasions he had cleaned out the town. Now I hold it is not decent for a scientific gent To say another is an ass, — at least, to all intent ; Nor should the individual who happens to be meant Reply by heaving rocks at him, to any great extent. Then Abner Dean of Angel's raised a point of order, when A chunk of old red sandstone took him in the abdomen. And he smiled a kind of sickly smile, and curled up on the floor, And the subsequent proceedings interested him no more. i r JIM BLUDSO. 129 For, in less time than I write it, every member did engage In a warfare with the remnants of a palaeozoic age ; And the way they heaved those fossils in their anger was a sin, Till the skull of an old mammoth caved the head of Thompson in. m\ And this is all I have to say of these improper games, For I live at Table Mountain, and my name is Truthful James ; And IVe told in simple language what I knew about the row That broke up our Society upon the Stanislow. Bret IIarte. Jim Bludso. Wall, no 1 I can*t tell whar h» lives, Becase he don't live, you see; Leastways, he's got out of the habit Of livin' like you and me. Whar have you been for the last three year That you haven*t heard folks tell How Jemmy Bludso passed in his checks, The night of the Prairie Belle? 780 ;; IMli U ' i^ II 'i - 130 //Af B/MDSO. He weren't no saint, — them engineers Is all pretty much alike, — One wife in Natchez-under-the-Hill, And another one here, in Pike ; A keerless man in his talk was Jim, And an awkward man in a row, But he never flunked, ard he never lied, I reckon he never knowed how. And this was all the religion he had, — To treat his engine well ; Never be passed on the river; To mind the pilot's bell ; And if ever the Prairie Belle took fire, A thousand times he swore. He'd hold her nozzle agin the bank Till the last soul got ashore. All boats has their day on the Mississip, And her day come at last, — The Movastar was a better boat. But the Belle, she wouldtit be passed ; And so came tearin' along that night, — The oldest craft on the line. With a nigger squat on her safety-valve, And her furnace crammed, rosin and pine. ; sf JIM BLUDSO, 131 The fire bust out as she clared the bar, And burnt a hole in the night, And quick as a flash she turned, and made For that willer>bank on the right. There was runnin' and cursin', bu^ Jim yelled out Over all the infernal roar, ** ril hold her nozzle agin the bank Till the last galoot's ashore.' >> Through the hot, black breath of the burnin' boat Jim Bludso's voice was heard, And they all had trust in his cussed ness. And knowed he would keep his word. And, sure's you're born, they all got ofit Afore the smokestacks fell, — And Bludso's ghost went up alone In the smoke of the Prairie Belle. He weren't no saint, — but at jedgment I'd run my chance with Jim, 'Longside of some pious gentlemen That wouldn't shook hands with him. He seen his duty, a dead -sure thing, — And went for it thar and then : And Christ ain't agoin to be too hard On a man that died for men. J^HN Hay. MiJ ^ ^, .-. . t^ - VJl I '( I i i Hi H It i; <' r I i^- ^^■ 132 (9A^/i HYMN'BOOK. On a Hymn-Book. Old hymn-book, sure I thought I'd lost you In the days now long gone by; I'd forgotten where I tossed you : Gracious! how I sigh. In the church a thin partition Stood between her pew and mine ; And her pious, sweet contrition Struck me as divine. Yes, remarkably entrancing Was she in her sable furs; And my eyes were always glancing Up, old book, to hers. Bless you, very well she knew it, And I'm sure she liked it too; Once she whispered, " Please don't do it," But her eyes said, " Do." ON A HYMN-BOOK, "^Z^ How to speak — to tell my passion ? How to make her think me true ? Love soon found a curious fashion, < For he spoke through you. How I used to search your pages For the words I wished to say ; And received my labour's wages Every Sabbath day. Ah, how sweet it was to hand her You, with lines I'd marked when found And how well Td understand her When she blushed and frowned. And one day, old book, you wriggled From my hand and, rattling, fell Upon the floor ; and she — she giggled. Did Miss Isabel. Then when next we met out walking, I was told in fearful tones. How she'd got a dreadful talking From the Reverend Jones. . ili Ah me ! No man could resist her In those sweet and buried years, So I think — I think I kissed her, Just to stop her tears. ilV I h y I 134 TJ/£ BLUE-STOCKING'S ANSWER. Jones I gave a good sound chaffing ; Called his sermons dry as bones ; Soon fair Isabel was laughing — Said she hated Jones. It was after that I lost you, For I needed you no more ; Somewhere — anywhere I tossed you On a closet floor. Reverend Samuel still preaches ; Isabel her past atones ; In his Sunday-school she teaches — Mrs. Samuel Jones. W. J. Henderson. The Blue-Stocking's Answer You've talked of the source of Euphrates (she said), And of Thebes with her myriad gates, You've told me the story of Carthage entire, And sprinkled your visits with dates ; The history of England repeated in full, Magna Charta, corn laws, and stamp acts. Till I've sometimes thought that your brain must be Solidified grey pulp of facts. THE BLUE-SrOCKIAG'S ANSWER. 135 Binomial theorem seemed (she said) Quite simple when you made it clear ; Computation of error of compass (she said) Was a problem for you without fear ; You've talked very well of the steering of ships, Of the course and the distance made good ; And proved with a microscope, once and again, The presence of microbes in food. Of Critique of Reason by dead and gone Kant) Of Logic of Hume and of Locke, Of monadic theory Leibnitz (she said) You've served me up daily a stock. You've shown me the Whereness and Whatness of Which, And likewise the Whyness of Whom, Till IVe wondered how ever in such a short man Memory so long could find room. And finally, early last evening (she said) You mapped out the heavens for me, So that Alpha and Beta, and Vega of Lyre, And Jupiter's suns I could see. A binary system you then pointed out, Two stars ever joined in the blue ; And asked me if I didn't think it were well Such a system were made of us two. i« 1: :| II f ■ i ^ f i I 136 WHEN ETHEL TALKED, And here is the answer I give you (she said) : You've fed me on other men's brains, With dry-as-dust facts, by hard study acquired ; Ma foi ! You're a fool for your pains ; You can't win a woman with learning (she said), There's something sL^ prizes abov e ; I knew all the things that you talk'^d of before : Why didn't you tell me of— Love ? W. J. Henderson. t I 1 f I I I When Ethel Talked. When Ethel talked across the crimson sea of plush, From which her shoulders rose as sunlight fair, Her voice was sweeter than the notes of wren or thrush — When Ethel talked. Forgotten then the saiat'id maiden Elsa's prayer, Lost to my soul entranced the rich harmonious t^ush or muted strings and sighing flutes ; my heart was there. To Ethel's box, with passionate and unchecked rusii, It flew upon the viewless wings of Love's sweet air ; But some unshackled Wagnerite cried IcuJly, ** Hush ! ** When Ethel talked. W. J. Henderson. II THE DEACON'S MASTERPIECE. 137 The Deacon s Masterpiece ; Or, The Wonderful '^One-Hoss Shay." A Logical Story. Have you heard of the wonderful one-hoss shay, 1 hat was huilt in such a logical way It ran a hundred years to a day, And then, of a sudden, it — ah, but stay, I'll tell you what happened without delav, Scaring the parson into fits, Frightening people out of their wiU, — Have you ever heard of that, I say ? Seventeen hundred and tifty-five. Georgius Secundus was then alive, — Stuffy old drone from the German hive. That was the year when Lisbon-town Saw the earth open and gulp her down, And Braddock's army was done so brown, Lett without a scalp to its crown. It was on the terrible Earthquake -day That the Deacon finished the one-hoss shay. Now in building of chaises, I tell you what, There is always somewhere a weakest spot, — In hub, tyre, or felloe, in spring or thill, In panel, or crossbar, or floor, or sill, ),' ') ■ t h { w il f { m) I ii ■ ^' ' i 138 THE DEACON'S MASTERPIECE. In screw, bolt, thoroughbrace, — lurking still, Find it somewhere you must and will, — Above or below, or within or without, — And that's the reason, beyond a doubt, A chaise breaks downy but does n't wear out. But the Deacon swore, (as Deacons do. With an " I dew vum " or an " I Xx^yeou*^) Pie would build one shay to beat the taown *n' the keounty 'n' all the kentry raoun' ; It should be so built that it couldn^ break daown — ** Fur," said the Deacon, **'t 's mighty plain Thut the weakes' place mus' stan' the strain ; 'n' the way t' fix it, uz I maintain. Is only jest T* make that place uz strong uz the rest." So the Deacon inquired of the village folk Where he could find the strongest oak. That could n't be split nor bent nor broke, — That was for spokes and floor and sills ; He sent for lancewood to make the thills ; The crossbars were ash, from the straightest trees. The panels of white-wood, that cuts like cheese, But lasts like iron for things like these ; The hubs of logs from the "Settler's ellum,"—- Last of its timber,— they could n't sell 'em, A THE DEACON'S MASTERPIECE, 139 Never an axe had seen their chips, And the wedges flew from between their lips, Their blunt ends frizzled like celery-tips ; Step and prop-iron, bolt and screw, Spring, tyre, axle, and linchpin too. Steel of the finest, bright and blue ; Thoroughbrace bison-skin, thick and wide ; Boot, top, dasher, from tough old hide Found in the pit when the tanner died. That was the way he "put her through." — "Therel " said the Deacon, " naow she'll dew ! " ' I \ Do ! I tell you, I rather guess She was a wonder, and nothing less ! Colts grew horses, beards turned grey, Deacon and deaconess dropped away, Children and grandchildren — where were they ? But there stood the stout old one-hoss shay As fresh as on Lisbon-earthquake-day ! Eighteen Hundred ; — it came and found The Deacon's masterpiece strong and sound. Eighteen hundred increased by ten ; — " Hahnsum kerridge" they called it then. Eighteen hundred and twenty came ; — Running as usual ; much the same. Thirty and forty at length arrive. And then came fifty and Fifty-five. ;1 V?tI . ill ••" .fii 1 ' ff N - 140 THE DEACON'S MASTERPIECE. Little of all we value here Wakes on the morn of its hundredth year Without both feeling and looking queer. In fact, there's nothing that keeps its youth, So far as I know, but a tree and truth. (This is a moral that runs at large ; Take it. — You're welcome. — No extra charge.) First OF November — The Earthquake-day— There are traces of age in the one-hoss shay, A general flavour of mild decay, But nothing local, as one may say. There could n't be — for the Deacon's art Had made it so like in every part That there was n't a chance for one to start ; For the wheels were just as strong as the thills, And the floor was just as strong as the sills. And the panels just as strong as the floor, And the whipple-tree neither less nor more. And the back-crossbar as strong as the fore, And spring and axle and hub encore. And yet, as a whole it was past a doubt In another hour it would be worn out I First of November, 'Fifty-five ! This morning the parson takes a drive. Now, small boys, get out of the way ! Here comes the wonderful one-hoss shay, \\ THE DEACON'S MASTERPIECE, 14 1 Drawn by a rat-tailed, ewe necked bay. '* Huddup ! " says the parson. — OflF went they. The parson was working his Sunday's text Had got to i\iQ Jifihly, and stopped perplexed At what the — Moses — was coming next. All at once the horse stood still, Close by the meet*n'-house on the hill. — First a shiver, and then a thrill, Then something decidedly like a spill, — And the parson was sitting upon a rock. At half-past nine by the raeet*n*-house clock, — ■ Just the hour of the Earthquake shock ! — What do you think the parson found. When he got up and stared around ? The poor old chaise in a heap or mound, As if it had been to the mill and ground ! You see, of course, if you're not a dunce, How it went to pieces all at once, — All at once, and nothing first, — Just as bubbles do when they burst. End of the wonderful one-hoss shay. Logic is logic. That's all I say. V' s S'l Oliver Wendell Holmes. **4A ^' .c ■^>^*A^#*^..4^ r jv3»» ' it' ' » 142 CONTENTMENT. Contentment. "Man wants bufc little here below." Little I ask; my wants are few; I only wish a hut of stone, (A very plain brown stone will do,) That I may call my own ; — And close at hand is such a one, In yonder street that fronts the sun. Plain food is quite enough for me ; Three courses are as good as ten; — If Nature can subsist on three, Thank Heiven for three. Amen ! I always thought cold victual nice ; — My choice would be vanilla-ice. ' I care not much for gold or land ; — Give me a mortgage here and there, — Some good bank-stock, — some note of hand, Or trifling railroad share ; — I only ask that Fortune send A little more than I shall spend. \ "i..-'*^ CONTENTMENT. Honours are silly toys, I know, And titles are but empty names; I would, perhaps^ be Plenipo, — But only near St. James; — I *m very sure I should not care To fill our Gubernator's chair. Jewels are baubles ; 'tis a sin To care for such unfruitful things \— One good-sized diamond in a pin, — Some, not so large ^ in rings, — A ruby, and a pearl, or so. Will do for me ; — I laugh at show. My dame should dress in cheap attire ; (Good, heavy silks are never dear ;)- I own perhaps I might desire Some shawls of true Cashmere, — Some narrowy crapes of China silk, Like wrinkled skins on scalded milk. I would not have the horse I drive So fast that folks must stop and stare ; An easy gait — two, forty-five — Suits me; I do not care; — Perhaps, for just a single spuria Some seconds less would do no hurt. 143 f1! i i \ ■! u % % I 1- I: I ^1" fj u ri 'I '■:: <:; J ? ',) if.: 1 i ) \ J i' r u 'I I ii 144 CONTENTMENT. Of pictures, I should like to own Titians and Raphaels three or four, — I love so much their style and tone, — One Turner, and no more, (A landscape, — foreground golden dirt ; The sunshine painted with a squirt.) Of books but few, — some fifty score For daily use, and bound for wear ; The rest upon an upper floor ; — Some h'U/e luxury ^Aere Of red morocco's gilded gleam. And vellum rich as country cream. Busts, cameos, gems, — such things as these, Which others often show for pride, / value for their power to please, And selfish churls deride ; — One Stradivarius, I confess, Two Meerschaums, I would fain possess. Wealth's wasteful tricks I will not learn Nor ape the glittering upstart fool; — Shall not carved tables serve my turn. But ail must be of buhl ? Give grasping pomp its double share, — I ask but om recumbent chair. THE FIRST SERMON. 145 Thus humble let me live and die, Nor long for Midas' golden touch ; If Heaven more generous gifts deny, I shall not miss them muchy — Too grateful for the blessing lent Of simple tastes and mind content 1 Oliver Wendell Holmes. The First Sermon. h There were murmurings in Bismarck, When the dealer of a bank Announced that Parson Miller Had brought his gospel tank. And the mutterings grew louder. When a sign made it appear That, '* Instead of faro, Sunday, There'll be Bible banging here ! " 781 y. '0 i \\i \ J I \^ A :!U !i; 146 THE FIRST SERMON. For the good folk of Dakota Had peculiar notions of The uses of the Sabbath, And the doctrines of God's love; And they held it an infraction Of their rights, when some one came To burst their calculations, and Break up the Sunday game. They had a simple kind of faith That God looked after him Who had the biggest stack of chips^ And may have had a grim, Peculiar notion that there was Some power above them all. That helped protect the honest man Who failed to make a haul. Still, whether it was worth while For some one to come in Asking special intervention For those who couldn't win, Seemed to somewhat tear the town up. And opinions differed wide. Till Mr. Dennis Hannafin . .r Went on the Parson's side. THE FIRST SERMON. And then the aspect altered, And the citizens agreed That he who raised objection > Should be taken out and treed. The Sunday came, as Sundays will, Though men be good or bad, And never congregation was Like that the Parson had. The faro-table did the task Of pulpit. Each man sat Provided well with chips against The passing of the hat. 147 • :!ll M i For they felt they owed a duty To the place, as well as God, So they patronised the banker. Ere they passed beneath the rod. m There may be better sermons Than the trembling Parson brought, Far more replete with poetry And gleaming gems of thought ; But the honest man did nobly, Though he played the hand alone. For he preached some good religion, And — the sermon was his own. -I' 11 % T 148 THE FIRST SERMON, He told them of a coming time When chips must be passed in, And begged them that they play so they Stood solidly to win. He told them of that fearful game Of agony and doubt, In which God*s foes chipped in the world And Jesus raised them out. And the congregation listened. With spirits somewhat dashed, As he pointed out the higher Bank Where human souls are cashed. Finally he closed and said He had a little whim: He wanted them to sing, and more Than that, select the hymn. It is a solemn rule among The people of that band, Whatever game may be proposed To always take a hand. So they braced up for a struggle, Though it was a novel thing. And after consultation, They started in to sing. f . ? ' ' I THE FIRST SERMON. Perhaps no church collection Contains the hymn they sang, For they only knew "Whoa, Emina," And the very bottles rang. But there was a tone of earnestness And feeling in the roar, That very few set songs of praise Had ever known before. And the Parson understood it. And had but little care. For he heard a something rising Above the words and air. 149 And when a sheepish gentleman Betook him to explain, The Parson turned him down, and asked To hear the hymn again. v' 11 And once again "Whoa, Emma !" raised The lid from off the stove. And echoed from the bottles to The Golden Bar above. Which occasioned Mr. Hannafin To hazard the remark. That if the angel? liked good music. To cheese their own and hark. m f mm^m - : ^. * 150 TNE FIRST SERMON, And then the Parson's battered hat Was passed among those wrecks. And silently the poorest even, Anteed up their checks. The Parson, all bewildered, asked What he should do with those. And learned that he might play 'em in. Or cash 'm as he chose. And Mr. Hannafin agreed, In c&ac they were played in, To take the look-out chair himself. And double-bank a skin; II v I i While if the Parson wanted cash, Why, waltz right up and plank ; For chips for cash and cash for chips, Was how he ran that bank. That was the first religion Ever preached in Bismarck town; And now three goodly churches That early effort crowr. And each faro-table has a slii', In which each ninn has got To drop a part of what he wins, Which slit is called "God's Pot." on PICKETT'S NELL, And though, perhaps, religion Don't make a heavy pull Upon the lives of those who play, The "Pot" b always full. 151 ■ \ , And, possibly, some future day, When checks are all cashed in, The men who built those churches Will find they stand to «vin. Stanley Huntley. or Pickett's Nell. Feel more 'an ever like a fool Sence Pickett's Nell ccme back from school. She oncet wuz twelve 'nd me eighteen ('Nd better friends you never seen) ; But now — oh, my I She's dressed so fine, 'nd grower! so tall, 'Nd l*arnin* — she jes knows it all. She*s eighteen now, but I'm so slow I'm whar I wuz six year ago. \m -^■L =&::: .'J."...rtl.'^ l-';j-«M 152 OV PICKETT'S NELL. i ■ M 'M^ Six year I Waal, waal t doan't seem a week Sence we rode Dolly to th' creek, 'Nd fetched th' cattle home at night, Her hangin' to my jacket tight. But now — oh, my 1 She rides in Pickett's new coopay Jes like she'd be'n brung up thet way, *Nd lookin' like a reg'lar queen — Th' mostest like / ever seen. She uster tease, 'nd tease, 'nd tease Me fer to take her on my knees ; Then tired me out 'ith Marge'y Daw, 'Nd laffin' tell my throat wuz raw. But now — oh, my ! She sets up this way-^kinder proud, 'Nd never noways laughs out loud. You w'u'd n't hardly think thet she Had ever see-sawed on fny knee. if i 'Nd sometimes, ef at noon I'd choose To find a shady place 'nd snooze, I'd wake with burdocks in my hair 'Nd elderberries in my ear. But now — oh, my ! Somebody said ('t wus yesterday) ; ** Let's hev some fun w'ile Ned's away; Let's turn his jacket inside out I " But Nell — she'd jes turn red 'nd pout. *!i on PICKETT'S NELL. 153 'Nd oncet when I wuz dreamin'-like, A- thro win* akerns in th' dike, She put her arms clean round my head, 'Nd whispered soft, " I like you, Ned ; *' But now— oh, my ! She curteseyed so stiff 'nd grand, 'Nd never oncet held out her hand, 'Nd called me " Mister Edward ! " Laws ! Thet ain't my name, *nd never wuz. 'Nd them 'at knowed 'er years ago Jes laughed t' see 'er put on so ; Coz it wuz often talked, 'nd said, ** Nell Pickett's jes cut out fer Ned." But now — oh, my ! She held her purty head so high, 'Nd skasely saw me goin' by — I w'u'd n't dast (afore last night) A-purposely come near her sijht. Last night ! — Ez I wuz startin' out To git th' cows^ I heerd a shout ; 'Nd, sure ez ghostses, she wuz thar, A-settin on ol' Pickett's mar' ; 'Nd then — oh, my! She said she'd cried fer all th' week To take th' ol' ride to th' creek ; Then talked about ol' times, 'nd said, " Them days wuz happy, wa'n't they, Ned ?" ^^,»*-:.!^-^^;4f„ ,' J/'' I y I. \ m ! ■ f . : r 1 154 VE WILD WESTERN MAN. Th' folks wuz talkin' ev'rywhars 'Bout her a-puttin' on sech airs, 'Nd seemed t* me like they wuz right, Afore th' cows come home last night. But now — oh, my i Mather Dean Kimball. Ye Wild Western Man. He was a wild, wild. Western man, And brash as he could be ; His heart was bullock-big, his laugh Rang forth right boastingly ; He talked of mines and millions In the most off-handed style. And the ending of each sentence was: "Come, stranger, let us smile." He talked of herds of cattle — More than ranchmen ever dreamt ; Spoke of Indians and grizzly With the most supreme contempt ; !» YE WILD WESTERN MAN. Had scaled the snow-capped Sierras, And swam the Golden Gate ; Had tramped across the desert, and — "'Tis time to irrigate." He laughed to scorn the cowboys> Had laid many a Greaser cold, And would wrestle with a cyclone If 'twould give him under-hold ; Had shook hands with an earthquake, With Wild Bill drunk many a cup. Had climbed the tallest redwood, but— " Twas well to set 'em up." Had disc&nced prairie fire, Peeped o'er volcano's rim. And snow avalanche from the mountain No terrors had for him ; He just enjoyed tornadoes. Called calm the wind's wild revels, Didn't mind stampeding horses, but — **Come, flood your lower levels." 155 ■il I f tl ^ Had bucked against the tiger, Knew poker to the life, Always held four — a winning hand — Three aces and a knife ; nU 4- If ttm SI K' '1! f 1^ J;! 156 YE WILD WESTERN MAN, Loved to snap heads off the rattlesnakes, Thought scorpion salad great, And centipede on toast the thing, but — " Won't you lubricate ? " Found whisky mildly pleasant. But was inclined to think Aqua fortis would be better To take for a steady drink ; Never knew much of water, Tnough it might be of use, And loved to fill his gulches With "tarantula juice.*' He hadn't much religion — At least not much to spare — Though it was ''drinking on the level And fighting on the square ; " And when laid low by a bullet He called out to hb mate, " I reckon this is the last round. And I will take mine straight." Attributed to V^YoynnG Kit. THE COWBOY'S TALE. '57 The Cowboy s Tale. *'Arb there no real good Injuns?" The cowboy raised his head, And, glancing at the Tenderfoot, He turned to him and said: ''I rode the prairies, pardner, Ten years in rain or sun, But, as to real good Injuns, I ain't met more'n one. A swig o' that horse liniment, And then I'll try to place This Al virtuous redskin That for goodness trumps the ace. 'Twas at the bar at Mack's Ford, A lot of boys one day Got making things quite lively In a ball and cartridge way. I banged around about me, And didn't count the odds— I'd been soakin' electricity Like fifty lightning rods — When suddenly the Sheriff And his gang came bounding down, And the boys took to their cattle And dusted out o' town. But something was the matter With my headworks, I daresay, ■■^»mamitmmmmmm^ 158 THE COU^ BOY'S TALE. For I stumbled by the roadside. And couldn't find my way. And the next I can remember It was night and pitchy black, And I tried to strike the trail from there, But couldn't hit a track ; And I was mighty dizzy, And I felt I should have died, When standing just before me An Injun's shape I spied. He held his hands out to me, But didn't say a word ! And when I tried to hail him, He neither spoke nor stirred. And then I slipped in somehow Between each sturdy arm, And he let me down so gentle, Without a bit o' harm. And I lay there quite contented. And slept until 'twas day. And woke to find him watching At my side the same old way. So I climbed upon my uprights, And a word I couldn't say, But I looked the red man in the face. And then — I sneaked away. We parted. But as years pass by I wonder more and more If that wood Injun signpost stands At Mack's tobacco store. Attributed to WYOMING KiT. THE AHKOOND OF SWAT. 159 The Ahkoond of Swat What, what, what, What's the news from Swat? Sad news, Bad news, Comes by the cable led Through the Indian Ocean's bed, Through the Persian Gulf, the Red Sea and the Med- iterranean — he's dead ; The Ahkoond is dead ! For the Ahkoond I mourn. Who wouldn't? He strove to disregard the message stern. But he Ahkoodn't. Dead, dead, dead : (Sorrow, Swats 1) Swats wha hae wi' Ahkoond bled. Swats whom he hath often led Onward to a gory bed, , Or to victory, As the case might be. Sorrow, Swats i '■*";■.'-•(*.-" W/*^i*T.* t'r'rm i6o THE AHKOOND OF SWA T. Tears shed, Shed tears like water. Your great Ahkoond is dead ! ; \ That Swats the matter ! Mourn, city of Swat, Your great Ahkoond is not But lain 'mid worms to rot. His mortal part alone, his soul was caught (Because he was a good Ahkoond) Up to the bosom of Mahound. Though earthy walls his frame surround (For ever hallowed be the ground !) And sceptics mock the lowly mound And say ''He's now of no Ahkoond I" His soul is in the skies — The azure skies that bend above his loved Metropolis of Swat. He sees with larger, other eyes, Athwart all earthly mysteries — He knows what's Swat. Let Swat bury the great Ahkoond With a noise of mourning and of lamentation ! Let Swat bury the great Ahkoond With the noise of the mourning of the Swattish nation ! THE MOOLLA OF KOTAL. i6i Fallen is at length Its tower of strength. Its sun is dimmed ere it had nooned ; Dead lies the great Ahkoond, The great Ahkoond of Swat Is not 1 George T. Lanigan. m ■.w yr\ Dirge of the Moolla of Kotal, Rival of the Akhoond of Swat. I. Alas, unhappy land ; ill-fated spot Kotal — though where or what On earth Kotal is, the hard has forgot ; Further than this indeed he knoweth not — It borders upon Swat I II. When sorrows come, they come not single spies, But in battal- ions : the gloom that lay on Swat now lies Upon Kotal, On ;3ad Kotal whose people ululate For their loved Moolla late. 782 I i iiiii>ii»iiliriTil«BjiaMB»i«i I, IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) fe {./ ■6r ^t % 1.0 I.I S IS iio IL25 ■ 1.4 1.6 Photographic Sdences Corporation 23 MESY MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 (716 S72-4503 o iJ^ 1 'I >* ! I, ?.l til '• >.t( mmmimmm 162 TI/E MOOLLA . OF KOTAL. Put away his little turban, And his narghileh embrowned, The lord of Kotal — rural urban — 'S gone unto his last Akhoond, 'S gone to meet his rival Swattan, 'S gone, indeed, but not forgotten. II H I r^ i 1^ III. His rival, but in what ? Wherein did the deceased Akhoond of Swat Kotal's lamented Moolla late, As it were, emulate? Was it in the tented field With crash of sword on shield, While backward meaner champions reeled And loud the tom-tom pealed ? Did they barter gash for scar With the Persian scimetar Or the Afghanistee tulwar, While loud the tom-tom pealed — While loud the tom-tom pealed, And the jim-jam squealed. And champions less well heeled Their war-horses wheeled And fled the presence of these mortal big bugs o* the field? Was Kotal's proud citadel — Bastioned, walled, and demi-luned, rso' THE MOOLLA OF KOTAL. 163 Beaten down with shot and shell By the guns of the Akhoond ? Or were wails despairing caught, as T'ie burghers pale of Swat Cried in panic, ** Moolla ad Portas?" —Or what? Or made each in the cabinet his mark Kotalese Gortschakoff, Swattish Bismarck ? Did they explain and render hazier The policies of Central Asia ? Did they with speeches from the throne, Wars dynastic, Entents cordiales^ Between Swat and Kotal ; Holy alliances, And other appliances Of statesmen with morals and consciences plastic Come by much more than their own ? Made they mots, as ** There to-day are No more Himalayehs," Or, if you prefer it, "There to-day are No more Himalaya? " Or, said the Akhoond, ** Sah, L'Etat de Swat c'est moi?" Khabu, did there come great fear On thy Khabuldozed Ameer AliShere? Cr did the Khan of far Kashgar Tremble at the menace hot % «! 1^ I I I «i.:i f i: T M» ji:^ .. ^ 164 THE AMATEUR ORLANDO, Of the Moolla of Kotal, ** I will extirpate thee, pal Of my foe the Akhoond of Swat ? " Who knows Of Moolla and Akhoond aught more than I did? Namely, in life they rivals were, or foes, And in their deaths not very much divided ? If any one knows it. Let him disclose it I George T. Lanigan. The Amateur Orlando. The Result of The Hunky Kid's playing Charles the Wrestler. It was an Amateur Dram. Ass. (Kind reader, although your Knowledge of French is not first-class, Don't call that Amature.), It was an Amateur Dram. Ass., The which did warfare wage On the dramatic works of this And every other age. THE AMATEUR ORLANDO, It had a walking gentleman, A leading juvenile, Firsi lady in book-muslin dressed With a galvanic smile ; Thereto a singing chambermaid, Benignant heavy pa, And, O heavier still was the heavy vill- Ain, with his fierce ** Ha ! Ha! " i6s There wasn't an author from Shakespeare down — Or up — to Boucicault, These amateurs weren't competent (S. Wagg) to collar and throw. And when the winter time came round — ** Season " * s a stagier phrase — The Am. Dram. Ass. assaulted one Of the Bard of Avon's plays. *Twas "As You Like It" that they chose, For the leading lady's heart Was set on playing Rosalind, Or some other page's part. And the President of the Am. Dram. Ass., A stalwart dry-goods clerk. Was cast for Orlando, in which r6U He felt he'd make his mark. rrTw -v- .r. - .U B ; T ,-..^ iH r \ ■ f; i 1 i / ;ii ! i ^ 1' r 1' t V •: jj :i r i i • i66 THE AMATEUR ORLANDO, '* I mind me," said the President (All thoughtful was his face), *■ ' When Orlafido was taken by Thingummy That Charles was played by Mace. Charles hath not many lines to speak ; Nay, not a single length — O, if we can find a Mussulman, (That is, a man of strength), And bring him on the stage as Charles — But, alas, it can't be did " **It can," replied the Treasurer ; " Let's get The Hunky Kid." This Hunky Kid, of whom they spoke. Belonged to the P.R. ; He always had his hair cut short And always had catarrh. His voice was gruff, his language rough. His forehead villainous low, And 'neath his broken nose a vast Expanse of jaw did show. He was forty-eight about the chest, And his fore-arm at the mid- Die measured twenty-one and a-half • Such was The Hunky Kid ! The Am. Dram. Ass. they have engaged This pet of the P.R. ; i As Charles the Wrestler^ he's to be A bright particular star. THE AMATEUR ORLANDO, 167 And when they put the programme out, Announce him thus they did, — Orlando . . Mr. Romeo Jones ; Charles . . Mr. T. H. Kidd. . •SI ):' \\ . . . The night has come ; the house is packed From pit to gallery ; As those who through the curtain peep Quake inwardly to see. A squeak is in the orchestra, The leader draws across Th' intestines of the agile cat The tail of the noble hoss. All is at sea behind the scenes, Why do they feai and funk ? Alas, alas, The Hunky Kid Is lamentably drunk ! He's in that most unlovely stage Of half intoxication. When men resent the hint they're tight As a personal imputation. f ** Ring up ! Ring up ! " Orlando cried, ** Or we must cut the scene ; For Charles the Wrestler is imbued ._^,.Uli_ ^m j»r n1 . I ' 1 68 TI/JS A MA TE UR OR LA NDO. With poisonous benzinCi And every moment gets more drunk Than he before has been." . . . The wrestling scene has come, and Charlei Is much disguised in drink ; The stage to him's an inclined plane, The footlights make him blink. But he strives to act well his part Where all the honour lies, Though Shakespeare would not in his lines His language recognise. Instead of ** Come, where is this young?" This man of bone and brawn, He squares himself and bellows, " Time ! Fetch your Orlandos on I ' 1 1> ** Now Hercules be thy speed, young man," Fair Rosalind^ said she, As the two wrestlers in the ring They grappled furiously ; But Charles the HVrestler had no sense Of dramatic propriety. im n i m si He seized on Mr. Romeo Jones, In Graeco- Roman style ; He got what they call a grapevine lock On that leading juvenile. THE AMATEUR ORLANDO, He flung him into the orchestra, And the man with the ophicleide, On whom he fell, he just said — well, No matter what, and died ! When once the tiger has tasted blood, And found that it is sweet, He has a habit of killing more Than he can possibly eat. And thus it was that The Hunky Kid In his homicidal blindness, He lifted his hand against Rosalind Not in the way of kindness. He chased poor Celia off at L, At R.U.E., LeBeau, And he put such a head upon Duke Fred^ In fifteen seconds or so, That never one of the courtly train Might his haughty master know. 169 M 1 r t And that's precisely what came to pass Because the luckless carls Belonging to the Am. Dram. Ass. Cast The Hunky Kid for Charles I George T. Lanigan. ? ' . < w 1 i ' 1 i 1 1 1 ■i I. 'i 170 THE LATEST VERSION. The Latest Version. When Washington was young, and not As yet his country's sire and saviour, An Ax for him his father bought, Reward of excellent behaviour. Well loving what he drank and ate, That father, in a corner handy, A row of Cherry Trees had set. Suggesting Jam and Pie and Brandy. ^'^ rmed with his little Tomahawk, George to that orchard forth did sally, Ind root and branch and leaf and stalk He mutilated generally. His father, wild, though not with joy. To see his darling fruit trees wither. Crooked his forefinger at his boy. And said to him, " Sirrah, come hither ! " Straightway to him the urchin hied, And, through the orchard as he ran, "Sir, Axe me no questions," loudly cried, '' And I will make no lying answer.'' i.- THE LATEST VERSION, 171 His father led him by the ear To view his desolation's traces ; *' Now, George," he said, in tones severe, *' Who's chopped that Cherry Tree to blazes? " The boy an instant looks around, And at that very moment hies ac* Ross that meteory -haunted ground The negro gardener, Ike or Isaac. Brief space was his for thought; he saw, Unless he fibbed, he'd surely catch it ; " I cannot tell a lie, papa ! Ike cut it with my little Hatchet ! " " My dear, dear child, come to my knees — For I had infinitely rather You lied like ten Tom Ochiltrees Than spoiled them cherries," cried his father. He placed the boy across his lap. Nor thence did let him rise before he Had an appeal, with leathern strap, Made to his a posteriori* And so when George was President, And first in peace, and first in war, he, Remembering this incident, Lied no more than was necessary. George T. Lanigan. ,i\l n I' jfriiinfajti— , 172 HANS BREITMANN'S BARTY. Hans Breitmanns Barty. I Hans Breitmann gife a barty; Dey had biano-blayin', I felled in lofe mit a Merican frau. Her name vas Madilda Yane. She hat haar as prown ash a pretzel, Her eyes vas hitnmel-plue, Und vhen dey looket indo mine, Dey shplit mine heart in dwo. Hans Breitmann gife a barty, I vent dere you'll pe pound; I valtzet mit Madilda Yane, Und vent shpinnen' round und round. De pootiest Fraulein in de house, She vayed 'pout dwo hoondred pound, Und efery dime she gife a shoomp She make de vindows sound. Hans Breitmann gife a barty, I dells you it cost him dear; Dey rolled in more ash sefen kecks Of foost-rate lager beer. Und vhenefer dey knocks de sh picket in De Deutschers gifes a cheer ; I dinks dat so vine a barty Nefer coom to a he t d is year. HANS BREITM ANN'S BARTY. 173 Hans Breitmann gife a barty; Dere all vas Souse and Brouse, Vhen de soope corned in, de gompany Did make demselfs to house ; Dey ate das Brot and Gensy broost, De Bratwurst and Braten vine, Und vash der Abendessen down Mit four parrels of Neckarwein. ^ 'i ilhl Hans Breitmann gife a barty; Ve all cot troonk ash bigs. I poot mine mout' to a parrel of beer, Und emptied it oop mit a schwigs ; Und den I gissed Madilda Yane, Und she shiog me on de kop, Und the gompany vighted mit daple-Iecks Dill de coonshtable made 00s shtop. Hans Breitmann gife a barty — Vhere ish dot barty now? Vhere ish de lofely golden cloud Dot float on de moundain's prow? Vhere ish de himmelstrahlende stern — De shtar of de shpirit*s light ? All goned afay mit de lager beer — Afay in de Ewigkeit. Charles Godfrey Leland. I* Oi i! S !i I 174 CAREY, OF CARSON. I M j Carey, of Carson. The night-mist dim and darkling, As o'er the roads we pass, Lies in the morning sparkling As dewdrops on the grass. E'en so the deeds of darkness, Which come like midnight dews. Appear as sparkling items Next morning in the news. Away in Carson city, Far in the Silver Land, There lives one Justice Carey, A man of head and hand ; And as upon his table The Judge a-smoking sat There rowdied in a rougher Who wore a gallows hat. He looked upon the Justice, But the Justice did not budge Until the younger warbled, ** Say — don't you know me. Judge? '* t I l^Vi I »,»■ .s I < '.'■'Wl.'twmim CAREY, OF CARSON, " I think," said Carey meekly, " Your face full well I know— I sent you up for stealing A horse a year ago." " Ay, that is just the hair-pin I am, and that's my line ; And here is twenty dollars I've brought to pay the fine." " You owe no fine," said Carey, "Your punishment is o'er." " Not yet," replied the rover, **rve come to have some more. 175 I' I If SI s "Fust-rate assault and batt'ry I'm goin' to commit, And you're the mournful victim That I intend to hit, And give you such a scrampin' As never was, nohow ; And so, to save the lawin', I guess I'll settle now.' »> Up rose the Court in splendour; "Young man, your start is fair. Sail in, my son, sail over. And we will call it square I i'V I- ^ ^ ^ I i ;ii 'ft Iff i' <• 111 f 176 CAREY, OF CARSON. Go in upon your chances, — Perhaps you may not miss ; I like to see young heroes Ambitionin' like this." The young man at the older Went in with all his heft, And, like a flying boulder, At once let out his left ; The Court, in haste, ducked under Its head uncommon spry, Then lifted the intruder With a puncher in the eye, — A regular right-hander; And like a cannon-ball, The young man, when percussioned. Went over to the wall. In just about a second The Court, with all its vim, Like squash vines o'er the meadow, Went climbing over him. Yea, as the pumpkin clambers Above an Indian grave, Or as the Mississippi Inunders with its wave, CAREY, OF CARSON. And merrily slops over A town in happy sport, E'en so that man was clambered All over by the Court. And in about a minute That party was so raw, He would have seemed a stranger Unto his dearest squaw ; Till he was soft and tender. This morsel once so tough, And then, in sad surrender, He moaned aloud, "Enough ! " He rose ; and Justice Carey Said to him ere he went, ** I do not think the fightin' You did was worth a cent. I charge for time two dollars, As lawyers should, 'tis; plain ; The balance of the twenty I give you back again. '* I like to be obligin' To folks with all my powers, So when you next want fij^luin' Don't come in office hours; 177 :u\ ' ■■ I i1i( \.u V 783 I. ("l 178 THE FORTUNE-HUNTER. I only make my charges For what's in legal time,— » Drop in, my son, this evenin*, And I'll not charge a dime." tl i3'l i \ The young man took the guerdon. As he had ta*en the scars; Then took himself awayward To the 'Ginia City cars. 'Tis glorious when heroes Go in to right their wrongs ; But if you're only hair-pins. Oh, then beware of tongs 1 Charles Godfrey Leland. The Coloured Fortune-Hunter. Pete Jonsing went to see the County Clerk About a marriage licence, and the man Said unto him for fun, but seriously: " I hope the bride possesses fifty cents, Because the Legislature's passed a law That any girl with less must not be wed." * I : 179 ''THE INJUNr *'J^s* go ahead wid dat 'ar paper, Boss/* Peter replied ; then whispered, bending down : "Dar'srumers — and dey is reliable — Dat de young woman dat I'm goin* fur Has got two dollars and a quarter — shoa. And dat's de reason wy I marries her," Charles Godfrey Leland. "The Injun/' (An Incident in the Minnesota Massacre of 1862.) Ye say the Injuns all alike, A bad an' sneakin* lot ; An' ain't no use for nuthin', So the cusses should be shot ? .1 , ) s. \k kW .1-1 Well, p'raps they is, an' p'raps they ain't, A lazy, wuthless crowd ; Yet durn my skin ef I kin see Why white men chin so loud, Ef some o' them poor devils kicks 'Cause things ain't run quite squar'. An' jumps an Indian agent's ranch, An' yanks his bloomin' har, \' %■ .in I n > '■; I 1 80 '*r//E INJUNS' Thar' ain't no thought uv causes, An' no one cares a cuss, It's jes' call out the Blue Coats An' give 'em somethin' wuss. ; » ' Thar's good an' bad in Injun, An* thar's good an' bad in White ; But, somehow, they is alius wrong, An' we is alius right. But I'm an old, old timer, I've jes* bin here so long. That I kin mostly alius tell , The ones that's right an' wrong. m% I M k '! An' ye can bet yer sainted life, When things get steamin' hot. That some white fool or knave has lit The fire that biles the pot. Ye thin c the Injun isn*t squar' ? That's jes' whar' ye mistake ; Fer bein' true to them that's true The Injun scoops the cake. Fer I kin tell ye what occurr'd. Way back in 'sixty-two, When things in Minnesota State Wuz lookin' kinder blue. |ii^ 'Ji W |>j i ;ng Mi»»W* f l rtri fi ^'^ ;t »' -- 'jV f ^ )^ ''THE INJUNr i8i The Sioux wuz up an* on the shoot A-slingin' round their lead, An* scalpin' every mother's son That wuzn't bald or dead. Thar* warn't a livin' Yankee — An* lots wuz brave an' bold — That would have crossed them plains alone For a waggon load uv gold. 'Cause why ? We know'd the Guv'ment Wuzn't treatin' Injuns fair; That's why they riz an' painted things, An' raised the settlers' hair. That summer a fur-trader Came up from Montreal, An' on his way to Garry lie landed at Saint Paul. \i \ <■ '\\^. An' all the guides an' hunters said He couldn't cross the plains, Fer them thar' painted devils Wuz layin' low fer trains. V He only laffed, and said, he know'd The Injuns all his life, An' he wuz goin' to mosey through An* take along his wife. ««M«HM ZWj p I f .!!■ . > ^'i . ; .V * .a 4 my. i I.*; i-' I M 1 88 THE PIOUS EDITOR'S CREED. The Pious Editor's Creed. I DU believe in Freedom's cause, £z fur away ez Payris is; I love to see her stick her claws In them infarnal Phayrisees; It's wal enough agin a king To drcr resolves an' triggers, — But libbaty's a kind o' thing Thet don't agree with niggers. I du believe the people want A tax on teas an* coffees, Thet nothin' ain't extravygunt, — Purvidin' I'm in ofilice; Fer I hev loved my country sence My eye-teeth filled their sockets, An' Uncle Sam I reverer.ce, Particularly his pockets. I du believe in any plan O* levyin' the taxes, Ez long ez, like a lumberman, I git jest wut I axes : I go free-trade thru thik an' thin, Because it kind o' rouses The folks to vote, — an' keeps us in Our quiet custom-houses. K >t ^ 'tr THE PIOUS EDITOR'S CREED. 189 I du believe it's wise an* good To sen' out furrin missions, Thet is, on sartin understood An' orthydox conditions ; — I mean nine thousan' dolls, per ann.. Nine thousan' more fer outfit, An' me to recommend a man The place 'ould jest about 6t. I du believe in special ways O* prayin' an' convartin* ; The bread comes back in many days, An' buttered, tu, fer sartin ; I mean in preyin' till one busts On wut the party chooses, An' in convartin' public trusts To very privit uses. Im I. I du believe hard coin the stuff For 'lectioneers to spout on ; The people's oilers soft enough To make hard money out on ; Dear Uncle Sam pervides fer his, An' gives a good-sized junk to all, — I don't care how hard money is, £k long 62 mine's paid punctooal. I iQo THE PIOUS EDITOR'S CREED. I du believe with all my soul In the great Press's freedom, To pint the people to the goal, An' in the traces lead 'em; Palsied the arm thet forges yokes At my fat contracts squintin'. An* withered be the nose thet pokes Inter the gov'ment printin' I . !*■ ^ I du believe thet I should give Wut's his'n unto Csesar, Fer it's by him I move an' live, Frum him my bread an' cheese air ; I du believe thet all o' me Doth bear his superscription, — Will, conscience, honour, honesty, An' things o' thet description. 'k i \ I du believe in prayer an* praise To him thet hez the grantin' O' jobs, — in everythin' thet pays, But most of all in Cantin' ; This doth my cup with marcies fill. This lays all thought o' sin to rest,- I don*t believe in princerple, But O, I du in interest. f ! THE PIOUS EDITOR'S CREED. 191 A I du believe in bein' this Or thet, ez it may happen One way or t* other hendiest is To ketch the people nappin'; It ain't by princerples nor men My preudunt course is steadied, — I scent wich pays the best, an* then Go into it baldheaded. I du believe thet holdin* slaves Comes nat'ral tu a Presidunt, Let Mone the rowdedow it saves To hev a wal-broke precedunt ; Fer any office, small or gret, I couldn't ax with no face. Without I*d ben, thru dry an* wet, Th' unrizzest kind o' doughface. \ \ I' I du believe wutever trash '11 keep the people in blindness — Thet we the Mexicuns can thrash Right inter brotherly kindness, Thet bombshells, grape, an' powder 'n' ball Air good-will's strongest magnets, Thet peace, to make it stick at all, Must be druv in with bagnets. Il'iiii 192 WILLIAM BRO WN OF OREGON, In short, I firmly du believe In Humbug generally, Fer it's a thing thet I perceive To hev a solid vally ; This heth my faithful shepherd ben, In pasturs sweet heth led me, An* this'll keep the people green To feed ez they hev fed me. ■A James Russell Lowbli*. ,'! William Brown of Oregon. * i They called him Bill, the hired man, But she, her name was Mary Jane, The Squire's daughter ; and to reign The belle from Ber-she-be to Dan Her little game. How lovers rash Got mittens at the spelling school ! How many a mute, inglorious fool Wrote rhymes and sighed and died — mustache I WILLIAM BROWN OF OREGON. 193 This hired man had loved her long, Had loved her best and first and last, Her very garments as she passed For him had symphony and song. So when one day with sudden frown She called him ** Bill," he raised his head, He caught her eye and, faltering, said, " I love you ; and my name is Brown." She fairly waltzed with rage ; she wept ; You would have thought the house on fire. She told her sire, the portly squire, Then smelt her smelling-salts, and slept. Poor William did what could be done ; He swung a pistol on each hip, He gathered up a great ox- whip, And drove toward the setting sun. He crossed the great back bone of earth. He saw the snowy mountains rolled Like mighty billows; saw the gold Of awful sunsets ; felt the birth Of sudden dawn that burst the night Like resurrection ; saw the face Of God and named it boundless space Ringed round with room and shoreless light. 784 W ] jl ('» 194 JV/LL/AM BRO WN OF OREGON. Her lovers passed. Wolves hunt in packs, They sought for bigger game ; somehow They seemed to see above her brow The forky sign of turkey tracks. The teter-board of life goes up, The teter-board of life goes down, The sweetest face must learn to frown ; The biggest dog has been a pup. O maidens ! pluck not at the air ; The sweetest flowers I have found Grow rather close unto the ground, And highest places are most bare. Why, you had better win the grace Of our poor cussed Af-ri-can, Than win the eyes of every man In love alone with his own face. At last she nursed her true desire. She sighed, she wept for William Brown, She watched the splendid sun go down Like some great sailing ship on fire, Then rose and checked her trunk right on ; And in the cars she lunched and lunched, And had her ticket punched and punched. Until she came to Oregor. --r^ttt. iiJMiiiW.Wi^ *«a«/jvv^ii if... ^itO- WILLIAM BROWN OF OREGON, 195 She reached the limit of the lines, She wore blue specs upon her nose, Wore rather short and manly clothes, And so set out to reach the mines. Her pocket held a parasol, Her right hand held a Testament, And thus equipped right on she went, Went water-proof and water-fall. 1:^11 I • I INJ She saw a miner gazing down. Slow stirring something with a spoon ; " O, tell me true and tell me soon, What has become of William Brown ? " He looked askance beneath her specs, Then stirred his cocktail round and round, Then raised his head and sighed profound. And said, '* He's handed in his checks." -A Then care fed on her damaged cheek, And she grew faint, did Mary Jane, And smelt her smelling-salts in vain, She wandered, weary, worn, and weak. At last, upon a hill alone, She came, and there she sat her down ; For on that hill there stood a stone, And, lo I that stone read, " William Brown.*' -*» .4»^*.^ I < 't& IW 196 WILLIAM BROWN OF OREGON. *'0 William Brown 1 O William Brown 1 And here you rest at last/' she said, " With this lone stone above your head, And forty miles from any town 1 I will plant cypress trees, I will. And I will build a fence around, And I will fertilise the ground With tears enough to turn a mill," She went and got a hired man, She brought him forty miles from town, And in the tall grass squatted down And bade him build as she should plan. But cruel cow-boys with their bands They saw, and hurriedly they ran And told a bearded cattle man Somebody builded on his lands. He took his rifle from the rack, He girt himself in battle pelt, He stuck two pistols in his belt, And, mounting on his horse's back, He plunged ahead. But when they showed A woman fair, about his eyes He pulled his hat, and he likewise Pulled at his beard, and chewed and chewed. whiii>»«iiW » ilWi « ^ l^ I |H M ' I- ' W ^ "" ' MW-Jfr *>■** THAT GEIS/TLE MAN, At last he gat him down and spake: '* O lady dear, what do you here ? " ** I build a tomb unto my dear, I plant sweet flowers for his sake." The bearded man threw his two hands Above his head, then brought them down And cried, *'0h, I am William Brown, And this the corner-stone of my lands ! " 197 I! IN Joaquin Miller. An Idyl of Oregon. Two webfoot brothers loved a fair Young lady, rich and good to see ; And oh, her black abundant hair ! And oh, her wondrous witchery I Her father kept a cattle farm, These brothers kept her safe from harm : i That Gentle Man from Boston Town ■ ! I 198 THAT GENTLE MAN. % From harm of cattle on the hill ; From thick-necked bulls loud bellowing The livelong morning, loud and shrill, And lashing sides like anything ; From roaring bulls that tossed the sand And pawed the lilies from the land. \\ W till I w \\ There came a third young man. He came From far and famous Boston town. He was not handsome, was not *' game," But he could **cook a goose " as brown As any man that set foot on The sunlit shores of Oregon. This Boston man he taught the school, Taught gentleness and love alway, Said love and kindness, as a rule. Would ultimately ** make it pay." He was so gentle, kind, that he Could make a noun and verb agree. I n. I'l \\ \\ i\ 1 1 So when one day the brothers grew All jealous and did strip to fight, He gentle stood between the two, And meekly told them 'twas not right. " I have a higher, better plan," Outspake this gentle Boston man. THA T GENTLE MAN, 199 '* My plan is this : Forget this fray About that lily hand of hers ; Go take your guns and hunt all day High up yon lofty hill of firs, And while you hunt, my loving doves, Why, I will learn which one she loves." The brothers sat the windy hill, Their hair shone yellow, like spun gold. Their rifles crossed their laps, but still They sat and sighed and shook with cold. Their hearts lay bleeding far below ; Above them gleamed white peaks of snow. I !♦ >"fl Their hounds lay couching, slim and neat ; A spotted circle in the grass. The valley lay beneath their feet ; They heard the wide- winged eagles pass. The eagle cleft the clouds above; Yet what could they but sigh and love ? " If I could die," the elder sighed, ** My dear young brother here might wed." *' Oh, would to heaven I had died ! " The younger sighed with bended head. Then each looked each full in the face. Then each sprang up and stood in place. 200 THAT GENTLE MAN, *' If I could die,"— the elder spake, - *'Die by your hand, the world would say 'Twas accident — ; and for her sake, Dear brother, be it so, I pray." ** Not that I " the younger nobly said ; Then tossed his gun and turned his head. And fifty paces back he paced ! And as he paced he drew the ball ; Then sudden stopped and wheeled and faced His l^rother to the death and fall ! Two shots ran wild upon the air ! But lo I the two stood harmless there ! i JIN l> J r An eagle poised high in the air ; Far, far below the bellowing Of bullocks ceased, and everywhere Vast silence sat all questioning. The spotted hounds ran circling round. Their red, wet noses to the ground. And now each brother came to know That each had 'ilrawn the deadly ball ; And for that fair girl far below Had sought in vain to silent fall. And then the two did gladly ** shake," And thus the elder bravely spake : . . THAT GENTLE MAN, 20 1 " Now let us run right hastily And tell the kind schoolmaster all I Yea I yea t and if she choose not me, But all on you her favours fall, This valiant scene, till all life ends, Dear brother, binds us best of friends." The hounds sped down, a spotted line, The bulls in tall, abundant grass, Shook back their horns from bloom and vine, And trumpeted to see them pass — They loved so good, they loved so true, These brothers scarce knew what to do. (I'll They sought the kind schoolmaster out As swift as sweeps the light of morn ; They could but love, they could not doubt This man so gentle, ** in a horn." They cried : ** Now whose the lily hand — That lady's of this webfoot land? '* : They bowed before the big-nosed man. That long-nosed man from Boston town ; They talked as only lovers can. They talked, but he could only frown ; And still they talked, and still they plead ; It was as pleading with the dead. V I » 202 SARATOGA AND THE PSALMIST, ^ t last this Boston man did speak — *'Her father has a thousand ceows, An hundred bulls, all fat and sleek ; He also has this ample heouse." The brothers* eyes stuck out thereat So far you might have hung your hat. " I liked the looks of this big heouse — My lovely boys, won't you comr in ? Her father has a thousand ceows, He also has a heap of tin. The guirl ? Oh yes, the guirl, you see- The guirl, just neow she married me." f m : Joaquin Miller. Saratora and the Psalmist. These famous waters smell like— well, Those Saratoga waters may Taste just a little of the day Of judgment ; and the sulphur smell Suggests, along with other things, A climate rather warm for springs. SARATOGA AND THE PSALMIST. 203 But restful as a twilight song, The land where every lover hath A spring, and every spring a path To lead love pleasantly along. Oh, there be waters, not of springs — The waters wise King David sings. Sweet is the bread that lovers eat In secret, sang on harp of gold, Jerusalem's high king of old. " The stolen waters they are sweet ! " Oh, dear, delicious piracies Of kisses upon love's high seas ! The old traditions of our race Repeat for aye and still repeat ; The stolen waters still are sweet As when King David sat in place, All purple-robed and crowned in gold, And sang his holy psalms of old. Oh, to escape the scorching sun ; To seek these waters ever sweet ; To see her dip her dimjjled feet Where these delicious waters run — To dip her feet, nor slip nor fall, • Nor stain her garment's hem at all ; rA \\ i!i If! 'i ^ ?.i. If .ii % f i 204 A CINCINNATI BLUE-STOCKING. Nor soil the whiteness of her feet, Nor stain her whitest garment's hem — Oh, singer of Jerusalem, You sang so sweet, so wisely sweet 1 Shake hands! shake hands! I guess you knew For all your psalms, a thing or two. Joaquin Miller. '*; ;.'; 'ii^i I A Cincinnati Blue-Stocking. How oily she is ! how smiling when She waddles along in her wonderful walk ! You hear her grunt when she turns to talk To one of the wise and the wooing men. Sbe toddles^ she puffs, like an engine shunt, All Cincinnati is in that gruht. Now, I say oil mac . her rich ; but then, She says she made it alone by the pen. 1 V *!' li il ' ' i \ Oh, she is the wealthiest widow alive, She is wooed by a thousand men ; A widow is she of forty and five, And the relict of Septimus Boggs. A widow is she, and she came to thrive By making a corner in hogs— By cornering all the pigs, and then, She made her fortune, you see, by thr pen. JOAQUIM MiLLBR. 'ING. THE NEW DOCTOR. 205 ou knew [ILLER. k! Ik unt, The New Doctor. Through the "I-iiiladelphy" college he went in a week, He had lots of assurance — in other words, cheek. And his manner of study was rather unique. Yet the fact is, After hearing the regular lectures, which stuck To his mind like the rain on the back of a duck, He got a diploma and instantly struck For a practice. A neighbourhood clear in the rear of the age, Where a man was accepted at once as a sage Who could show a diploma, he chose as his stage Of endeavour. And soon an old farmer, with plethoric purse. Who had long been afflicted, but now had grown worse, Was able to take a short ride — in a hearse, Cured forever. *'■ i -' iir ill \t But he didn't go there, as he moodily said, To cure hopeless cases and raise up the dead. And he left for the side of an invalid's bed WTio was ailing 2o6 ACCEPTED AND WILL APPEAR, With pains in the back, and he gave him six pills Intended for patients with ague or chills, And the folks who resided just over the hills Heard him wailing ! But, as fully two-thirds of the patients who call On the doctor would mend with no doctor at all. Our hero made friends 'mong the great and the small And the wealthy. And, learning the whims of the class who suppose That thei '•• Zenith in the touch of a doctor's old clothes, And who sw w some drags if they bleed at the nose, Kept them healthy. Parmenas Mix. Accepted and Will Appear. One evening while reclining In my easy-chair, repining O'er the lack of true religion, and the dearth of common sense, A solemn visaged lady, Who was surely on the shady Side of thirty, entered proudly, and to crush me did commence : ACCEPTED AND WILL APPEAR, 207 ** I sent a poem here, sir," Said the lady, growing fierce, '* And the subject which I'd chosen, you remember, sir, was * Spring * ; But, although I've scanned your paper, Sir, by sunlight, gas, and taper, IVe discovered of that poem not a solitary thing.** I :%. She was muscular and wiry. And her temper sure was fiery. And I knew to pacify her I would have to — fib like fun. So I told her ere her verses, Which were great, had come to — bless us, We'd received just sixty -one on ** Spring,'* of which we'd printed one. common And 1 added, "We've decided That they'd better be divided Among the years that follow— one to each succeeding Spring. So your work, I'm pleased to mention, Will receive our best attention In the y^ar of nineteen- forty, when the birds begin to sing. Parmenas Mix. ;. ¥ I- 1: f! 2o8 HE CAME TO PA V. ^ly'': He Came to Pay. (After " The Aged Stranger," by Bret Harte.) ' :' The editor sat with his head in his hands And his elbows at rest on his knees ; He was tired of the ever-increasing demands On his time, and he panted for ease. The clamour for copy was scorned with a sneer, And he sighed in the lowest of tones : "Won't somebody come with a dollar to cheer The heart of Emanuel Jones?' i» ^ ni'i Just then on the stair-way a footstep was heard And a rapa-tap loud at the door, And the flickering hope that had long been deferred Blazed up like a beacon once more ; And there entered a man with a cynical smile That was fringed with a stubble of red, Who remarked, as he tilted a sorry old tile To the back of an average head : HE CAME TO PA K 209 r *' I have come here to pay" — Here the editor cried: "You're as welcome as flowers in spring! Sit down in this easy arm-chair by my side, And excuse me awhile till I bring A lemonade dashed with a little old wine And a dozen cigars of the best. * * * Ah ! Here we are ! This, I assure you, is fine ; Help yourself, most desirable guest." ■ \l ♦1 The visitor drank with a relish, and smoked Till his face wore a satisfied glow, And the editor, beaming with merriment, joked In a joyous, spontaneous flow; And then, when the stock of refreshments was gone. His guest took occasion to say, In accents distorted somewhat by a yawn, **My errand up here is to pay " But the generous scribe, with a wave of the hand, Put a stop to the speech of his guest, And brought in a melon, the finest the land Ever bore on its generous breast; And the visitor, wearing a singular grin, Seized the heaviest half of the fruit, And the juice, as it ran in a stream from his chin, Washed the mud of the pike from his boot. 785 i ' \P It t 2IO OCTOBER, Then, mopping his face on a favourite sheet Which the scribe had laid carefully by, The visitor lazily rose to his feet With the dreariest kind of a sigh, And he said, as the editor sought his address In his books to discover his due: * * I came here to pay — my respects to the press, And to borrow a dollar of you ! " Parmenas Mix. ■ ! M .M: October. This is old gold-stoled October, In its glowing flowing gown ; And its spirit, blithe and sober, All the woodland's gay disrober, Turns the p^rasses gray and brown. Not a vestige Of the prestige Now remains of Summer's crown. ff* I Through the wood the brooklet babbles In melodious unrest, While the small boy coyly dabbles In his neighbour's fruit, or scrabbles OCTOBER, Barefoot, free of hat and vest, Like Terpsichore, Up the hickory For the ashen hornet's nest. Through the valley, gloom -invaded, Plaintively the redferns sigh, While the shaded, jaded, faded Ribbon grasses, zephyr- braided, Are paraded far and nigh. And the vesper Hour sees Hesper Like a scarf-pin deck the sky. On the branch the leaf is curling Like the caudal of a pug, And a lilac mist's unfurling, All the touch ful scene impearling, While the humble tumble-bug Gaily tumbles. Bumps and stumbles Round his glossy, mossy rug. As the days are waxing duller, Ceres wanders by the weir, Ruddy as a homespun cruller — In the drifting, shifting colour 211 I Ml 212 WHA rS IN A NAME ? Sail her ringlets, gold and sere, While beguiling She is smiling — On the corn — from ear to ear. Richard Kendall Munkittrick. What's in a Name ? In letters large upon the frame, That visitors might see, The painter placed his humble name : O Callaghmt McGee, '■U \ Ty'l t '. And from Beersheba unto Dan, The critics with a nod Exclaimed: **This painting Irishman Adores his native sod. **His stout heart's patriotic flame There's naught on earth can quell ; He takes no wild romantic name To make his pictures sell ! " WHATKS IN A NAME? Then poets praise in sonnets neat His stroke so bold and free; No parlour wall was thought complete That hadn't a McGee. All patriots before McGee Threw lavishly their gold ; His works in the Academy Were very quickly sold. His "Digging Clams at Barnegat," His *'When the Morning smiled,' His ** Seven Miles from Ararat/ His " Portrait of a Child," 13 M Were purchased in a single day And lauded as divine. — * That night as in his aialier The artist sipped his wine, And looked upon his gilded frames, He grinned from ear to ear : — "They little think my real name's V, Stuyvesant De Vere ! " Richard Kendall Munkittrick. i I V •A 'S iii nRSMiianMMi 214 AT DEWY MORN. At Dewy Morn. The East is blushing, The landscape flushing, The water's glowing A silver dream, A faint light -biliow Illumes my pillow ; The rooster's crowing With joy supreme. The morning in shimmering gold is moulded, The robin chants in the tree -top tall ; And at last the mosquito's softly folded His murmurous wing on the cottage wall. Where shadows darkle, J he dewdrops sparkle On lilies, roses, And other things. And for the lakelet, Ducklet, and drakelet, Now point their noses And spread their wings. The flower that seems of the softest silk made Cradles the bee on the mountain brow ; And out in the sunshine the rosy milkmaid Adioifciy manipulates the cow. m PUT TO SLEEP, 215 The frisky heifer Inhales the zephyr, Scented with clover Snowy and deep. Though bent on rising With ease surprising 1 turn me over And fall asleep. Oh, I drop in a cat nap, sweet and soothing, And wander through meadows, green and bright, And forget that the blooming infant, toothing, Has kept me prancing the floor all night. Richard Kendall Munkittrick. Put to Sleep. Back and forth in the rocker, Lost in a reverie deep, The mother rocked while trying To sing the baby to sleep. The baby began a-crowing, For silent he couldn't keep, And after awhile the baby Had crowed his mother to sleep. RicHAftD Kendall Munkittrick. Ki .^ tli ! 2i6 TO DE CERVANTES-SAAVEDRA, To Miguel De Cervantcs-Saavedra. A. BLUE bird lives in yonder tree, Likewise a merry chickadee, In two woodpecker nes*s — rent free 1 There, where the weeping willow weeps, A dainty b juse-wren sweetly cheeps — From an old oriole's ::?est it peeps. I see the English sparrow tilt Upon the limb with sun begilt — Its nest an ancient swallow built. So it was one of your old jests. Eh, Mig. Cervantes, that attests, '' There are no birds in last year's nests ! " RicJiARD Kendall Munkittrick. THE PATRIOTIC TOURIST. 217 The Patriotic Tourist. Some folks the Old World find so fair, And fancy it so grand, They see its marvels everywhere About their native land. When they the Hudson sail by day, While all its beauties shine, They most enthusiastic say ; •* Behold the Yankee Rhine 1 " As on Lake George they dream and drift, Enrapt at every turn, 'Tis thus their voices up they lift : " America's Lake Lucerne ! " V \ At Saranac sublimely frown The Alps their travels know, And then they breathe in Morristown The air of Monaco. Forsooth it's not the same with me. For, from an Alpine gorge, I view Lucerne, and sing in glee : "'Tis Switzerland's Lake George ! " .• M . I 1-^ 2i8 THE PATRIOTIC TOURIST When off Sorrento, in a boat I drift, serene and gay, I fancy, in a dream, I float On great Peconic Bay. When in the Scottish Highlands, I Upon the heather bunk, I look about and fondly sigh O'er Caledon's Maunch Chunk. In London town, all smoke and fog, I wander happy, when I fancy that I gaily jog Around in Pittsburgh, Penn. / The Rhine is Europe's Hudson long, The Alps the Swiss Catskills ; Lake Como is the Ho-pat-coug Of the Italian hills. I see, from Dan to Jericho, From Berne to Ispahan, Wonders that imitate, I know, Our own as best they can. A GJ^EAT FIGHT. 219 And I shall cheer, until I cease To tread thif* earthly way, Sky high in classic Athens, Greece, Manunka Chunk, N. J. Richard Kendall Munkittrick. A Great Fight. "There was a man in Arkansaw As let his passions rise, And not unfrequently picked out Some other varmint's eyes. f M C( His name was Tus loosa Sam, And often he would say, 'There's not a cuss in Arkanoaw I can't whip any day.' "One morn, a stranger passin* by, Heard Sammy talkin' so. And down he scrambled from his hoss. And off his coat did go. i M 220 A GREAT FIGHT. "He sorter kinder shut one eye, And spit into his hand, And put his ugly head one side, And twitched his trowsers* band. *** My boy,' says he *it's my belief, Whomever you may be, That I kin make you screech, and smell Perliklor agony.* "* I'm thar,* said Tusca!3osa Sam, And chucked his hat away ; * I'm thar,' says he, and buttoned up As far as buttons may. '*He thundered on the stranger's mug. The stranger pounded he ; And oh ! the way them critters fit Was beautiful to see. I ' I *'They clinched like two rampageous bears., And then went down a bit ; They swore a stream of six-inch oaths And fit, and fit, and fit. **When Sam would try to work away, And on his pegs to git, The stranger 'd pull him back ; and so, They fit, and fit, and fit ! li A GREAT FIGHT. **Then like a pair of lobsters, both Upon the ground were knit, And yet the varmints used their terth, And fit, and fit, and fit ! ! . "The sun of noo\i was high above, And hot enough to split, But only riled the Tellers more, That fit, and fit, and fit 1 ! ! "The stranger snapped at Samy*s nose, And shortened it a bit ; And then they both swore awful hard, And fit, and fit, and fit ! ! ! ! "The mud it flew, the sky grew dark. And all the litenins lit ; But still them critters rolled about. And fit, and fit, and fit ! ! ! ! ! 221 i "First Sam on top, then t'other chap ; When one would make a hit. The other 'd smell the grass ; and so They fit, and fit, and fit 1 !!! 1 1 "The night came on, the stars shone out As bright as wimmen's wit ; And still them fellers swore and gouged. And fit, and fit, and fit!! ! Ill I \ II ii 222 A GREAT FIGHT. "The neighbours heard the noise they made, And thought an earthquake lit ; Yet all the while 'twas him and Sam As fit, and fit, and fit !!!!!!! ! "For miles around the noise was heard; Folks couldn't sleep a bit, Because them two rantankerous chaps Still fit, and fit, and fit !!!!!!!! ! V'. X ]t **But jist at cock-crow, suddenly, There came an awful pause. And I and my old man run out To ascertain the cause. "The sun was rising in the yeast, And lit the hull concern; But not a sign of either chap Was found at any turn. I. "Yet, in the region where they fit, We found, to our surprise, One pint of buttons, two big knives, Some whiskers, and four eyes 1 " Robert Henry Newall. vU THE OLD MAN AND JTM. 223 The Old Man and Jim. A Old man never had much to say — 'Ceptin' to Jim, — And Jim was the wildest boy he had — And the Old man jes* wrapped up in him ! Never heerd him speak but once Er twice in my life, — and first time was When the army broke out, and Jim he went. The Old man backin' him, fer three months. — And all 'at I heeii the Old man say Was, jes* as we turned to star-; awav, — "Well; good-bye, Jim: Take keer of yourse'f ! '* 'Feared -like, he was more satisfied Jes' lookirC at Jim, And likin' him all to hisse'f-like, see? — 'Cause he was jes wrapped up in him ! And over and over I mind the day The Old man come and stood round in the way While we was drillin', a-watchin' Jim — And down at the deepot a-heerin* him say, — ** Well ; good-bye, Jim: Take keer of yourse'f 1 " 224 THE OLD MAN AND JIM. ( V Never was nothin* about the farm Distinguished Jim ; — Neighbours all ust to wonder why The Old man 'peared wrapped up in him : But when Cap. Biggler, he writ back, *At Jim was the bravest boy we had In the whole dem rigiment, white er black, And his fightin* good as his farmin* bad — *At he had led, with a bullet clean Bored through his thigh, and carried the flag Through the bloodiest battle you ever seen, — The Old man wound up a letter to him 'At Cap. read to us, 'at said, — " Tell Jim Good-bye ; And take keer of hisse'f." Jim come back jes' long enough To take the whim *At he'd like to go back in the cavelry — And the Old man jes* wra^ ied up in him ! Jim 'lowed 'at he'd had sich luck afore. Guessed he'd tackle her three years more. And the Old man give him a colt he*d raised And follered him over to Camp Ben Wade, And laid around fer a week er so, Watchin' Jim on dress-parade — Tel finally he rid away, And last he heerd was the Old man say, — ** Well; good-bye, Jim : Take keer of yourse'f ! " THE OLD MAN AND JIM, 225 Tuk the papers, the Old man did, A-watchin' fer Jim — Fully believin' he'd make his mark Some way — ^jes' wrapped up in hin: ! — And many a time the word 'u'd come 'At stirred him up like the tap of a drum — At Petersburg, fer instance, where Jim rid right into their cannons there, And tuk 'em, and p'inted 'em t'other way, And socked it home to the boys in grey. As they skooted fer timber, and on and on — Jim a lieutenant and one arm gone. And the Old man's words in his mind all day,-- ** Well ; good-bye, Jim : Take keer of yourse'f ! " Think of a private, now, perhaps. We'll say like Jim, 'At*s dumb clean up to the shoulder-straps — And the Old man jes' wrapped up in him! Think of him — with the war plum' through. And the glorious old Red- White-and- Blue A-laughin' the news down over Jim, And the Old man, bendin' over him — The surgeon turnin' away with tears 'At had n't leaked fer years and years - As the hand of the dyin' boy clung to His father's, the old voice in his ears, — "Well; good-bye, Jim : Take keer of yourse'f : " James Whitcomb Riley. 786 ! ;. Vl ' il -f h f i ! I } & ( Bi* -I M i- « 226 LITTLE ORPHANT ANNIE. Little Orphant Annie. Little Orphant Annie's come to our house to stay An' wash the cups and saucers up, and brush the crumbs aw.^y, An* shoo the chickens off the porch, an* dust the hearth an* sweep, An' make the fire, an* bake the bread, an' earn her board-an'-keep ; An' all us other children, when the supper things is done. We set around the kitchen fire an* has the mostest fun A-list*nin' to the witch tales *at Annie tells about, An* the gobble-uns *at gits you Ef you Don't Watch Out! Onc't they was a little boy wouldn't say his pray'rs — An' when he went to bed 'at night, away up stairs. His mamma heerd him holler, an' his daddy heerd him bawl, An' when they turn'd the kivvers down, he wasn't there at all ! An* they seeked him in the rafter-room, an* cubby-hole, an' press. An' seeked him up the chimbly-flue, an* ever'wheres, I guess, ■s % LITTLE ORPHANT ANNIE. 227 tay e crumbs le hearth earn her s is done, jst fun It, kh Out! 'rs— irs, eerd him sn't there bby-hole, wheres, I But all they ever found was thist his pants an' round- about I — An' the gobble-uns Ml git you Efyou Don't Watch Out! An' one time a little girl 'ud alius laugh an' grin, An' make fun of ever* one an* all her blood -an'-kin, An' onc't when they was *' company," an' ole folks was there. She mocked *em an* shocked 'em, an* said she didn't care I An' thist as she kicked her heels, an* turn't to run an' hide. They was two great big Black Things a-standin* by her side, An* they snatched her through the ceilin' 'fore she know'd what she's about I An' the gobble-uns '11 git you Efyou Don*t Watch Out ! An' Little Orphant Annie says, when the blaze is blue. An' the lampwick splutters, an' the wind goes woo-00 ! An' you hear the crickets quiet, an' the moon is gray. An' the lightnin'-bugs in dew is all squenched away, — \ I < 1 r''' t 1 1 m 228 THE FROST ON THE PUN KIN. You better mind yer parents, and yer teachers fond and dear, An* churish them 'at loves you, an' dry the orphant's tear, An' he'p the pore an' needy ones 'at clusters all about, Er the gobble-uns '11 git you Efyou Don't Watch Out I James Whitcomb Riley. . :*•;: P ^ When the Frost is on the Punkin. When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock, And you hear the kyouck and gobble of the struttin' turkey-cock. And the clackin' of the guineys, and the cluckin' of the hens, And the rooster's hallylooyer as he tiptoes on the fence ; O it's then's the times a feller is a-feelin' at his best, With the risin' sun to greet him from a night of peaceful rest, As he leaves the house, bare-headed, and goes out to feed the stock. When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock. .» < THE FROST ON THE PUNKIN, 229 They's something kindo* hearty -like about the atmo- sphere, When the heat of summer's over and the coolin* fall is here — Of course we miss the flowers, and the blossoms on the trees, And the mumble of the hummin*-birds and buzzin' of the bees; But the air's so appetisin' ; and the landscape through the haze Ot a crisp and sunny morning of the airly autumn days Is a pictur that no painter has the colorin' to mock — When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock. cin* of the The husky, rusty rustle of the tossels of the corn, And the raspin' of the tangled leaves, as golden as the morn; The stubble in the furries — kindo' lonesome-like, but still A-preachin' sermons to us of the barns they growed to fill; The strawstack in the medder, and the reaper in the shed ; The bosses in theyr stalls below — the clover overhead ! — O, it sets my heart a-clickin' like the tickin' of a clock. When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock ! James Whitcomb Riley. A H .-1^ 230 JIM, Jim. n- ; He was jes' a plain, ever'-day, all-around kind of a jour. , Consumpted lookin' — but la ! The jokeyest, wittyest, story-tdlin*, song-singin*, laughin'est, joUiest Feller you ever saw ! Worked at jes' coar&e work, but you can bet he was fine enough in his talk And his feelin's too t JiOrdy! £f he was on'y bad: on his bench agin to-day, a-carryin* on Like he ust to do ! ^ i. Any s>hop-mate *11 tell you they never was Cl top o* dirt A better feller 'n Jim ! -" You want a favour, and couldn't git it anywheres else — You could git it o' him ! Most free-heartedest man that away in the world, I guess t Gi»e ever* nickel he's worth, — ' : And, ef you'd a-wanted it, aud uamed it to him, and it was his. He'd a-give you the earth. 'I Alius a-reachin' out, Jim was, and a-helpin' some Poor feller onto his feet, — He'd a-never a-keered how hungry he was hisse'f, So's the feller got somepin to eat 1 JIM. 231 Didn't make no difference at all to him how he was dressed. He ust to say to me : '* You tog out a tramp purty comfortable in winter-time, And he'll git along ! " says he. le was fine Jim didn't have, nor never could git ahead, so overly much O* this world's goods at a cime, — 'Fore now I've saw him, more'n orj't lend a dollar and ha'fto Turn 'round and borry a dime ! Mebby laugh and joke about hisse'f fer awhile — then jerk his coat. And kindo' square his chin. Tie his apern, and squat hisse'f on his old shoe bench And go peggin' agin. Patientest feller, too, I reckon, 'at ever jes naturally Coughed hisse'f to death ! Long enough after his voice was lost he'd laugh and say. He could git ever'thing but breath. — " You fellers," he'd sorto' twinkle his eyes and say, ** Is a-pilin' onto me A mighty big debt for that air little weak -chested ghost o' mine to pack Through all eternity 1 " ^^. ^32 A SAILOR'S YARN. Now there was a man *at jes' 'peared like to me 'At ortn't a-never died ! "But death hain't a-showin' no favours," the old hoss said, * * On'y to Jim," and cried ; And Wigger, 'at put up the best sewed work in the shop, O' the whole blamed neighbourhood, He says: ** When God made Jim, I bet you. He didn't do anything else that day, But jes* set around and feel good." James Whitcomb Riley. .r ■■• I I' i / r M I A Sailor s Yarn. 7/its is the tale that was told to me^ By a battered and shattered son of the sea — To me and my tnessmate^ Silas Green^ When I was a guileless young marine. ** 'T was the good ship (Tyflw^^/wj, All in the China seas, With the wind a-lee and the capstan free To catch the summer breeze. *"Twas Captain Porgie on the deck, To his mate in the mizzen hatch, While the boatswain bold, in the forward hold. Was winding the larboard watch. A SAILOR\S YARN. 233 *' * Oh, how does our good ship head to-night ? How heads our gallant craft ? ' * Oh, she heads to the E. S. W. by N., And the binnacle lies abaft ! ' " 'Oh, what does the quadrant indicate. And how does the sextant stand ? * * Oh, the sextant's down to the freezing-point, And the quadrant's lost a hand ! ' '^ * Oh, and if the quadrant has lost a hand. And the sextant falls :>o low. It's our bodies and bones to Davy Jones This night are bound to go ! ** * Oh, fly aloft to the garboard strake ! And reef the spanker boom ; Bend a studding sail on the martingale, To give her weather room. *"Oh, boatswain, down in the for'ard hold What water do you find ? * ' Four foot and a half by the royal gaff And rather more behind 1 ' ** 'Oh, sailors, collar your marline spikes And each belaying pin ; Come stir your stumps, and spike the pumps, Or more will be coming in ! * i I,} i I' i 234 A SAILOR'S YARN, "They stirred their stumps, they spiked the pumps, They spliced the mizzen brace ; Aloft and alow they worked, but oh i The water gained apace. 1 J ■ ** They bored a hole above the keel To let the water out ; But, strange to say, to their dismay, The water in did spout. ' ' Then up spoke the Cook of our gallant ship, And he was a lubber brave : ' I have several wives in various ports, And my life I'd orter save.' \tM ■ / ■«^i.. ■ *' Then up spoke the Captain of Marines, Who dearly loved his prog : * It*s awful to die, and it's worse to be dry. And I move we pipe to grog.' * ' Oh, then 'twas the noble second mate What filled them all with awe ; The second mate, as bad men hate, And cruel skipper's jaw. '* He took the anchor on his back. And leaped into the main ; Through foam and spray he clove his way, And sunk and rose again ! U r A BOSTON LULLABY, '* Through foam and spray, a league away The anchor stout he bore ; Till, safe at last, he made it fast And warped the ship ashore ! 235 . n "'Taint much of a job to talk about, But a ticklish thing to see, And suth^n to do, if I say it, too, For that second mate was me 1 " Such was the tale that was told to me By that modest and truthful son of the sea, Aftd I envy the life of a second mate^ Though captains curse him and sailors hate^ For Ju ain^t like some of the swahs Tve seen, As would go and lie to a poor marine. James Jeffrey Roche. A Boston Lullaby. Baby's brain is tired of thinking On the Wherefore and the Whence ; Baby's precious eyes are blinking With incipient somnolence. 236 \i s ''DON'T.'' Little hands are weary turning Heavy leaves of lexicon ; Little nose is fretted learning How to keep its glasses on. Baby knows the laws of nature Are beneficent and wise; His medulla oblongata Bids my darling close his eyes, And his pneumogastrics tell him Quietude is always best When his little cerebellum Needs recuperative rest. Baby must have relaxation, Let the world go wrong or right — • Sleep, my darling, leave Creation To its chances for the night. James Jeffrey Roche. ini ',^:i' >^ »» " Don't. Your eyes were made for laughter. Sorrow befits them not ; Would you be blithe hereafter, Avoid the lover's lot. IV '■ IF. The rose and lily blended Possess your cheeks so fair ; Care never was intended To leave his furrows there. Your heart was not created To fret itself away, Being unduly mated To common human clay. But hearts were made for loving, — Confound philosophy ! Forget what I've been proving. Sweet Phyllis, and love me. James Jeffrey Roche. 237 If. Oh, if the world were mine, Love, I'd give the world for thee ! Alas ! there is no sign, Love, Of that contingency Were I a king—which isn't To be considered now, — A diadem had glistened Upon thy lovely brow. 238 THE V'A'S-E. Had Fame with laurels crowned me, — She hasn't up to date, — * Nor time nor change had found me To love and thee ingrate. J If Death threw down his gage, Love, Though Life is dear to me, I'd die, e*en of old age, Love, To win a smile from thee. But being poor we part, Dear, And love, sweet love, must die, — Thou wilt not break thy heart. Dear ; No more, I think, shall L James Jeffrey Roche. The V-a-s-e. From the madding crowd they stand apart, The maidens four and the Work of Art ; And none might tell from sight alone In which had Culture ripest grown,— The Gotha;n Million fair to see. The Philadelphia Pedigree, U '.■''^U THE V-A'S'E. The Boston Mind of azure hue. Or the soulful Soul from Kalamazoo,- For all loved Art in a seemly way, With an earnest soul and a capital A. 239 Long they worshipped ; but no one broke The sacred stillness, until up spoke The Western one from the nameless place, Who blushing said: " What a lovely vace! Over three faces a sad smile flew, And they edged away from Kalamazoo. But Gotham*s haughty soul was stirred To crush the stranger with one small word. Deftly hiding reproof in praise She cries: ** 'Tis indeed a lovely vaze !" But brief her unworthy triumph when The lofty one from the home of Penn, With the consciousness of two grandpapas, Exclaims: " It is quite a lovely vahsl" ■ • i h. A 240 THE FIRST BANJO. And glances round with an anxious thrill, Awaiting the word of Beacon Hill. But the Boston maid smiles courteouslee And gently murmurs: **Oh, pardon me! ** I did not catch your remark, because I was so entranced with that charming vaws!" Dies erit prcsqelida Sinistra quuvi Bostonia. jAMiLo Jeffrey Roche. It l/i ■>• The First Banjo. :u Go *way, fiddle I folks is tired o* hearin* you a-squawkin* — Keep silence fur yo* betters ! — don't you heah de banjo talkin'? About de 'possum's tail she's gwine to lecter — ladies, listen! — About de ha'r whut isn't dar, an' why de ha'r is missin': » MW wi UB Wr ■ -.ytipiMi wmmmmammr^ j-.ilt^'^*'^^'"^- \ iM THE FIRST BANJO, 241 ** Dar's gwine to be a* oberflow," said Noah, lookin* solemn — Fur Noah tiik the ''Herald;' an' he read de ribber column — An' so he sot his hands to wuk a-cl'arin' timber-patches, An* 'lowed he's gwine to build a boat to beat de steamah Natchez, 01' Noah kep* a-nailin* an* a-chippin' an* a-sawin'; An' all de wicked neighbours kep'a-laughin'an'a-pshawin*; But Noah didn't min* 'em, knowin* whut wuz gwine to happen : An' forty days an' forty nights de rain it kep' a-drappin'. Now, Noah had done cotchcd a lot ob ebry sort o' beas'es — Ob all de shows a-trabbelin', it beat *em all to pieces I He had a Morgan colt an' sebral head o' Jarsey cattle — An' druv 'em 'board de Ark as soon 's he heered de thunder rattle. V' ■ ^1 'h 1 1; ' 1 I- ^kin'— banjo ladies, issin' : Den sech anoder fall ob rain!— it come so awful hebby, De ribber riz immejitly, an' busted troo de lebbee; De people all wuz drownded out — *cep' Noah an' de critters. An' men he'd hired to work de boat — an' one to mix de bitters. 1^1 Im 242 THE FIRST BANJO, De Ark she kep' a-sailin* an* a-sailin', an* a-sailin'j De )ion got his dander up, an' like to bruk de palin'; De sarpints hissed ; de painters yelled ; tell, whut wid all de fussin', You c'u'dn't hardly heah de mate a-bossin* roun* an' cussin'. Now, Ham, he only nigger whut wuz runnin' on de packet. Got lonesome in de barber-shop, and c'u'dn't stan* de racket ; An' so, fur to amuse he-se'f, he steamed some wood an' bent it, An' soon he had a banjo made — de fust dat wuz invented. * I He wet de ledder, stretched it on; made bridge an' screws an' aprin ; An' fitted in a proper neck — 'twas berry long and tap'rin'; He tuk some tin, an' twisted him a thinble fur to ring it; An' den de mighty question riz : how wuz he gwine to string it? liM De 'possum had as fine a tail as dis dat I's a-singin'; De ha'r's so long an' thick an* strong, — des fit fur banjo- stringin* ; Dat nigger shaved 'em off as short as wash-day-dinner graces ; An' sorted ob 'em by de size, f 'om little E's to basses. NEB UCHADNEZZA R, 243 He strung her, tuned her, struck a jig, — 'twus "Nebber min* de wedder," — She soun* like forty-lebben bands a-playin' all togedder; Some went to pattin'; some to dancin': Noah called de figgers; An* Ham he sot an* knocked de tune, de happiest ob niggers 1 Now, sence dat time — it's mighty strange — dere's not de slightes* showin' Ob any ha*r at all upon de *possum*s tail a-growin*; An* curl's, too, dat nigger's ways : his people nebber los* 'em — Fur whar you finds de nigger — dar's de banjo an' de 'possum ! Irwin Russell. •J ■ . ' \ '\ 1 I Nebuchadnezzar. You, Nebuchadnezzah, whoa, sah! Whar is you tryin* to go, sah? I'll hab you fur to know, sah, rs a-holdin* ob de lines. You better stop dat prancin'; You's pow'ful fond ob dancin*; But I'll bet my yeah's advancin' Dat I'll cure you ob yo' shines. f*l w^ 244 NEBUCHADNEZZAR. Look heah, mule ! Better min' out ; Fus' t'ing you know you'll fin* out How quick IMl wear dis line out On your ugly, stubbo*n back. You needn't try to steal up An' lif dat precious beel up, You's got to plow dis fiel' up, You has, sah, fur a fac'. Dar, dot's de way to do it t He*s comin' right down to it; jes* watch him plow in' troo it ! Dis nigger ain*t no fool. Some folks dey would *a' beat him ; Now, dat would only heat him — I know jes* how to treat lira : You mus' reason wid a mule. He minds me like a nigger. If he wus only bigger He'd fotch a mighty figger, He would, I tell you ! Yes, sah I See how he keeps a-clickin' ! He's as gfntle as a chickin, An' nebber thinks o' kickin* — Whoa^ darl Nebuckadneazah ! A PRACTICAL YOUNG WOMAN, 245 Is dis heah me, or not me ? Or is de debbil got me? Wus dat a cannon shot me? Hab I lain heah more'n a week? Dat mule do kick amazin'! De beast wus sp'iled in raisin' — By now I 'spect he's grazin' On de oder side ue creek. Irwin Russell. I s / llVii A Practical Young Woman. Young Julius Jones loved Susan Slade; And oft, in dulcet tones, He vainly had besought the maid To take the name of Jones. "Wert thou but solid, then, be sure, 'Twould be all right," said she ; **But Mr. J., whilst thou art poor Pray think no more of me." Poor Jones was sad; his coat was bad ; His salary was worse; But hope suggested: "Jones, my iad. Just try ihe power of verse." .' ( .. 246 THE GHOST-PLAYER, He sat him down and wrote in rhyme How she was in her spring, And he in summer's golden prime — And all that sort of thing. The poem praised her hair and eyes, Her lips, with honey laden. He wound it up— up to the skies — And mailed it to the maiden. She read it over, kept it clean. Put on her finest raiment, And took it to a magazine And got ten dollars payment, Irwin Russell. The Ghost-Player. A Ballad. Tom Goodwin was an actor-man, Old Drury's pride and boast In all the light and sprite-ly parts, Especially the Ghost. Now, Tom was very fond of drink, Of almost every sort, Comparative and positive, From porter up to port. i ♦ THE GHOST-PLA YER. But grog, like grief, is fatal stuff For any man to sup ; For when it fails to pull him down, It's sure to blow him up. And so it fared with ghostly Tom, Who day by day was seen A-swelling, till (as lawyers say) He fairly lost his lean. At length the manager observed He'd better leave his post, And said he played the very deuce Whene'er he played the Ghost. 247 1 ,' ] 1 \ 1* ■) ) '■ 1 'Twas only t'other night he saw A fellow swing his hat, And heard him cry, ** By all the gods ! The Ghost is getting fat ! " 'Twould never do, the case was plain ; His eyes he couldn't shut ; Ghosts shouldn't make the people laugh, And Tom was quite a butt. Tom's actor friends said ne'er a word To cheer his droopmg heart ; Though more than one was burning up With zeal to *• take his part." I' »» M«^.^ > I * 248 U i} \\ 1 ,*►; * THE GHOST-PLA YER, Tom argued very plausibly ; He said he didn't doubt That Hamlet's father drank, and grew, In years, a little stout. As so 'twas natural, he said, And quite a proper plan, To have his spirit represent A portly sort of man. 'Twas all in vain ; the manager Said he was not in sport, And, like a general, bade poor Tom Surrender up his forte. He'd do, perhaps, in heavy parts. Might answer for a monk. Or porter to the elephant. To carry round his trunk ; But in the Ghost his day was past, — He'd never do for that ; A Ghost might just as well be dead As plethoric and lat ! Alas ! next day poor Tom was found As stiff as any post. For he had lost his character. And given up the Ghost. John Godfrey Saxe. HO-HO OF THE GOLDEN BELT, 249 Ho-ho of the Golden Belt. One of the "Nine Stories of China. ' A BEAUTIFUL maiden vas little Min-Ne, Eldest daughter of wise Wang-Ke ; Her skin had the a)lour of saffron-tea, And her nose was flat as flat could he ; And never was s^en such heautiful eyes, Two almond-kernels in shape and size^ Set in a couple of slanting gashes, And not in the 16ast disfigured by lashes; And then such feet I You'd scarcely meet In the longest walk through the grandest street ( And you might go seeking From Nanking to Peking) A pair so remarkably small and neat. jll ■ 1 ■ ' !i '1 '1' I) !.- 1 \i \ m w 1 # i f Two little stumps, Mere pedal lumps, That toddle along with the funniest thumps, In China, you know, are reckon'd trumps. It seems a trifle, to make such a boast of it ; But how they wi// dress it. And bandage and press it, By tnaking the least, to make the most of it ! As you may suppose, She hud plenty of beaux i 250 HO' HO OF THE GOLDEN BELT. Bowing around her beautiful toes, Praising her feet, and eyes, and nose In rapturous verse and elegant prose ! She had lots of lovers, old and young; There was lofty Long, and babbling Lung, Opulent Tin, and eloquent Tung, Musical Sing and, the rest among. Great Hang-Yu and Yu-be-Hung. But though they smiled, and smirk'd, and bow'd, None could please her of all the crowd ; Lung and Tung she thought too loud ; Opulent Tin was much too proud; Lofty Long was quite too tall; Musical Sing sung very small; And, most remarkable freak of all. Of great Hang-Yu the lady made game. And Yu-be-Hung she mocked the same, By echoing back his ugly name ! But the hardest heart is doom*d to melt ; Love is a passion that wiil be felt ; And just when scandal was making free To hint **what x prelty old maid she'd be," — Little Mil. Ne, Who but she? Married Ho- Ho of the Golden Belt 1 T. HO'HO OF THE GOLDEN BELT, 251 A man, I must own, of bad reputation, And low in purse, though high in station, — A sort of Imperial poor relation. Who rankM as the Emperor's second cousin Multiplied by a hundred dozen; And, to mark the love the Emperor felt, Had a pension clear Of three pounds a year. And the honour of wearing a Golden Belt! A % if j w \ u bow'd. And gallant Ho- Ho Could really show A handsome face, as faces go In this Flowery Land, where, you must know, The finest flowers of beauty grow. He'd the very widest kind of jaws, And his nails were like an eagle's claws, And — though it may seem a wondrous tale — (Truth is mighty and will prevaill) He'd a queue as long as the deepest cause Under the Emperor's chancery laws I I Yet how he managed to win Min-Ne The men declared they couldn't see ; But all the ladies, over their tea, In this one point were known to agree ! Four gifts were sent to aid his plea ; \ 252 HO-HO OF THE GOLDEN BELT. 1 A smoking-pipe with a golden clog, A box of tea and a poodle dog, And a painted heart that was all aflame, And bore, in blood, the lover's name. Ah t how could presents pretty as these A delicate lady fail to please ? She smoked the pipe with the golden clog, And drank the tea, and ate the dog, And kept the heart, — and that's the way The match was made, the gossips say. I can't describe the wedding-day. Which fell in the lovely month of May, Nor stop to tell of the Honey- moon, And how it vanish'd all too soon ; Alas I that I the truth must speak, And say that in the fourteenth week, Soon as the wedding guests were gone. And their wedding suits began to doff, Min-Ne was weeping and " taking-on,'* For he had been trying to " take her off.'* Six wives before he had sent to heaven, And being partial to number "seven," He wished to add his latest pet. Just, perhaps, to make up the set ! HO' HO OF THE GOLDEN BELT, 2 S3 Mayhap the rascal found a cause Of discontent in a certain clause In the Emperor's very liberal laws, Which gives, when a Golden Belt is wed, Six hundred pounds to furnish the bed ; And if in turn he marry a score, With every wife six hundred more. First, he tried to murder Min-Ne With a special cup cf poison'd tea ; But the lady smelling a mortal foe, Cried, "Ho-Ho! I'm very fond of mild Souchong, But you, my love, you make it too strong. " At last Ho- Ho, the treacherous man, G>ntrived the most infernal plan Invented since the world began ; He went and got him a savage dog. Who'd eat a woman as soon as a frog ; Kept him a day without any prog. Then shut him up in an iron bin, Slipp'd the bolt and lock'd him in ; Then giving the key To poor Min-Ne, Said, **Love, there's something you mustnU see In the chest beneath the orange tree." i. It, f'» 'W* ^. «" ' w 7i > i, 254 WOULDN'T YOU LIKE TO KNOWf Poor mangled Min-Ne ! with her latest breath She told her father the cause of her death ; And so it reach'd the Emperor's ear, And his Highness said, '* It is very clear Ho-ho has committed a murder here ! " And he doomed Ho- Ho to end his life By the terrible dog that kill'd his wife ; But in mercy (let his praise be sung 1) His thirteen brothers were merely hung, And his slaves bamboo'd in the mildest way. For a calendar month, three times a day. And that's the way that Justice dealt With wicked Ho-Ho of the Golden Belt I John G. Saxe. Wouldn't you Like to Know ? A Madrigal. I KNOW a girl with teeth of pearl, And shoulders white as snow ; She lives,— ah ! well, I must not tell, — Wouldn't you like to know ? WOULDN'T YOU LIKE TO KNOWf 255 Her sunny hair is wondrous fair, And wavy in its flow ; Who made it less One little tress, — Wouldn't you like to know? Her eyes are blue (celestial hue !) And dazzling in their glow ; On whom they beam With melting gleam, — Wouldn't you like to know ? Her lips are red and finely wed, Like roses ere they blow ; What lover sips Those dewy lips, — Wouldn't you like to know ? iM Her fingers are like lilies fair When lilies fairest grow; Whose hand they press With fond caress, — Wouldn't you like to know ? ii Her foot is small, and has a fall Like snowflakes on the snow ; And where it goes Beneath the rose, — Wouldn't you like to know ? •iu ^. aa^ . 4^ ^ %^ t ^ 0^ "^ 256 A COLONIAL VALENTINE. She has a name, the sweetest name That language can bestow. 'Twould break the spell If I should tell,— Wouldn't you like to know ? John Godfrey Saxe. u I II A Colonial Valentine. In the days of patch and powder, — Dreamful days of long ago, — If the damosels were prouder Than to-day we may not know; But it is no elf of fancy That low whispers to us how Love's persuasive necromancy Then was much the same as now. On the island of Manhattan Dwelt there one of beauty rare, Where sleek beeves were left to fatten In the pastures broad and fair. V\ A COLONIAL VALENTINE, 257 There, in his provincial glory, Ruled her sire, — so stories run,— In the times of merry Tory, And of Colonel Washington. This sweet maiden had a lover, Though her father kept her hid (Trust a youth's eyes to discover Beauty *neath the closest lid !), And at every tender meeting Would he urge her, "Love, be mine!" And he pondered such a greeting For an ardent valentine. How he marred the virgin paper Ere he saw a perfect page, Burning many a midnight taper In his " fine poetic rage ! " But at last, when he had penned it Neatly o'er, and made no blur. By a servant did he send it, Waxed and perfumed, unto her. Came the servant dashing faster, Faster still the highway down. Cried, " Your lady says, my master. That her sire has gone to town,** ** Not in vain did I implore her," Thought he, as he cleared the stile. Surely happier adorer Never rode a madder mile. 788 : I ''\ ' #. MM 258 MISS ANONYMOUS, Little at the door he tarried ; Sought he out the fair one's shrine : '* Let us fly, love, and be married; Be this day my valentine ! " We will draw the modest curtain, For she answered with a kiss : If she had not, I am certain / should not be writing this ! Clinton Scollard. J TOilh Miss Anonymous. "Some muslin-clad Mabel or May." — Austin Dobson. 'TwAS long ago in hammock days, — How very long it seems! — That down the winding country ways, Beside the singing streams, I went in search of — dreams 1 One dream I found as there I strayed, A perfect vision, too ; A merry, muslin-kirtled maid. Whose eyes were harebell-blue, A most enthralling hue. NOUREDDIN, SON OF THE SHAH. 259 She smiled. I smiled. Ah ! who can tell What volumes there were said, Although we spoke no syllable ? The clover-blooms were red ; There was no cloud o'erhead. I sighed. She lifted up her face, — What ruby lips she had ! Bliss for one little moment's space, — And then she cried: " There* s dad!'' Oh, wasn't it too bad ! Clinton Scollard. 1 '■ m iil uH Noureddin, the Son of the Shah. There once was a Shah had a second son Who was very unlike his elder one, For he went about on his own affairs, And scorned the mosque and the daily prayers ; When his sire frowned fierce, then he cried, " Ha, ha!" Noureddin, the son of the Shah. But worst of all of the pranks he played Was to fall in love with a Christian maid, — An Armenian maid who wore no veil, Nor behind a lattice grew thin and pale; At his sire's dark threats iaughed the youth, ** Ha, ha!" Noureddin, the son of the Shah. i.f il gitf3:l«ptS5£SS^Pg5J5rii: : »;i: 260 CLARINDA TAKES THE AIR, " I will shut him close in an iron cage," The monarch said, in a fuming rage ; But the prince slipped out by a postern door, And away to the mountains his loved one bore ; Loud his glee rang back on the winds, ** Ha, ha! " Noureddin, the son of the Shah. And still in the town of Teheran, When a youth and a maid adopt this plan, — All frowns and threats with a laugh defy, And away from the mosques to the mountains fly, — Folk meet and greet with a gay ** I/a, har* Noureddin, the son of the Shah. Clinton Scollard. 'M''^ Clarinda Takes the Air. \* I W' > ii\ O WOT ye how fair Mistress Prue Doth purse her lips and frown, To see one fleet along the street All in a trim new gown ! Sing louder, robin! Pipe, O wren! And, thrush, your quavers dare! Let every throat be vocal when Clarinda "takes the air I" " •. f A LOVE LESSON. 261 She hath a smile that would beguile A monk in robe and cowl ; And yet her eyes can look as wise As grave Minerva's owl. Lo ! when she speaks, across her cheeks The chasing dimples fare ; O young again I would be when Clarinda " takes the air I " Nor left nor right her glances light ; Demurely on she goes ; In all the wide, wide countryside There's not so sweet a rose. And ye, my gallant gentlemen, — Tut ! tut ! — ye should not stare I And yet how may ye help it when Clarinda " takes the air ! " Clinton Scollard. , ( ft : . sf^ \ ' A Love Lesson. One night I said to Dora, " How, Since bashfulness seems my undoing, Do modern suitors breathe a vow "Whene'er they chance to come a -wooing? E' >i Ifl K ■' > 262 A LOVE LESSON, I have a fair one in my mind ; You know love's arts, sans imperfections, You've lovers many; pray be kind And give me just a few directions." Round Dora's dimpled mouth the smiles Played merrily, as when, at noonday, The sunlight gleams o'er grassy aisles Upon some calm and cloudless June day. We were old friends, and so she cried, ** Well, then, attend, you foolish fellow! " And looking at me roguish eyed, She shook her wayward curls of yellow. ** I would not,*' she at length began, ^ Advise you woo with loving candour ; Now maids, I fancy, like a man Who bears no semblance to Leander. Whatever your woes, be true to prose, And do not go to * penning sonnets,* Talking about * fair cheeks of rose ; ' The female mind prefers new bonnets. ** Adjure all mention of romance, And when you early importune. Hint slyly, with a meaning glance, That you are sure to have a fortune. " -l.,J » » l 'UHB mW AT EASTERTIDE. ** Ungracious girl," said I, "you know Your creed is not the one you're preaching. My lady-love would bid me go If I should follow out such teaching." 263 i '* You asked what modern suitors say," She coyly laughed. ** I've told you truly. ' "Suppose I try the older way," I cry, ** relate my story newly ; You were the * fair ' I had in mind, Pray, will you guide my fresh endeavour ? " She answered softly, ** I'm inclined To be — to be your guide forever." Clinton Scollard. .;i '{■4 At Eastertide. At Eastertide in gown of blue And dainty bonnet neat and new, With downcast eye whose fringed lid A sunny sky of azure hid, Across the aisle sat merry Prue. ? I vM "- **■" ''■^^^^■■* '■* ""'*^*f*^w^^^ ■'> ' i ii m f> I i \\ ''' i-« 'i: I P; II r iJ I' '!j f l\^ f !^''' ll ' 264 TW:^' BOOK-HUNTER, Above the crimson-cushioned pew I watched her as the moments flew, And wondered if she knew I did At Eastertide. The sunlight poured the oriel through ; I envied what it dared to do, To clasp her fingers clad in kid, And hold and kiss them unforbid ! I take the hint — pray wouldn't you, At Eastertide. Clinton Scollard. The Book- Hunter. A CUP of coffee, eggs, and rolls Sustain him on his morning strolls : Unconscious of the passers-by, He trudges on with downcast eye ; He wears a queer old hat and coat, Suggestive of a style remote; iillBt ■tMMew- THE BOOK-HUNTER, His manner is preoccupied, — A shambling gait, from side to side. For him the sleek, bright- windowed shop Is all in vain, — he does not stop. His thoughts are fixed on dusty shelves Where musty volumes hide themselves, — Rare prints of poetry and prose, And quaintly lettered folios, — Perchance a parchment manuscript, In some forgotten corner slipped. Or monk -illumined missal bound In vellum with brass clasps around ; These are the pictured things that throng His mind the while he walks along. 265 ! A dingy street, a cellar dim, With book-lined walls, suffices him. The dust is white upon his sleeves; He turns the yellow, dog-eared leaves With just the same religious look That priests give to the Holy Book. He does not heed the stifling air If so he find a treasure there. He knows rare books, like precious wines, Are hidden where the sun ne'er shines; For him delicious flavours dwell In books as in old Muscatel ; He finds in features of the type A clew to prove the grape was ripe. 266 A DUZZEN UV WIZE SA WZ, And when he leaves this dismal place, Behold, a smile lights up his face 1 Upon his cheeks a genial glow, — Within his hand Boccaccio, A first edition worn with age, *'Firenze" on the title-page. Frank Dempster Sherman. it u A Baker'z Duzzen uv Wize Sawz, ' )i Them ez wants, must choose. Them ez hez, must lose. Them ez knows, won't blab. Them ez guesses, will gab. Them ez borrows, sorrows. Them ez lends, spends. Them ez gives, lives. Them ez keeps dark, is deep. Them ez kin earn, kin keep. Them ez aims, hits. Them ez hez, gits. Them ez waits, win. Them ez will^ kin. E. R. Sill. \\ SECOND CONCESSION OF DEER. 267 The Second Concession of Deer. John Tompkins lived in a house of logs, On the second concession of Deer ; The front was logs, all straight and sound — The gable was logs, all tight and round— The roof was logs, so firmly bound — And the floor was logs, all down to the ground- The warmest house ia Deer. And John, to my mind, was a log himself. On the second concession of Deer ; — None of your birch, with bark of buflF-- Nor basswood, weak and watery stuff — But he was hickory, true and tough, And only his outside bark was rough ; — The grandest old man in Deer ! But John had lived too long, it seemed, On the second concession of Deer 1 For his daughters took up the governing rein. With a fine brick house on the old domain. All papered, and painted with satinwood stain, Carpeted stairs, and best ingrain — The finest house in Deer ! ' ii '"' 268 SECOND CONCESSION OF DEER, Poor John, it was sad to see him now, On the second concession of Deer 1 When he came in from his weary work, To strip off his shoes like a heathen Turk, — Or out of the company* s way to lurk, And ply in the shanty his knife and fork — The times were turned in Deer ! :l;; But John was hickory to the last, On the second concession of Deer ! And out on the river-end of his lot, He laid up the logs in a cosy spot, And self and wife took up with a cot, And the great brick house might swim or not- He was done with the pride of Deer ! \A »^-ii But the great house could not go at all. On the second concession of Deer ; 'Twas mother no more, to wash or bake, '^ox father the gallants' steeds to take — From the kitchen no more came pie nor cake — And even their butter they'd first to make ! — There were lessons to learn in Deer 1 And the lesson they learned a year or more, On the second concession of Deer ! PAN IN WALL STREET, 269 Then the girls got back the brave old pair— And gave the mother her easy chair- She told them how, and they did their share— And John the honours once more did wear Of his own domain in Deer. William Wye Smith. Pan in Wall Street. A.D. 1867. Just where the Treasury's marble front Looks over Wall Street's mingled nations; Where Jews and Gentiles most are wont To throng for trade and last quotations ; Where, hour by hour, the rates of gold Outrival, in the ears of people, The quarter-chimes, serenely tolled From Trinity's undaunted steeple,— Even there I heard a strange, wild strain Sound high above the modern clamour, Above the cries of greed and gain, The curbstone war, and auction's hammer; ^ u^Ok^i'^i^ . iiiiin.miw V^. 273 '} I % il I Dropping Corn, Pretty Phoebe Lane and I In the soft May weather, Barefoot down the furrows went Dropping corn together. 1^ Side by side across the field Back and forth we hurried ; All the golden grains we dropped Soon the ploughshare buried. Ill Bluebirds on the hedges sat, Chirping low and billing ; **Why," thought I, "not follow suit, If the maid is willing 1 " 789 4 H ■JC;. 274 DROPPING CORN, So I whispered, *' Phoebe, dear, Kiss me " ** Keep on dropping ! " Called her father from the plough ; ** There's no time for stopping ! *' * >] B't The cord was loosed, — a moment sped ; The golden charm was broken ! Never more between us two Word of love was spoken. What a little slip sometimes All our hope releases ! How the merest breath of chance Breaks our joy in pieces ! Sorrow's cup, though often drained, Never lacks for filling ; And we can't get Fortune's kiss When the maid is willing. i-^) ■■ V t « Maurice Thompson. "^^^^^"""■■■Hii TO BETSEY PRIG, To Betsey Prig. Dear Betsey, who with courage stout, And attitude of firm resistance. Expressed, erewhile, that famous doubt Of " Mrs. Harris's " existence,— 275 I ^! ^ 'li:i We have our ** Mrs. Harris " too. We court her, shun her, praise her, flout her, But oh ! we are not brave like you, We will not, cannot, dare not doubt her ! She's had a score of names almost. In ** teacup times " of cards and tattle She was ''the Mode " to Belle and Toast, •* The Ton'' to Messrs, Froth and Rattle. She's ** Fashion " now to Beauty's eyes, " The World " to some, to some ** Propriety"; And in her most appalling guise She boasts that awful name, " Society." II It. Time was, her elder lieges say, She dwelt (or seemed to dwell) in Paris ; She " hails " from Albion's shores to-day. Our tutelary "Mrs. Harris." \\. a ^b: ,f' 276 TO BE TSE Y PRIG. What mortal can escape her thrall ? Nurse Sairey o'er our cradle dozing Mumbles her hated name, on all Our helpless necks her yoke imposing. \'k For her we toil and plot and spend ; For her we barter health and treasure : What does she give us at the end — What smallest good, what poorest pleasure ? What do we gain for weary bones ? What do we get for all our giving? — Tinsel for solid gold, and stones For bread of wholesome human living ! Join hands, dear Betsey ! Slave too long To other men's beliefs about her, ril pluck up heart of grace, and strong, Like you, I'll nobly dare to doubt her ! * 11 »i 1 1 See ! Here all fears away I fling — I take your name to hang my verse on : I doubt her power, her — everything 1 ** I don't believe there* s no sick peHon!^* Robertson Trowbridge. If LAZY LAND. 277 Lazyland. 4 Three travellers wandered along the strand, Each with a staff in his feeble hand ; And they chanted low, ** We are go-o-o- Ing slow-o-ow- Ly to Lazyland. ** They've left off eating and drinking, there ; They never do any thinking, there ; They never walk, And they never talk, And they fall asleep without winking, there. % I %\ ** Nobody's in a hurry, there ; They are not permitted to worry, there ; *Tis a wide, still place, And not a face Shows any symptom of flurry, there. ** No bells are rung in the morning, there ; They care not at all for adorning, there ; All sounds are hushed, And a man who rushed Would be treated with absolute scorning, there. "■'■'''•'•■'■'■'ympmmmm I9IIMPH 1^ ' 278 LAZYLAND. \* I ** They do not take any papers, there ; No politicians cut capers, there ; They have no * views,' And they tell no news, And they burn no midnight tapers, there. " No lovers are ever permitted, there ; Reformers are not admitted, there ; They argue not In that peaceful spot, And their clothes all come ready fitted, there. ** Electricity has not been heard of, there ; And steam has been spoken no word of, there ; They stay where they are ; And a coach or car They have not so much as a third of, there. '* Oh, this world is a truly crazy land ; A worrying, hurrying, mazy land ; We cannot stay ; We must find the way, — If there is a way, — to Lazyland.' >) Margaret Vandegrift. i- St mmmmmmi A CULPRIT, A Culprit. Thr maiden aunt, in her straight- backed chair, With a flush on her pale and wrinkled cheek, And a horritied, mortified, mystified air, Was just about to speak. And the maiden niece — a nice little maid — Stood meekly twirling her thumbs about, With a half-triumphant, half-afraid. And wholly bewitching pout. 279 ■ Said the maiden aunt : " Will you please explain What your heads were doing so close together ? You could easily, I assure you, Jane, Have knocked me down with a feather ! ** When I think of your bringing- up — my care, My scrupulous care — and it's come to this ! you Appeared to be sitting calmly there, And letting a young man KISS you ! I I) *' Now tell me at once just what he said, And what you replied. This is quite a trial, So do not stand there and hang your head. Or attempt the least denial ! wtSkammmSi^l 28o THE REAL REASON. ** If I cateh you once more in such a — fix, Though you are eighteen, I can tell you, Jane, I shall treat you just as if you were six, And send you to school again I *' Are you going to tell me what he said. And what you said ? I'll not stand this trifling, So look at me, Jane ! Lift up your head ! Don't go as if you were stifling ! " Her voice was shaken — of course, with fear : *• He said — he said, * Will you have me, Jane ? ' And I said I would. But indeed, aunt, dear, We'll never do so again ! " Margaret Vandegrift. The Real Reason. n ** No, we didn't exactly quarrel,'* he said, ** But a man can't stand quite everything. I thought I was in love with her, dead, — But that was away last spring. THE REAL REASON, ** I took her driving — she liked to drive, Or she said she did ; I believed her then, But ni never, as sure as I'm alive, Believe a woman again ! 281 t( I'm not considered a talking man, And I'm willing to own it ; there's no doubt A man can't talk like a woman can, And I was about talked out. ** I hadn't dared yet — for I am not vain — To call her darling, or even dear, So I just remarked, * It's going to rain, I felt a drop on my ear.' ** She looked at the clouds, and at my ear, And this is what she saw fit to say : ' Oh no t that rain is nowhere near ; It is half a mile away 1 ' ** It didn't strike me at first, you know ; But when it did, why, it struck me strong ! She'd called me a donkey — or meant it so — With ears a half-mile long ! *• We both kept still the rest of the way, And you might have thought that I was a prince. She was so polite when I said good -day — But I've never been near her since ! " Margaret Vandegrift. % I* ;i82 BEAUTIFUL SPRING, 0k" Beautiful Spring. ' ' A TENDER veil of green adorns the willows ; The grass is springing up in sunny places ; The ice no longer holds in chains the billows ; The violets soon will show their modest faces. Oh Spring, fair Sprirjg, we hasten forih to greet thee, Our frost-bound hearts throb with fresh joy to meet thee." Thus wrote the Poet, and he read it over — Being quite young — with modest approbation, Gazing across a field of (last year's) clover. And exercising his imagination. And being caught by several April showers, Me only murnuued something of ** May flowers." i^ - 1 I* I u } 1 1 1 .•1 i - i 1 II I^^ But the next morning, with a north wind blowing. And leaden skies above, he changed his ditty. *'No!" growled he, *' I will no^t look how it's snowing ! Pull down the blind, TyouVe a spark of pity. Stir up the fire, and make it kindle faster; And ivi'Il yoM mix me that red-pepper plaster? LITTLE MAMMA, 283 '* If anything could start my circulation, 'T would be that Pilgrim Father's business, surely To think they undertook to found a nation, And counted on its future so securely, After they seen — no, it was not sublime — it Was idiotic, settling in this climate ! " Margaret Vandegrift. Little Mamma. f li Why is it the children don't love me As they do Mamma ? That they put her ever above me — ** Little Mamma"? I'm sure I do all that I can do. What more can a rather big man do. Who can't be Mamma — Little Mamma? Any game that the tyrants suggest, *• Logomachy" — which I detest, — Doll-babies, hop-scotch, or base-ball, Fm always on hand at the call. When Noah and the others embark, I'm the elephant saved in the ark. •J 'I m0i ■minwiniiiiiBiiii t 284 LITTLE MAMMA. I creep, and I climb, and I crawl — By turn am the animals all. For the show on the stair I'm always the bear, The chimpanzee, or the kangaroo. It is never, "Mamma, — Little Mamma, — Won't >^«?" My umbrella's the pony if any — None ride on Mamma's parasol ; I'm supposed to have always the penny For bon-bons, and beggars, and all. My room is the one where they clatter — Am I reading, or writing, what matter ! My knee is the one for a trot, My foot is the stirrup for Dot. If his fractions get into a snarl Who straightens the tangles for Karl ? Who bounds Massachusetts and Maine, And tries to ** bound " flimsy old Spain? Why, It is/. Papa, — Not Little Mamma ! That the youngsters are ingrates don't say. I think they love me — in a way — As one does the old clock on the stair, — Any curious, cumbrous affair LITTLE MAMMA. 285 That one's used to having about, And would feel rather lonesome without. I think that they love me, I say, In a sort of tolerant way ; But it's plain that papa Isn't Little Mamma. Thus when shadows come stealing a-near, When things in the firelight look queer ; And shadows the play-room enwrap, They never climb into my lap And toy with my head, smooth and bare, As they do with Mamma's shining hair ; Nor feel round my throat and my chin For dimples to put fingers in, — Nor lock my neck in a loving vice And say they're " mousies " — that's mice — And will nibble my ears. Will nibble and bite With their little mice-teeth, so sharp and so white. If I do not kiss them this very minute — Don't- wait-a-bit-but-at-once-begin-it. Dear little Papa ! That's what they say and do to Mamma. If, mildly hinting, I quietly say that Kissing's a game that more can play at, They turn up at once those innocent eyes And I suddenly learn to my great surprise I! SUM 286 LITTLE MAMMA, ill !iK 4 ! ' That my face has "prickles " — • My moustache tickles. If storming their camp I seize a pert shaver, And take as a right what was asked as a favour, It is, **0, Papa, How horrid you are — You taste exactly like a cigar ! " But though the rebels protest and pout, ' And make a pretence of driving me out, I hold, after all, the main redoubt, — Not by force of arms nor the force of will, But the power of love, which is mightier still. And very deep in their hearts, I know. Under the saucy and petulant ** Oh," The doubtful " Yes," or the naughty ** No," They love Papa. And down in the heart that no one sees, Where I hold my feasts and my jubilees, I know that I would not abate one jot Of the love that is held by my little Dot Or my great big boy for their little Mamm.i, Though out in the cold is crowded Papa. I would not abate in the tiniest whit. And I am not jealous the least little bit; For I'll tell you a secret : Come, my dears, And I'll whisper it — right-into-your ears — I too love Mamma ! " Little mamma ! " Charles Henry Webr. I > DEACON BROWN, Deacon Brown. 287 A Dialectic Excuse for a Good Man. It's Deacon Brown yer askin' about ? He hain't been round for a year; They planted him last kibbage time, Which is why he isn't here. Fer p'raps ye've obsarved as a gin'ral thing, Thet this livin' under ground Fer a year or two don't make one feel Pretty much like sloshin' round. ^! His kerricter, eh ? What, old Deac. Brown ? Well, I'm ruther 'shamed to say Thet he wa'n't much the sort o' saint Sot up by Harte and Hay. He never cussed in his nat'ral life — I mention this with consarn ; He didn't know how, though he might a know'd Ef he hed a car'd to lam. But it makes it rough for the chap thet gets The writin* of his biog., To hev ter confess he's a slingin' ink Over sich a bump on a log, 'tomtit,. mssstiim w^SM.i wWivimMii— piWiltt me" 288 DEA CON BRO WN, Who didn't amount to shucks in a row, Who never war out on a tear, And fer tacklin' a neat little game of "draw," Couldn't tell a full from a pair. Fer the Deac. jest war a common cuss O' the most ornariest kind, Who never looked out o* the winder o* sin, And dursn't raise a blind. Ye've no idee how parvarse he wus; I've hearn him remark — this limb !— That though he war raised in a Christian land, One wife war enough fer him. ^^.- ■'■f/-. P'raps the Deac. ef he'd hed the rearin' o* some, Would a panned out better in verse ; But when a man comes of stock like hisn. It's hard to be bad an' worse. Onfortunit like fer the Deac. an* me, He'd careful raisin' to hum ; An* yer can't 'spect much of a chap, yer know, On less he sprouts from a slum. I « lM>* Ef he'd been a high-toned gambolier, Or the rough of a minin' camp. With a bushel o' sin in his kerricter — An' a touch o' Sairey Gamp ; ii'»''i'T|| A Pin. Oh, I know a certain woman who is reckoned with the good, But she fills me with more terror than a raging lion would. The little chills run up and down my spine whene'er we meet, Though she seems a gentle creature and she's very trim and neat. And she has a thousand virtues and not one acknow- ledged sin, But she is the sort of person you could liken to a pin, And she pricks you, and she sticks you, in a way that can't be said — When you seek for what has hurt you, why, you cannot find the head. But she fills you with discomfort and exasperating pain — If anybody asks you why, you really can*t explain. A pin is such a tiny thing,— of that there is no doubt, — Yet when it's sticking in your flesh, you're wretched till it's out ! H i . m. . *n fmmm ♦. i 292 A PIN. She is wonderfully observing — when she meets a pretty girl She is always sure to tell her if her ** bang'* is out of curl. And she is so sympathetic : to a friend, who's much admired, She is often heard remarking, "Dear, you look so worn and tired ! " li And she is a careful critic ; for on yesterday she eyed The new dress I was airing with a woman's natural pride, And she said, * * Oh, how becoming 1 " and then softly added, **It Is really a misfortune that the basque is such a fit." .f Then she said, "If you had heard me yestereve, I'm sure, my friend, You would say I am a champion who knows how to defend." And she left me with the feeling — most unpleasant, I aver — That the whole world would despise me if it had not been for her; Whenever I encounter her, in such a nameless way She gives me the impression I am at my worst that day, And the hat that was imported (and that cost me half a sonnet) With just one glance from her round eyes becomes a Bowery bonnet. JVl,4-*'-* ,^-i-JX*-;U-i-l.-^-U-%-;-, BEDLAM TOWN. 293 \ pretty of curl. 5 much )0 worn lyecl 1 pride, n softly ve, Tm how to asant, I iad not at day, 5 half a :omes a She is always bright and smiling, sharp and shining for a thrust — Use does not seem to blunt her point, nor does she gather rust — Oh I I wish some hapless specimen of mankind would begin To tidy up the world for me, by picking up this pin. Ella Wheeler Wilcox. Bedlam Town. Do you want to peep into Bedlam Town? Then come with me as the day swings down. Into his cradle, whose rocker's rim Some people call the horizon dim. All the mischief of all the fates Seems to centre in four little pates. Just an hour before we say ^^ *• It is time for bed now, stop your play.' % i < c^mum ritti M Ij 1 i if 1* til 294 BEDLAM TOWN. Oh the racket, and noise, and roar, As they prance like a caravan over the floor. With never a thought of the head that aches, And never a heed to the " mercy sakes." And **pity save us " and ** oh, dear, dear," That all but the culprits plainly hear. A monkey, a parrot, a guinea-hen, Warriors, elephants, Indian men. A Salvation Army, a grizzly bear. Are all at once in the nursery there. And when the clock in the hall strikes seven, It sounds to us like a voice from Heaven. And each of the elves in a warm night-gown Marches away out of Bedlam Town. Ella Wheeler Wilcox. ^T LOVE IN A COTTAGE. 295 Love in a Cottage. They may talk of love in a cottage, And bowers of trellised vine — Of nature bewitchingly simple, And milk-maids half divine ; They may talk of the pleasure of sleeping In the shade of a spreading tree, And a walk in the fields at morning, By the side of a footstep free 1 But give me a sly flirtation By the light of a chandelier— With music to play in the pauses, And nobody very near : Or a seat on a silken sofa, With a glass of pure old wine, And mamma too blind to discover The small white hand in mine. Your love in a cottage is hungry, Your vine is a nest for flies— Your milk-maid shocks the Graces, And simplicity talks of pies! You lie down to your shady slumber And wake with a fly in your ear, And your damsel that walks in the morning Is shod like a mountaineer. • -j^^ ' ^Ma »BS===; i«.*M|Mh«JOT tl ■■ W mwu» -« M M» H g'W,.-«***\ '\ ' li '{ i li )• 298 RUSSIAN AND TURK. Russian and Turk. There was a Russian came over the sea, Just when the war was growing hot ; And his name it was Tjalikavakaree — Karindobrolikanahudarot — Shibkadirova — Ivaiditztova Sanilik Danerik Varagobhot. A Turk was standing upon the shore — Right where the terrible Russian crossed, And he cried: ** Bismillah! I'm Ab El Kor— BazarouvKilgonautosgobross — Getfinpravadi— Kligekoladji Grivino Blivido — Jenikodosk ! " So they stood like brave men long and well. And they called each other their proper names, Till the lockjaw seized them, and where they fell They buried them both by the Irdesholmmes Kalatalustchuk Mischtaribusiclup — Bulgari — Dulbary — Sagharimsing. Anon. 'SPACIALLY JIM. 299 I 'Spacially Jim. I wus mighty good-look-n' when I wus young— Peeit an black-eyed an' slim, With fellers a-courtin' me Sunday nights, 'Spacially Jim. The likeliest one of 'em all wus he, Chipper an han'som' an' trim; But I toss'd up my head, an' made fun o' the crowd. 'Spacially Jim. I said I hadn't no 'pinion o' men An' I wouldn't take stock in him ! But they kep' up a-comin' in spite o' my talk, 'Spacially Jim. I got so tired o' havin' em roun ('Spacially Jim!), I made up my mind I'd settle down An' take up with him ; So we was married one Sunday in church, •Twas crowded full to the brim, 'Twas the only way to get rid of 'em all, 'Spacially Jim. Harpers Magazine, i ^s mim'mmmmi'm'mHimimmmt'iM rrr" ■'•■.I 300 THE PIAZZA. The Piazza. ^ The beauteous Ethel's father has a Newly painted front piazza — He has a Piazza; When with tobacco juice *twas tainted Tht y had that front piazza painted — it tainted Fx.«zza painted. Algernon called that night, perchance Arrayed in comely sealskin pants — That night perchance In gorgeous pants ; Engaging Ethel in a £hat On that piazza down he sat — In chat They sat. And when an hour or two had pass'd He tried to rise, but oh 1 stuck fast — At last Stuck fasti Fair Ethel shrieked «It is the paint 1 And fainted in a deadly faint — This saint Did faint. %i THE PIAZZA, 301 Algernon sits there till this day- He cannot tear himself away— Away? Nay, nay! His pants are firm, the paint is dry- He's nothing else to do but die- To die ! O my! Anon. I I li I NOTES, ■■ >'i » »Pi 1* ^ > I >mm>m » m» % m * mmm mm I 1 1 i 1, i i if m NOTES. -♦♦- Adams, Charles FoLLtiN, was born in Dorchester, Mass., 21st April 1842. When twenty-two years old he enlisted in the 13th Massachusetts Infantry, took an active part in all the battles in which his regiment participated, was wounded at Gettysburg, and there taken prisoner. In 1872 he com- menced writing German-American dialect poems, and four years later published in the Detroit Free Press his cele- brated " Leedle Yawcob Strauss," which soon became im- mensely popular. He is a frequent contributor to American periodicals, and has published Leedle Yawvob Strauss and other Poems (1877), and Dialect Ballads (1888). Adams, John Quincy, sixth President of the United States, was born in Braintree, Mass., July 11th, 1767, and died in Washington, D.C., February 23rd, 1848. His writings first brought him prominently before the public, and attracted the attention of President George Washington, who appointed him minister to Holland, and afterwards to Por- tugal. He held many positions of trust and honour, besides the greatest his country has to give. He translated Wieland's Oberori into English, and an account of his journey through Silesia was translated into many languages. Anderson, Mrs. Aristine, was bom in Pontiac, Michigan, on June 26th, 1865. She is a well-known writer of humorous sL ort stories and poems, and her work is to be found in most of the humorous periodicals of America. 791 3o6 NOTES, I Barr, Hob! rt, better known in America and the United King, dom as " Luke Sharp," was bom in Glasgow in 1861. When four years of age lie was taken to Canada. In 1876 he joined the staff of the Detroit Free Press, and in 1881 came to England and successfully launched that weekly in London. His short stories and humorous sketches have been very successful, both in the columns of the paper and in book form. Among his published works are Strange Happeningn, Jones and /, From whose Bourne and One Day's Courtship. Beers, Henry Augustin, was bom in Buffalo, N.Y., on July 2nd, 1847. He is Professor of English at Yale College, and has published a mimber of books, including Odds and Ends, a collection of verse, Idfe of N, P. Wills, A Century of American Literature, An Outline Sketch of English Litera- ture, and The Thankless Muse. From the last-named volume the two pieces given in this anthology are taken. Bellaw, Americus W., is a humorist who does his funny writing in a tombstone shop at Sidney, Ohio. He was born in Troy, Ohio, on March 17 th, 1842, and for twenty years was a constant contributor to the New York Saturday Journal, and in the columns of that weekly wrote under the pen- names of " Washington Whitehom " and *' Joe Jot, Junr." Best, Eva, resides at Dayton, Ohio, and contributes many short stories and poems to the American press. She ia also the author of some successful plays, and edits a department on the Detroit Free Press. Brown, John Thomas ("Hal Berte"), was bora at Tendring, Essex, in 1863. He contributed a number of humorous poems to the Arkansaw Traveller, which were widely copied. In 1887 he published a book of verse entitled Lyrical Levities. BUNNER, Henry C, is editor of the humorous weekly. Puck. Mr. Bunner is a writer of graceful and polished verse, and one of the best short-story writers in America. He has NOTES, 307 written at least one noTel, Th4 Wtrnian of Himor; and his Ainfrom Arcadpt a Tolume of short poema, should be read by eyery person interested in humour. A volume of short stories, entitled Short Sixes, has, this year, been published in England. BuRDETTE, Robert Jones, was born in Greensborough, Pa., 80th July 1844. Liko G. F. Adams, he served as a private during the Civil War. In 1869 he became editor of the Peoria Transcript, and later started a new paper in the same town. But it was in the columns of the Burlington Hawkeye that he made his name known wherever American humour is appreciated. His contributions to that weekly were copied far and wide. Among his published works, The Rise and Fall of the Moustache and other Hawkeyetems, Hawkeyes, Life of William Penn, and Innach Garden and other Comic Sketches, are well known. Carleton, Will, was bom at Hudson, Michigan, on October 21st, 1845. His works are, Farm Ballads (1873), Farm Legends (1876), Young Folks' Rhymes (1876), Farm Festivals (1881), City Ballads (1885), City Legends (1889), all published by Harpers. He has taken the simple, everyday features of rural life, and treated them in a humorous way that is entirely his own. His verse is very popular among all classes in America, but particularly so among the class of people he portrays. Cheney, John Vance, was born in 1848. He is public librarian in San Francisco, and has published two volumes of fascinat- ing poems, Thistledrijt and Wood Blooms. Some of his work containing marked individuality may be found in Professor Roberts' volume. Poems of Wild Life, which forms one of the " Canterbury Series." Bodge, H. C. , resides in New York, and contributes verse almost every week to the Detroit Free Press. He is very ingenious in combining rhyme, sense, and shape to his verse, as the " Fisherman " poem in this volume will prove. M :! II 3o8 NOTES. ■■ a DOWR, Mrs. Jennie E. T., was born in Wilbraham, Meuss., and now resides in Worcester, Mass. She has contributed to the principal magazines and weeklies of America, but it is in the Century Magazine that her best work is found. Her "Songs of Ireland," published in that monthly, attracted wide attention. Many of her poems have been set to music. Drumhond, Dr. W. H., was born in Ireland about the year 1858, and is now practisinj? medicine in Montreal, Canada. He has mastered the peculiarities and h^imour of the French- Canadian vernacular, and in verse has a field of his own. He is a member of the Montreal Shakespeare Club. Field, Eugene, was bom in St. Louis, September 2nd, 1860. Entering the profession of journalism, he worked on news- papers in St. Joseph, Kansas City, and Denver, before joining the staff of the Chicago Daily News as a satirical and humorous writer. His verse and prose is the cleverest literary matter Chicago produces. Culture's Garland, a book of satirical sketches and humorous verse, was pub- lished in Boston in 1887, and from it most of the verse of his that appears in this anthology is taken. Fink, W. W., some years ago contributed verse to the Century Magazine. Foss, Sam Walter, was bom in New Hampshire in 1858, where during his youth he worked on a farm. From the farm he went to Brown University, and graduated— cl»ss poet— in 1882. He edited the Lynn Union from 1883 till 1887, when he accepted the editorial chair of the Yankee Blade, published in Boston, which position he still fills His poems are widely quoted, both in America and England. Greene, Albert Gorton, was bom in Providence, R.I., on February 10th, 1802, and died in Cleveland, Ohio, on January 4th, 1868. He was admitted to the bar at the age of twenty-one years, and for twenty-five years held the ofiSce of Clerk of the Municipal Court in Providence. He NOTES. 309 was one of the founders of the Providence Atheneeum, and was President of the Rhode Island Historical Society from 1864 till his death. II ARRIS, Joel Chandler, was born at Eatonton, Qa., ou ]L)ecember 8th, 1848. Like a great many of his literary contemporaries, he first studied and practised law, but gave up the legal profession for literature. He is editor of the Atlanta Constitution. His Uncle Remun plantation stories and poems have had enormous circulation. Harte, Francis Bret, was bom on August 25th, 1839, in Albany, New York State, and now resides in London. He journeyed to California when eighteen years of age, and as gold- digger, express messenger, printer, and editor, had practical experience of the West in its wildest phases. WhUe editor of the Overland Monthly ^ he published his Luck of Roaring Campy and other popular stories, and followed these by the equally successful Plain Languaqe by Truthful James. The reputation these stories and poems established he has fully maintained. Messrs. Chatto & Windus publish his works in England. Hay, Colonel John, was bom at Salem, Indiana, October 8th, 1838. He was one of President Lincoln's private secretaries during the war. His poems first appeared in Harper's Magazine and Harpefs Weekly^ and were after- wards collected and published under the title of Pike Country Ballads. Henderson, William James, was born in Newark, N.J., December 4th, 1856. He is now connected with the editorial department of the New Yks, he id Bird )und in bright , New okf and in seven o5 »ome nes. •e, Wis., ^f Water »(1883), Me., on Hudson, ; college d many Monthly the New literary position »out ten r. Willis I still 9. est part s« Press. time he ho dis- Crown 8w. about 350//. each, Cloth Cover ^ 2s, 6d. per Vo£, Half- Polished Morocc«>, gilt top, 5/-. CouKT Tolstois Works. The following Volumes are already issued— A RUSSIAN PROPRIETOR. THE COSSACKS. IVAN ILYITCH, and other Stories. THE INVADERS, and other Stories. MY RELIGION. LIFE. MY CONFESSION. CHILDHOOD, BOYHOOD, YOUTH. THE PHYSIOLOGY OF WAR. ANNA KARENINA. (2 Vols.) WHAT TO DO? WAR AND PEACE. (4 Vols.) THE LONG EXILE, and other Stories for Children. SEVASTOPOL. KREUTZER SONATA, AND FAMILY HAPPINESS. Uniform tinth the above. IMPRESSIONS OF RUSSIA. By Dr. Georg Brandes. London: Walter Scott, 24 Warwick Lane. <( I fM i * flew Series ot Critical JSio^rapbied. Edited by Professor E. S. Robertson. 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Author of " The RuMian Storm Cloud," " The Russian Peasantry," " Rtusia under the Tzars" etc., ete. . l^ i.» The large section of the English public now reading Russian fiction will be interested in the appearance of this work, the first novel written in English by a Russian. Intimately acquainted with the liie of revolationary '!?assia as the cele- brated author is, he gives in this book a vivid picture of the manners and ways of the men and women engaged in the struggle against the system of despotism under which the subjects of the Tzar live, and lets na into the very heart and secret of Nihilism. M "One expects a Nihilist romance by Stepniak to be full of the actualities of the situation, to display the genuine and intimate sentiments of revolutionary society in Russia, and to correct not a few of the impressions formerly gathered from novelists who only know that society by hearsay and at second-hand. The reader will not be disappointed in this expectation. No one can read this story . . . without deep interest."— -itAenceum. T Tiondon : Walter Scott, 24 Warwick Lane, Paternoster Row. u N H ! Crown 800, Cloth, Prieo Sa. M. per Vol. ; Half Mar. , 6ff. M. THE Contemporary Science Series. Edited uv HAVELOCK ELLIS. Illustrated Volumes containing between 800 and 400 pp. THE CONTEMPORARY SCIENCE SERIES wUl bring within general reach of the Englishspeakin