Chapter 30

“My sister’ll be down in a minute, and says you’re to wait, if you please;And says I might stay till she came, if I’d promise her never to tease,Nor speak till you spoke to me first. But that’s nonsense; for how would you knowWhat she told me to say, if I didn’t? Don’t you really and truly think so?“And then you’d feel strange here alone. And you wouldn’t know just where to sit;For that chair isn’t strong on its legs, and we never use it a bit:We keep it to match with the sofa; but Jack says it would be like youTo flop yourself right down upon it, and knock out the very last screw.“Suppose you try! I won’t tell. You’re afraid to! Oh! you’re afraid they would think it was mean!Well, then, there’s the album: that’s pretty, if you’re sure that your fingers are clean.For sister says sometimes I daub it; but she only says that when she’s cross.There’s her picture. You know it? It’s like her; but she ain’t as good-looking, of course.“This isme. It’s the best of ’em all. Now, tell me, you’d never have thoughtThat once I was little as that? It’s the only one that could be bought;For that was the message to pa from the photograph-man where I sat—That he wouldn’t print off any more till he first got his money for that.“What? Maybe you’re tired of waiting. Why, often she’s longer than this.There’s all her back hair to do up, and all of her front curls to friz.But it’s nice to be sitting here talking like grown people, just you and me!Do you think you’ll be coming here often? Oh, do! But don’t come like Tom Lee—“Tom Lee, her last beau. Why, my goodness! he used to be here day and night,Till the folks thought he’d be her husband; and Jack says that gave him a fright;You won’t run away then, as he did? for you’re not a rich man, they say.Pa says you’re poor as a church-mouse. Now, are you? and how poor are they?“Ain’t you glad that you met me? Well, I am; for I know now your hair isn’t red;But what there is left of it’s mousy, and not what that naughty Jack said.But there! I must go; sister’s coming! But I wish I could wait, just to seeIf she ran up to you, and she kissed you in the way she used to kiss Lee.”Bret Harte.

“My sister’ll be down in a minute, and says you’re to wait, if you please;

And says I might stay till she came, if I’d promise her never to tease,

Nor speak till you spoke to me first. But that’s nonsense; for how would you know

What she told me to say, if I didn’t? Don’t you really and truly think so?

“And then you’d feel strange here alone. And you wouldn’t know just where to sit;For that chair isn’t strong on its legs, and we never use it a bit:We keep it to match with the sofa; but Jack says it would be like youTo flop yourself right down upon it, and knock out the very last screw.

“And then you’d feel strange here alone. And you wouldn’t know just where to sit;

For that chair isn’t strong on its legs, and we never use it a bit:

We keep it to match with the sofa; but Jack says it would be like you

To flop yourself right down upon it, and knock out the very last screw.

“Suppose you try! I won’t tell. You’re afraid to! Oh! you’re afraid they would think it was mean!Well, then, there’s the album: that’s pretty, if you’re sure that your fingers are clean.For sister says sometimes I daub it; but she only says that when she’s cross.There’s her picture. You know it? It’s like her; but she ain’t as good-looking, of course.

“Suppose you try! I won’t tell. You’re afraid to! Oh! you’re afraid they would think it was mean!

Well, then, there’s the album: that’s pretty, if you’re sure that your fingers are clean.

For sister says sometimes I daub it; but she only says that when she’s cross.

There’s her picture. You know it? It’s like her; but she ain’t as good-looking, of course.

“This isme. It’s the best of ’em all. Now, tell me, you’d never have thoughtThat once I was little as that? It’s the only one that could be bought;For that was the message to pa from the photograph-man where I sat—That he wouldn’t print off any more till he first got his money for that.

“This isme. It’s the best of ’em all. Now, tell me, you’d never have thought

That once I was little as that? It’s the only one that could be bought;

For that was the message to pa from the photograph-man where I sat—

That he wouldn’t print off any more till he first got his money for that.

“What? Maybe you’re tired of waiting. Why, often she’s longer than this.There’s all her back hair to do up, and all of her front curls to friz.But it’s nice to be sitting here talking like grown people, just you and me!Do you think you’ll be coming here often? Oh, do! But don’t come like Tom Lee—

“What? Maybe you’re tired of waiting. Why, often she’s longer than this.

There’s all her back hair to do up, and all of her front curls to friz.

But it’s nice to be sitting here talking like grown people, just you and me!

Do you think you’ll be coming here often? Oh, do! But don’t come like Tom Lee—

“Tom Lee, her last beau. Why, my goodness! he used to be here day and night,Till the folks thought he’d be her husband; and Jack says that gave him a fright;You won’t run away then, as he did? for you’re not a rich man, they say.Pa says you’re poor as a church-mouse. Now, are you? and how poor are they?

“Tom Lee, her last beau. Why, my goodness! he used to be here day and night,

Till the folks thought he’d be her husband; and Jack says that gave him a fright;

You won’t run away then, as he did? for you’re not a rich man, they say.

Pa says you’re poor as a church-mouse. Now, are you? and how poor are they?

“Ain’t you glad that you met me? Well, I am; for I know now your hair isn’t red;But what there is left of it’s mousy, and not what that naughty Jack said.But there! I must go; sister’s coming! But I wish I could wait, just to seeIf she ran up to you, and she kissed you in the way she used to kiss Lee.”

“Ain’t you glad that you met me? Well, I am; for I know now your hair isn’t red;

But what there is left of it’s mousy, and not what that naughty Jack said.

But there! I must go; sister’s coming! But I wish I could wait, just to see

If she ran up to you, and she kissed you in the way she used to kiss Lee.”

Bret Harte.

Imitate the cough. Put your hands on different parts of your body in describing your aches and pains. Wear a long dismal face. Bend forward and limp as you change your position.

Good Morning, Doctor; how do you do? I hain’t quite as well as I have been; but I think I’m some better than I was. I don’t think that last medicine that you gin me did me much good. I had a terrible time with the earache last night; my wife got up and drapt a few draps of walnut sap into it, and that relieved it some; but I didn’t get a wink of sleep till nearly daylight. For nearly a week, Doctor, I’ve had the worst kind of a narvous headache; it has been so bad sometimes that I thought my head would bust open. Oh, dear! I sometimes think that I’m the most afflictedest human that ever lived.Since this cold weather sot in, that troublesome cough, that I have had every winter for the last fifteen years, has began to pester me agin. (Coughs.) Doctor, do you think you can give me any thing that will relieve this desprit pain I have in my side?Then I have a crick, at times, in the back of my neck, so that I can’t turn my head without turning the hull of my body. (Coughs.)Oh, dear! What shall I do? I have consulted almost every doctor in the country, but they don’t any of them seem to understand my case. I have tried everything that I could think of; but I can’t find anything that does me the least good. (Coughs.)Oh, this cough—it will be the death of me yet! You know I had my right hip put out last fall at the rising of Deacon Jones’ saw-mill; it’s getting to be very troublesome just before we have a change of weather. Then I’ve got the sciatica in my right knee, and sometimes I’m so crippled up that I can hardly crawl round in any fashion.What do you think that old white mare of ours did while I was out plowing last week? Why, the weaked old critter, she kept a backing and backing, ontil she backed me right up agin the colter, and knock’d a piece of skin off my shin nearly so big. (Coughs.)But I had a worse misfortune than that the other day, Doctor. You see it was washing-day—and my wife wanted me to go out and bring in a little stove-wood—you know we lost our help lately, and my wife has to wash and tend to everything about the house herself.I knew it wouldn’t be safe for me to go out—as it was raining at the time—but I thought I’d risk it anyhow. So I went out, picked up a few chunks of stove-wood, and was a coming up the steps into the house, when my feet slipped from under me, and I fell down as sudden as if I’d been shot. Some of the wood lit upon my face, broke down the bridge of my nose, cut my upper lip, and knocked out three of my front teeth. I suffered dreadfully on account of it, as you may suppose, and my face ain’t well enough yet to make me fit to be seen, ’specially by the women folks. (Coughs.) Oh, dear! but that ain’t all, Doctor; I’ve got fifteen corns on my toes—and I’m afeard I’m going to have the “yaller janders.” (Coughs.)Dr. Valentine.

Since this cold weather sot in, that troublesome cough, that I have had every winter for the last fifteen years, has began to pester me agin. (Coughs.) Doctor, do you think you can give me any thing that will relieve this desprit pain I have in my side?

Then I have a crick, at times, in the back of my neck, so that I can’t turn my head without turning the hull of my body. (Coughs.)

Oh, dear! What shall I do? I have consulted almost every doctor in the country, but they don’t any of them seem to understand my case. I have tried everything that I could think of; but I can’t find anything that does me the least good. (Coughs.)

Oh, this cough—it will be the death of me yet! You know I had my right hip put out last fall at the rising of Deacon Jones’ saw-mill; it’s getting to be very troublesome just before we have a change of weather. Then I’ve got the sciatica in my right knee, and sometimes I’m so crippled up that I can hardly crawl round in any fashion.

What do you think that old white mare of ours did while I was out plowing last week? Why, the weaked old critter, she kept a backing and backing, ontil she backed me right up agin the colter, and knock’d a piece of skin off my shin nearly so big. (Coughs.)

But I had a worse misfortune than that the other day, Doctor. You see it was washing-day—and my wife wanted me to go out and bring in a little stove-wood—you know we lost our help lately, and my wife has to wash and tend to everything about the house herself.

I knew it wouldn’t be safe for me to go out—as it was raining at the time—but I thought I’d risk it anyhow. So I went out, picked up a few chunks of stove-wood, and was a coming up the steps into the house, when my feet slipped from under me, and I fell down as sudden as if I’d been shot. Some of the wood lit upon my face, broke down the bridge of my nose, cut my upper lip, and knocked out three of my front teeth. I suffered dreadfully on account of it, as you may suppose, and my face ain’t well enough yet to make me fit to be seen, ’specially by the women folks. (Coughs.) Oh, dear! but that ain’t all, Doctor; I’ve got fifteen corns on my toes—and I’m afeard I’m going to have the “yaller janders.” (Coughs.)

Dr. Valentine.

When Mary Ann Dollinger got the skule daown thar on Injun BayI was glad, fer I like ter see a gal makin’ her honest way.I heerd some talk in the village abaout her flyin’ high,Tew high fer busy farmer folks with chores ter dew ter fly.But I paid no sorter attention ter all the talk ontelShe come in her reg’lar boardin’ raound ter visit with us a spell.My Jake an’ her had been cronies ever since they could walk,An’ it tuk me aback ter hear her kerrectin’ him in his talk.Jake ain’t no hand at grammar, though he hain’t his beat for work;But I sez ter myself, “Look out, my gal, yer a-foolin’ with a Turk!”Jake bore it wonderful patient, an’ said in a mournful way,He p’sumed he was behindhand with the doin’s at Injun Bay.I remember once he was askin’ for some o’ my Injun buns,An’ she said he should allus say, “them air,” stid o’ “them is” the ones.Wal, Mary Ann kep’ at him stiddy mornin’ an’ evenin’ long,Tell he dassent open his mouth for fear o’ talkin’ wrong.One day I was pickin’ currants daown by the old quince tree,When I heerd Jake’s voice a-sayin’: “Be ye willin’ ter marry me?”An’ Mary Ann kerrectin’, “Air ye willin’, yeou sh’d say.”Our Jake he put his foot daown in a plum, decided way,“No wimmen-folks is a-goin’ ter be re-arrangin’ me.Hereafter I says ‘craps,’ ‘them is,’ ‘I calk’late,’ an’ ‘I be.’Ef folks don’t like my talk they needn’t hark ter what I say;But I ain’t a-goin’ to take no sass from folks from Injun Bay.I ask you free an’ final: Be ye goin’ ter marry me?”An’ Mary Ann sez, tremblin’, yet anxious-like, “I be.”Florence E. Pyatt.

When Mary Ann Dollinger got the skule daown thar on Injun Bay

I was glad, fer I like ter see a gal makin’ her honest way.

I heerd some talk in the village abaout her flyin’ high,

Tew high fer busy farmer folks with chores ter dew ter fly.

But I paid no sorter attention ter all the talk ontel

She come in her reg’lar boardin’ raound ter visit with us a spell.

My Jake an’ her had been cronies ever since they could walk,

An’ it tuk me aback ter hear her kerrectin’ him in his talk.

Jake ain’t no hand at grammar, though he hain’t his beat for work;But I sez ter myself, “Look out, my gal, yer a-foolin’ with a Turk!”Jake bore it wonderful patient, an’ said in a mournful way,He p’sumed he was behindhand with the doin’s at Injun Bay.I remember once he was askin’ for some o’ my Injun buns,An’ she said he should allus say, “them air,” stid o’ “them is” the ones.Wal, Mary Ann kep’ at him stiddy mornin’ an’ evenin’ long,Tell he dassent open his mouth for fear o’ talkin’ wrong.

Jake ain’t no hand at grammar, though he hain’t his beat for work;

But I sez ter myself, “Look out, my gal, yer a-foolin’ with a Turk!”

Jake bore it wonderful patient, an’ said in a mournful way,

He p’sumed he was behindhand with the doin’s at Injun Bay.

I remember once he was askin’ for some o’ my Injun buns,

An’ she said he should allus say, “them air,” stid o’ “them is” the ones.

Wal, Mary Ann kep’ at him stiddy mornin’ an’ evenin’ long,

Tell he dassent open his mouth for fear o’ talkin’ wrong.

One day I was pickin’ currants daown by the old quince tree,When I heerd Jake’s voice a-sayin’: “Be ye willin’ ter marry me?”An’ Mary Ann kerrectin’, “Air ye willin’, yeou sh’d say.”Our Jake he put his foot daown in a plum, decided way,“No wimmen-folks is a-goin’ ter be re-arrangin’ me.Hereafter I says ‘craps,’ ‘them is,’ ‘I calk’late,’ an’ ‘I be.’Ef folks don’t like my talk they needn’t hark ter what I say;But I ain’t a-goin’ to take no sass from folks from Injun Bay.I ask you free an’ final: Be ye goin’ ter marry me?”An’ Mary Ann sez, tremblin’, yet anxious-like, “I be.”

One day I was pickin’ currants daown by the old quince tree,

When I heerd Jake’s voice a-sayin’: “Be ye willin’ ter marry me?”

An’ Mary Ann kerrectin’, “Air ye willin’, yeou sh’d say.”

Our Jake he put his foot daown in a plum, decided way,

“No wimmen-folks is a-goin’ ter be re-arrangin’ me.

Hereafter I says ‘craps,’ ‘them is,’ ‘I calk’late,’ an’ ‘I be.’

Ef folks don’t like my talk they needn’t hark ter what I say;

But I ain’t a-goin’ to take no sass from folks from Injun Bay.

I ask you free an’ final: Be ye goin’ ter marry me?”

An’ Mary Ann sez, tremblin’, yet anxious-like, “I be.”

Florence E. Pyatt.

Near the town of Reading, in Berks County, Pennsylvania, there formerly lived a well-to-do Dutch farmer named Peter Van Riper. His only son was a strapping lad of seventeen, also named Peter, and upon old Peter and young Peter devolved the principal cares of the old man’s farm, now and then assisted by an ancient Dutchman named Jake Sweighoffer, who lived in the neighborhood, and went out to work by the day.One warm day in haying time this trio were hard at work in a meadow near the farm-house, when suddenly Peter the elder dropped his scythe and called out:“Oh! mine gracious, Peter! Peter!”“What’s de matter, fader?” answered the son, straightening up and looking at his sire.“Oh! mine Peter! Peter!” again cried the old man, “do come here, right off! Der schnake pite mine leg!”If anything in particular could disturb the nerves of young Peter, it was snakes; for he had once been chased by a black one and frightened nearly out of his wits. At the word snake, therefore, young Van Riper fell back, nimbly as a wire-drawer, and called out in turn: “Where is der shnake, fader?”“Here, up mine preeches!—Oh! my! my! my!”“Vy don’t you kill him, fader?” exclaimed Peter, junior, keeping at a safe distance from his suffering sire.“I can’t get at der little sinner, Peter; you come dake off my drowsis, or he’ll kill me mit his pites.”But the fears of Peter, the younger, overcamehis filial affection, and lent strength to his legs, for he started off like a scared two-year-old toward the old man Jake, to call him to the assistance of his unhappy father. A few moments after, the two came bounding toward the old man, and as they passed a haycock where their garments had been laid when they began work, Jake grabbed the vest which he supposed belonged to his employer. During this time old Peter had managed to keep on his feet, although he was quaking and trembling like an aspen leaf in a June gale of wind.“Oh! come quick, Yacob!” exclaimed he, “he pite like sixty, here, on mine leg.”Old Jake was not particularly sensitive to fear, but few people, young or old, are free from alarm when a “pizenous” reptile is about. He seized a small pitchfork, and, telling the unhappy Van Riper to stand steady, promised to stun the reptile by a rap or two, even if he didn’t kill it outright. The frightened old man did not long hesitate between the risk of a broken leg or being bitten to death by a snake, but promptly indicated the place where Jake should strike. Whack went the pitchfork, and down tumbled Peter, exclaiming, “Oh! my! my! my; I pleeve you’ve proke mine leg! but den der shnake’s gone.”“Vere! vere’s he gone to?” says old Sweighoffer, looking sharply about on the ground he stood upon.“Never mind der shnake now, Yacob,” says Van Riper, “come and help me up, and I’ll go home.”“Here, I’ve got your shacket—put it on,” says Jacob, lifting up the old man, and slipping his arms into the armholes of the vest.The moment old Peter made the effort to get the garment on his shoulders, he grew livid in the face—his hair stood on end—he shivered and shook—his teeth chattered, and his knees knocked an accompaniment. “O Yacob!” exclaimed he, “help me to go home—I’m dead! I’m dead!”“Vat’s dat you say? Ish dere nodder shnake in your preeches?” inquired the intrepid Jacob.“Not dat—I don’t mean dat,” says the farmer, “but shust you look on me—I’m shwelt all up, pigger as an ox! my shacket won’t go on my pack. I’m dying mit de pizen. Oh! oh! oh! help me home quick.”The hired man came to the same conclusion; and with might and main he hurried old Peter along toward the farm-house. Meantime young Peter had run home, and so alarmed the women folks that they were in a high state of excitement when they saw the approach of the good old man and his assistant.Old man Peter was carried into the house, laid on a bed, and began to lament his sad misfortune in a most grievous manner, when the old lady, his frow, came forward and proposed to examine the bitten leg. The unhappy man opened his eyes and feebly pointed out the place of the bite. She carefully ripped up his pantaloons, and out fell—a thistle-top! and at the same time a considerable scratch was made visible.“Call dis a shnake? Bah!” says the old lady, holding up the thistle.“Oh! but I’m pizened to death, Katreen!—see, I’m all pizen!—mine shacket!—Oh! dear, mine shacket not come over mine pody!”“Haw! haw! you crazy fellow,” roars the frow, “dat’s not your shacket—dat’s Peter’s shacket! ha! ha! ha!”“Vat! dat Peter’s shacket?” says old Peter, shaking off death’s icy fetters at one surge, and jumping up: “Bosh! Jacob, vat an old fool you must be to say I vas shnake-pite! Go ’pout your pusiness, gals. Peter, give me mine pipe.”

One warm day in haying time this trio were hard at work in a meadow near the farm-house, when suddenly Peter the elder dropped his scythe and called out:

“Oh! mine gracious, Peter! Peter!”

“What’s de matter, fader?” answered the son, straightening up and looking at his sire.

“Oh! mine Peter! Peter!” again cried the old man, “do come here, right off! Der schnake pite mine leg!”

If anything in particular could disturb the nerves of young Peter, it was snakes; for he had once been chased by a black one and frightened nearly out of his wits. At the word snake, therefore, young Van Riper fell back, nimbly as a wire-drawer, and called out in turn: “Where is der shnake, fader?”

“Here, up mine preeches!—Oh! my! my! my!”

“Vy don’t you kill him, fader?” exclaimed Peter, junior, keeping at a safe distance from his suffering sire.

“I can’t get at der little sinner, Peter; you come dake off my drowsis, or he’ll kill me mit his pites.”

But the fears of Peter, the younger, overcamehis filial affection, and lent strength to his legs, for he started off like a scared two-year-old toward the old man Jake, to call him to the assistance of his unhappy father. A few moments after, the two came bounding toward the old man, and as they passed a haycock where their garments had been laid when they began work, Jake grabbed the vest which he supposed belonged to his employer. During this time old Peter had managed to keep on his feet, although he was quaking and trembling like an aspen leaf in a June gale of wind.

“Oh! come quick, Yacob!” exclaimed he, “he pite like sixty, here, on mine leg.”

Old Jake was not particularly sensitive to fear, but few people, young or old, are free from alarm when a “pizenous” reptile is about. He seized a small pitchfork, and, telling the unhappy Van Riper to stand steady, promised to stun the reptile by a rap or two, even if he didn’t kill it outright. The frightened old man did not long hesitate between the risk of a broken leg or being bitten to death by a snake, but promptly indicated the place where Jake should strike. Whack went the pitchfork, and down tumbled Peter, exclaiming, “Oh! my! my! my; I pleeve you’ve proke mine leg! but den der shnake’s gone.”

“Vere! vere’s he gone to?” says old Sweighoffer, looking sharply about on the ground he stood upon.

“Never mind der shnake now, Yacob,” says Van Riper, “come and help me up, and I’ll go home.”

“Here, I’ve got your shacket—put it on,” says Jacob, lifting up the old man, and slipping his arms into the armholes of the vest.

The moment old Peter made the effort to get the garment on his shoulders, he grew livid in the face—his hair stood on end—he shivered and shook—his teeth chattered, and his knees knocked an accompaniment. “O Yacob!” exclaimed he, “help me to go home—I’m dead! I’m dead!”

“Vat’s dat you say? Ish dere nodder shnake in your preeches?” inquired the intrepid Jacob.

“Not dat—I don’t mean dat,” says the farmer, “but shust you look on me—I’m shwelt all up, pigger as an ox! my shacket won’t go on my pack. I’m dying mit de pizen. Oh! oh! oh! help me home quick.”

The hired man came to the same conclusion; and with might and main he hurried old Peter along toward the farm-house. Meantime young Peter had run home, and so alarmed the women folks that they were in a high state of excitement when they saw the approach of the good old man and his assistant.

Old man Peter was carried into the house, laid on a bed, and began to lament his sad misfortune in a most grievous manner, when the old lady, his frow, came forward and proposed to examine the bitten leg. The unhappy man opened his eyes and feebly pointed out the place of the bite. She carefully ripped up his pantaloons, and out fell—a thistle-top! and at the same time a considerable scratch was made visible.

“Call dis a shnake? Bah!” says the old lady, holding up the thistle.

“Oh! but I’m pizened to death, Katreen!—see, I’m all pizen!—mine shacket!—Oh! dear, mine shacket not come over mine pody!”

“Haw! haw! you crazy fellow,” roars the frow, “dat’s not your shacket—dat’s Peter’s shacket! ha! ha! ha!”

“Vat! dat Peter’s shacket?” says old Peter, shaking off death’s icy fetters at one surge, and jumping up: “Bosh! Jacob, vat an old fool you must be to say I vas shnake-pite! Go ’pout your pusiness, gals. Peter, give me mine pipe.”

“Kiss me, Will,” sang Marguerite,To a pretty little tune,Holding up her dainty mouth,Sweet as roses born in June.Will was ten years old that day,And he pulled her golden curlsTeasingly, and answer made—“I’m too old—I don’t kiss girls.”Ten years pass, and MargueriteSmiles as Will kneels at her feet,Gazing fondly in her eyes,Praying, “Won’t you kiss me, sweet?”’Rite is seventeen to-day,With her birthday ring she toysFor a moment, then replies:“I’m too old—I don’t kiss boys.”

“Kiss me, Will,” sang Marguerite,

To a pretty little tune,

Holding up her dainty mouth,

Sweet as roses born in June.

Will was ten years old that day,

And he pulled her golden curls

Teasingly, and answer made—

“I’m too old—I don’t kiss girls.”

Ten years pass, and MargueriteSmiles as Will kneels at her feet,Gazing fondly in her eyes,Praying, “Won’t you kiss me, sweet?”’Rite is seventeen to-day,With her birthday ring she toysFor a moment, then replies:“I’m too old—I don’t kiss boys.”

Ten years pass, and Marguerite

Smiles as Will kneels at her feet,

Gazing fondly in her eyes,

Praying, “Won’t you kiss me, sweet?”

’Rite is seventeen to-day,

With her birthday ring she toys

For a moment, then replies:

“I’m too old—I don’t kiss boys.”

Oh! thtay one moment, love implorth,Ere yet we break thith happy thpell!For to the thoul my thoul adorthIt ith tho hard to thay farewell.And yet how thad to be tho weak,To think forever, night or day,The thententheth my heart would thpeakThethe lipth can never truly thay.How mournful, too, while thuth I kneel,With nervouthneth my blith to mar,And dream each moment that I feelThe boot-toe of thy thtern papa.Or yet to fanthy that I hearA thudden order to decamp,Ath dithagreeably thevereAth—“Get out you infernal thcamp!”Yet recklethly I pauthe by thee,To lithp my hopeth, my fearth, my careth,Though any moment I may beTurning a thomerthet down the thtairth!

Oh! thtay one moment, love implorth,Ere yet we break thith happy thpell!For to the thoul my thoul adorthIt ith tho hard to thay farewell.

Oh! thtay one moment, love implorth,

Ere yet we break thith happy thpell!

For to the thoul my thoul adorth

It ith tho hard to thay farewell.

And yet how thad to be tho weak,To think forever, night or day,The thententheth my heart would thpeakThethe lipth can never truly thay.

And yet how thad to be tho weak,

To think forever, night or day,

The thententheth my heart would thpeak

Thethe lipth can never truly thay.

How mournful, too, while thuth I kneel,With nervouthneth my blith to mar,And dream each moment that I feelThe boot-toe of thy thtern papa.

How mournful, too, while thuth I kneel,

With nervouthneth my blith to mar,

And dream each moment that I feel

The boot-toe of thy thtern papa.

Or yet to fanthy that I hearA thudden order to decamp,Ath dithagreeably thevereAth—“Get out you infernal thcamp!”

Or yet to fanthy that I hear

A thudden order to decamp,

Ath dithagreeably thevere

Ath—“Get out you infernal thcamp!”

Yet recklethly I pauthe by thee,To lithp my hopeth, my fearth, my careth,Though any moment I may beTurning a thomerthet down the thtairth!

Yet recklethly I pauthe by thee,

To lithp my hopeth, my fearth, my careth,

Though any moment I may be

Turning a thomerthet down the thtairth!

Now the widow McGee,And Larrie O’Dee,Had two little cottages out on the green,With just room enough for two pig-pens between.The widow was young and the widow was fair,With the brightest of eyes and the brownest of hair;And it frequently chanced, when she came in the mornWith the swill for her pig, Larrie came with the corn.And some of the ears that he tossed from his hand,In the pen of the widow were certain to land.One morning said he:“Och! Misthress McGee,It’s a waste, of good lumber, this runnin’ two rigs,Wid a fancy petition betwane our two pigs!”“Indade sur, it is!” answered Widow McGee,With the sweetest of smiles upon Larrie O’Dee.“And thin, it looks kind o’ hard-hearted and mane,Kapin’ two friendly pigs so exsaidenly nearThat whiniver one grunts the other can hear,And yit kape a cruel petition betwane.”“Shwate Widow McGee,”Answered Larrie O’Dee,“If ye fale in your heart we are mane to the pigs,Ain’t we mane to ourselves to be runnin’ two rigs?Och! it made me heart ache whin I paped through the cracksOf me shanty, lasht March, at yez shwingin’ yer axe;An’ a bobbin’ yer head an’ a shtompin’ yer fate,Wid yer purty white hands jisht as red as a bate,A-sphlittin’ yer kindlin’-wood out in the shtorm,When one little shtove it would kape us both warm!”“Now, piggy,” said she;“Larrie’s courtin’ o’ me,Wid his dilicate tinder allusions to you,So now yez must tell me jisht what I must do;For, if I’m to say yez, shtir the swill wid yer snout;But if I’m to say no, ye must kape yer nose out.Now Larrie, for shame! to be bribin’ a pigBy a-tossin’ a handful of corn in its shwig!”“Me darlint, the piggy says yes,” answered he.And that was the courtship of Larrie O’Dee.W. W. Fink.

Now the widow McGee,

And Larrie O’Dee,

Had two little cottages out on the green,

With just room enough for two pig-pens between.

The widow was young and the widow was fair,

With the brightest of eyes and the brownest of hair;

And it frequently chanced, when she came in the morn

With the swill for her pig, Larrie came with the corn.

And some of the ears that he tossed from his hand,

In the pen of the widow were certain to land.

One morning said he:“Och! Misthress McGee,It’s a waste, of good lumber, this runnin’ two rigs,Wid a fancy petition betwane our two pigs!”“Indade sur, it is!” answered Widow McGee,With the sweetest of smiles upon Larrie O’Dee.“And thin, it looks kind o’ hard-hearted and mane,Kapin’ two friendly pigs so exsaidenly nearThat whiniver one grunts the other can hear,And yit kape a cruel petition betwane.”

One morning said he:

“Och! Misthress McGee,

It’s a waste, of good lumber, this runnin’ two rigs,

Wid a fancy petition betwane our two pigs!”

“Indade sur, it is!” answered Widow McGee,

With the sweetest of smiles upon Larrie O’Dee.

“And thin, it looks kind o’ hard-hearted and mane,

Kapin’ two friendly pigs so exsaidenly near

That whiniver one grunts the other can hear,

And yit kape a cruel petition betwane.”

“Shwate Widow McGee,”Answered Larrie O’Dee,“If ye fale in your heart we are mane to the pigs,Ain’t we mane to ourselves to be runnin’ two rigs?Och! it made me heart ache whin I paped through the cracksOf me shanty, lasht March, at yez shwingin’ yer axe;An’ a bobbin’ yer head an’ a shtompin’ yer fate,Wid yer purty white hands jisht as red as a bate,A-sphlittin’ yer kindlin’-wood out in the shtorm,When one little shtove it would kape us both warm!”

“Shwate Widow McGee,”

Answered Larrie O’Dee,

“If ye fale in your heart we are mane to the pigs,

Ain’t we mane to ourselves to be runnin’ two rigs?

Och! it made me heart ache whin I paped through the cracks

Of me shanty, lasht March, at yez shwingin’ yer axe;

An’ a bobbin’ yer head an’ a shtompin’ yer fate,

Wid yer purty white hands jisht as red as a bate,

A-sphlittin’ yer kindlin’-wood out in the shtorm,

When one little shtove it would kape us both warm!”

“Now, piggy,” said she;“Larrie’s courtin’ o’ me,Wid his dilicate tinder allusions to you,So now yez must tell me jisht what I must do;For, if I’m to say yez, shtir the swill wid yer snout;But if I’m to say no, ye must kape yer nose out.Now Larrie, for shame! to be bribin’ a pigBy a-tossin’ a handful of corn in its shwig!”“Me darlint, the piggy says yes,” answered he.And that was the courtship of Larrie O’Dee.

“Now, piggy,” said she;

“Larrie’s courtin’ o’ me,

Wid his dilicate tinder allusions to you,

So now yez must tell me jisht what I must do;

For, if I’m to say yez, shtir the swill wid yer snout;

But if I’m to say no, ye must kape yer nose out.

Now Larrie, for shame! to be bribin’ a pig

By a-tossin’ a handful of corn in its shwig!”

“Me darlint, the piggy says yes,” answered he.

And that was the courtship of Larrie O’Dee.

W. W. Fink.

First a soft and gentle tinkle,Gentle as the rain-drop’s sprinkle,Then a stop,Fingers drop.Now begins a merry trill,Like a cricket in a mill;Now a short, uneasy motion,Like a ripple on the ocean.See the fingers dance about,Hear the notes come tripping out;How they mingle in the tingleOf the everlasting jingle,Like to hailstones on a shingle,Or the ding-dong, dangle-dingleOf a sheep-bell! Double, single,Now they come in wilder gushes,Up and down the player rushes,Quick as squirrels, sweet as thrushes.Now the keys begin to clatterLike the music of a platterWhen the maid is stirring batter.O’er the music comes a change,Every tone is wild and strange;Listen to the lofty tumbling,Hear the mumbling, fumbling, jumbling,Like the rumbling and the grumblingOf the thunder from its slumberingJust awaking. Now it’s takingTo the quaking, like a fever-and-ague shaking;Heads are aching, something’s breaking—Goodness gracious! it is wondrous,Rolling round, above, and under us,Like old Vulcan’s stroke so thunderous.Now ’tis louder, but the powderWill be all exploded soon;For the only way to do,When the music’s nearly through,Is to muster all your muscle for a bang,Striking twenty notes together with a clang:Hit the treble with a twang,Give the bass an awful whang,And close the whole performanceWith a slam—bang—whang!

First a soft and gentle tinkle,Gentle as the rain-drop’s sprinkle,Then a stop,Fingers drop.Now begins a merry trill,Like a cricket in a mill;Now a short, uneasy motion,Like a ripple on the ocean.

First a soft and gentle tinkle,

Gentle as the rain-drop’s sprinkle,

Then a stop,

Fingers drop.

Now begins a merry trill,

Like a cricket in a mill;

Now a short, uneasy motion,

Like a ripple on the ocean.

See the fingers dance about,Hear the notes come tripping out;How they mingle in the tingleOf the everlasting jingle,Like to hailstones on a shingle,Or the ding-dong, dangle-dingleOf a sheep-bell! Double, single,Now they come in wilder gushes,Up and down the player rushes,Quick as squirrels, sweet as thrushes.

See the fingers dance about,

Hear the notes come tripping out;

How they mingle in the tingle

Of the everlasting jingle,

Like to hailstones on a shingle,

Or the ding-dong, dangle-dingle

Of a sheep-bell! Double, single,

Now they come in wilder gushes,

Up and down the player rushes,

Quick as squirrels, sweet as thrushes.

Now the keys begin to clatterLike the music of a platterWhen the maid is stirring batter.O’er the music comes a change,Every tone is wild and strange;Listen to the lofty tumbling,Hear the mumbling, fumbling, jumbling,Like the rumbling and the grumblingOf the thunder from its slumberingJust awaking. Now it’s takingTo the quaking, like a fever-and-ague shaking;Heads are aching, something’s breaking—Goodness gracious! it is wondrous,Rolling round, above, and under us,Like old Vulcan’s stroke so thunderous.

Now the keys begin to clatter

Like the music of a platter

When the maid is stirring batter.

O’er the music comes a change,

Every tone is wild and strange;

Listen to the lofty tumbling,

Hear the mumbling, fumbling, jumbling,

Like the rumbling and the grumbling

Of the thunder from its slumbering

Just awaking. Now it’s taking

To the quaking, like a fever-and-ague shaking;

Heads are aching, something’s breaking—

Goodness gracious! it is wondrous,

Rolling round, above, and under us,

Like old Vulcan’s stroke so thunderous.

Now ’tis louder, but the powderWill be all exploded soon;For the only way to do,When the music’s nearly through,Is to muster all your muscle for a bang,Striking twenty notes together with a clang:Hit the treble with a twang,Give the bass an awful whang,And close the whole performanceWith a slam—bang—whang!

Now ’tis louder, but the powder

Will be all exploded soon;

For the only way to do,

When the music’s nearly through,

Is to muster all your muscle for a bang,

Striking twenty notes together with a clang:

Hit the treble with a twang,

Give the bass an awful whang,

And close the whole performance

With a slam—bang—whang!

“Ma’s up stairs changing her dress,” said the freckled-faced little girl, tying her doll’s bonnet strings and casting her eye about for a tidy large enough to serve as a shawl for that double-jointed young person.“Oh, your mother needn’t dress up for me,” replied the female agent of the missionary society, taking a self-satisfied view of herself in the mirror. “Run up and tell her to come down just as she is in her everyday clothes, and not stand on ceremony.”“Oh, but she hasn’t got on her everyday clothes. Ma was all dressed up in her newbrown silk dress, ’cause she expected Miss Dimmond to-day. Miss Dimmond always comes over here to show off her nice things, and ma doesn’t mean to get left. When ma saw you coming she said, ‘the dickens!’ and I guess she was mad about something. Ma said if you saw her new dress, she’d have to hear all about the poor heathen, who don’t have silk, and you’d ask her for money to buy hymn books to send ’em. Say, do the nigger ladies use hymn-book leaves to do their hair up on and make it frizzy? Ma says she guesses that’s all the good the books do ’em, if they ever get any books. I wish my doll was a heathen.”“Why, you wicked little girl! what do you want of a heathen doll?” inquired the missionary lady, taking a mental inventory of the new things in the parlor to get material for a homily on worldly extravagance.“So folks would send her lots of nice things to wear, and feel sorry to have her going about naked. Then she’d have her hair to frizz, and I want a doll with truly hair and eyes that roll up like Deacon Silderback’s when he says amen on Sunday. I ain’t a wicked girl, either, ’cause Uncle Dick—you know Uncle Dick, he’s been out West and swears awful and smokes in the house—he says I’m a holy terror, and he hopes I’ll be an angel pretty soon. Ma’ll be down in a minute, so you needn’t take your cloak off. She said she’d box my ears if I asked you to.“Ma’s putting on that old dress she had last year, ’cause she didn’t want you to think she was able to give much this time, and she needed a muff worse than the queen of the cannon-ball islands needed ’ligion. Uncle Dick says you oughter get to the islands, ’cause you’d be safe there, and the natives would be sorry they was such sinners anybody would send you to ’em. He says he never seen a heathen hungry enough to eat you, ’less it was a blind one, an’ you’d set a blind pagan’s teeth on edge so he’d never hanker after any more missionary. Uncle Dick’s awful funny, and makes ma and pa die laughing sometimes.”“Your Uncle Richard is a bad, depraved wretch, and ought to have remained out West, where his style is appreciated. He sets a horrid example for little girls like you.”“Oh, I think he’s nice. He showed me how to slide down the banisters, and he’s teaching me to whistle when ma ain’t around. That’s a pretty cloak you’ve got, ain’t it? Do you buy all your clothes with missionary money? Ma says you do.”Just then the freckle-faced little girl’s ma came into the parlor and kissed the missionary lady on the cheek and said she was delighted to see her, and they proceeded to have a real sociable chat. The little girl’s ma cannot understand why a person who professes to be so charitable as the missionary agent does should go right over to Miss Dimmond’s and say such ill-natured things as she did, and she thinks the missionary is a double-faced gossip. The little girl understands it better than her ma does.

“Oh, your mother needn’t dress up for me,” replied the female agent of the missionary society, taking a self-satisfied view of herself in the mirror. “Run up and tell her to come down just as she is in her everyday clothes, and not stand on ceremony.”

“Oh, but she hasn’t got on her everyday clothes. Ma was all dressed up in her newbrown silk dress, ’cause she expected Miss Dimmond to-day. Miss Dimmond always comes over here to show off her nice things, and ma doesn’t mean to get left. When ma saw you coming she said, ‘the dickens!’ and I guess she was mad about something. Ma said if you saw her new dress, she’d have to hear all about the poor heathen, who don’t have silk, and you’d ask her for money to buy hymn books to send ’em. Say, do the nigger ladies use hymn-book leaves to do their hair up on and make it frizzy? Ma says she guesses that’s all the good the books do ’em, if they ever get any books. I wish my doll was a heathen.”

“Why, you wicked little girl! what do you want of a heathen doll?” inquired the missionary lady, taking a mental inventory of the new things in the parlor to get material for a homily on worldly extravagance.

“So folks would send her lots of nice things to wear, and feel sorry to have her going about naked. Then she’d have her hair to frizz, and I want a doll with truly hair and eyes that roll up like Deacon Silderback’s when he says amen on Sunday. I ain’t a wicked girl, either, ’cause Uncle Dick—you know Uncle Dick, he’s been out West and swears awful and smokes in the house—he says I’m a holy terror, and he hopes I’ll be an angel pretty soon. Ma’ll be down in a minute, so you needn’t take your cloak off. She said she’d box my ears if I asked you to.

“Ma’s putting on that old dress she had last year, ’cause she didn’t want you to think she was able to give much this time, and she needed a muff worse than the queen of the cannon-ball islands needed ’ligion. Uncle Dick says you oughter get to the islands, ’cause you’d be safe there, and the natives would be sorry they was such sinners anybody would send you to ’em. He says he never seen a heathen hungry enough to eat you, ’less it was a blind one, an’ you’d set a blind pagan’s teeth on edge so he’d never hanker after any more missionary. Uncle Dick’s awful funny, and makes ma and pa die laughing sometimes.”

“Your Uncle Richard is a bad, depraved wretch, and ought to have remained out West, where his style is appreciated. He sets a horrid example for little girls like you.”

“Oh, I think he’s nice. He showed me how to slide down the banisters, and he’s teaching me to whistle when ma ain’t around. That’s a pretty cloak you’ve got, ain’t it? Do you buy all your clothes with missionary money? Ma says you do.”

Just then the freckle-faced little girl’s ma came into the parlor and kissed the missionary lady on the cheek and said she was delighted to see her, and they proceeded to have a real sociable chat. The little girl’s ma cannot understand why a person who professes to be so charitable as the missionary agent does should go right over to Miss Dimmond’s and say such ill-natured things as she did, and she thinks the missionary is a double-faced gossip. The little girl understands it better than her ma does.

There was a time, betwixt the daysOf linsey woolsey, straight and prim,And these when mode, with despot ways,Leads woman captive at its whim,Yet not a hundred years ago,When girls wore simple calico.Within the barn, by lantern light,Through many a reel, with flying feet,The boys and maidens danced at nightTo fiddled measures, shrilly sweet;And merry revels were they, thoughThe girls were gowned in calico.Across the flooring rough and grayThe gold of scattered chaff was spread,And long festoons of clover hayThat straggled from the loft o’erhead,Swung scented fringes to and froO’er pretty girls in calico.They used to go a-Maying then,The blossoms of the spring to seekIn sunny glade and sheltered glen,Unweighed by fashion’s latest freak;And Robin fell in love, I know,With Phyllis in her calico.A tuck, a frill, a bias fold,A hat curved over gipsy-wise,And beads of coral and of gold,And rosy cheeks and merry eyes,Made lassies in that long agoLook charming in their calico.The modern knight who loves a maidOf gracious air and gentle grace,And finds her oftentimes arrayedIn shining silk and priceless lace,Would love her just as well, I know,In pink and lilac calico.Hattie Whitney.

There was a time, betwixt the daysOf linsey woolsey, straight and prim,And these when mode, with despot ways,Leads woman captive at its whim,Yet not a hundred years ago,When girls wore simple calico.

There was a time, betwixt the days

Of linsey woolsey, straight and prim,

And these when mode, with despot ways,

Leads woman captive at its whim,

Yet not a hundred years ago,

When girls wore simple calico.

Within the barn, by lantern light,Through many a reel, with flying feet,The boys and maidens danced at nightTo fiddled measures, shrilly sweet;And merry revels were they, thoughThe girls were gowned in calico.

Within the barn, by lantern light,

Through many a reel, with flying feet,

The boys and maidens danced at night

To fiddled measures, shrilly sweet;

And merry revels were they, though

The girls were gowned in calico.

Across the flooring rough and grayThe gold of scattered chaff was spread,And long festoons of clover hayThat straggled from the loft o’erhead,Swung scented fringes to and froO’er pretty girls in calico.

Across the flooring rough and gray

The gold of scattered chaff was spread,

And long festoons of clover hay

That straggled from the loft o’erhead,

Swung scented fringes to and fro

O’er pretty girls in calico.

They used to go a-Maying then,The blossoms of the spring to seekIn sunny glade and sheltered glen,Unweighed by fashion’s latest freak;And Robin fell in love, I know,With Phyllis in her calico.

They used to go a-Maying then,

The blossoms of the spring to seek

In sunny glade and sheltered glen,

Unweighed by fashion’s latest freak;

And Robin fell in love, I know,

With Phyllis in her calico.

A tuck, a frill, a bias fold,A hat curved over gipsy-wise,And beads of coral and of gold,And rosy cheeks and merry eyes,Made lassies in that long agoLook charming in their calico.

A tuck, a frill, a bias fold,

A hat curved over gipsy-wise,

And beads of coral and of gold,

And rosy cheeks and merry eyes,

Made lassies in that long ago

Look charming in their calico.

The modern knight who loves a maidOf gracious air and gentle grace,And finds her oftentimes arrayedIn shining silk and priceless lace,Would love her just as well, I know,In pink and lilac calico.

The modern knight who loves a maid

Of gracious air and gentle grace,

And finds her oftentimes arrayed

In shining silk and priceless lace,

Would love her just as well, I know,

In pink and lilac calico.

Hattie Whitney.

Ef gran’paw was a soldier nowHe’d show ’em what to do;You ought to come and lisen howHe talks to me and Sue.He tells us all about the daysHe led his gallant men,And all about the different waysHe won the battles then.An’ ev’ry night when paw comes inAn’ says the fight’s begun,He tells what they could do to winEr what they ought to done.An’ paw he laugh and looks at meAn’ says we’d surely win itIf gran’paw led a companyAn’ Sue an’ me was in it.

Ef gran’paw was a soldier nowHe’d show ’em what to do;You ought to come and lisen howHe talks to me and Sue.

Ef gran’paw was a soldier now

He’d show ’em what to do;

You ought to come and lisen how

He talks to me and Sue.

He tells us all about the daysHe led his gallant men,And all about the different waysHe won the battles then.

He tells us all about the days

He led his gallant men,

And all about the different ways

He won the battles then.

An’ ev’ry night when paw comes inAn’ says the fight’s begun,He tells what they could do to winEr what they ought to done.

An’ ev’ry night when paw comes in

An’ says the fight’s begun,

He tells what they could do to win

Er what they ought to done.

An’ paw he laugh and looks at meAn’ says we’d surely win itIf gran’paw led a companyAn’ Sue an’ me was in it.

An’ paw he laugh and looks at me

An’ says we’d surely win it

If gran’paw led a company

An’ Sue an’ me was in it.

This graceful tribute to the martial spirit of the little tots should be recited in a slightly bombastic style. The little one considers himself quite a hero and should be described accordingly.

I know a naval officer, the bravest fighting man;He wears a jaunty sailor suit, his cap says “Puritan.”And all day long he sails a ship between our land and Spain,And he avenges, every hour, the martyrs of the “Maine.”His warship is six inches square, a wash-tub serves for ocean;But never yet, on any coast, was seen such dire commotion.With one skilled move his boat is sent from Cuba to midsea,And just as quickly back it comes to set Havana free.He fights with Dewey; plants his flag upon each island’s shore,Then off with Sampson’s fleet he goes to shed the Spanish gore.He comes to guard New England’s coast, but ere his anchor falls,He hurries off in frightful speed, to shell Manila’s walls.The Philippines so frequently have yielded to his power,There’s very little left of them, I’m certain, at this hour;And when at last he falls asleep, it is to wake againAnd hasten into troubled seas and go and conquer Spain.Ella Wheeler Wilcox.

I know a naval officer, the bravest fighting man;

He wears a jaunty sailor suit, his cap says “Puritan.”

And all day long he sails a ship between our land and Spain,

And he avenges, every hour, the martyrs of the “Maine.”

His warship is six inches square, a wash-tub serves for ocean;But never yet, on any coast, was seen such dire commotion.With one skilled move his boat is sent from Cuba to midsea,And just as quickly back it comes to set Havana free.

His warship is six inches square, a wash-tub serves for ocean;

But never yet, on any coast, was seen such dire commotion.

With one skilled move his boat is sent from Cuba to midsea,

And just as quickly back it comes to set Havana free.

He fights with Dewey; plants his flag upon each island’s shore,Then off with Sampson’s fleet he goes to shed the Spanish gore.He comes to guard New England’s coast, but ere his anchor falls,He hurries off in frightful speed, to shell Manila’s walls.

He fights with Dewey; plants his flag upon each island’s shore,

Then off with Sampson’s fleet he goes to shed the Spanish gore.

He comes to guard New England’s coast, but ere his anchor falls,

He hurries off in frightful speed, to shell Manila’s walls.

The Philippines so frequently have yielded to his power,There’s very little left of them, I’m certain, at this hour;And when at last he falls asleep, it is to wake againAnd hasten into troubled seas and go and conquer Spain.

The Philippines so frequently have yielded to his power,

There’s very little left of them, I’m certain, at this hour;

And when at last he falls asleep, it is to wake again

And hasten into troubled seas and go and conquer Spain.

Ella Wheeler Wilcox.

Out in the field in the red o’ the rainThat crimsoned the breasts that the battle had slain,He lay in the shadow—the captain—at rest,With a lock of gold hair round a face on his breast.Out in the darkness, all pallid and dumb,A woman waits long for the captain to come;And she kisses his portrait. O, pitiful pain!She shall kiss not the lips of the captain again!But a woman’s a woman, though loyal and brave,Love fareth but ill in the gloom of a grave.The captain lies mute ’neath the stars and the snow,And the woman he loved—well, she’s married you know!

Out in the field in the red o’ the rainThat crimsoned the breasts that the battle had slain,He lay in the shadow—the captain—at rest,With a lock of gold hair round a face on his breast.

Out in the field in the red o’ the rain

That crimsoned the breasts that the battle had slain,

He lay in the shadow—the captain—at rest,

With a lock of gold hair round a face on his breast.

Out in the darkness, all pallid and dumb,A woman waits long for the captain to come;And she kisses his portrait. O, pitiful pain!She shall kiss not the lips of the captain again!

Out in the darkness, all pallid and dumb,

A woman waits long for the captain to come;

And she kisses his portrait. O, pitiful pain!

She shall kiss not the lips of the captain again!

But a woman’s a woman, though loyal and brave,Love fareth but ill in the gloom of a grave.The captain lies mute ’neath the stars and the snow,And the woman he loved—well, she’s married you know!

But a woman’s a woman, though loyal and brave,

Love fareth but ill in the gloom of a grave.

The captain lies mute ’neath the stars and the snow,

And the woman he loved—well, she’s married you know!

When she came to work for the family on Congress street, the lady of the house sat down and told her that agents, picture-sellers, peddlers, ragmen, and all that class of people must be met at the front door and coldly repulsed, and Sarah said she’d repulse them if she had to break every broomstick in town.And she did. She threw the door open wide, bluffed right up at ’em, and when she got through talking, the cheekiest agent was only too glad to leave. It got so after a while that peddlers marked that house, and the door-bell never rang except for company.The other day, as the girl of the house was wiping off the spoons, the bell rang. She hastened to the door, expecting to see a lady, but her eyes encountered a slim man, dressed in black and wearing a white necktie. He was the new minister, and was going around to get acquainted with the members of his flock, but Sarah wasn’t expected to know this.“Ah—um—is—Mrs.—ah!”“Git!” exclaimed Sarah, pointing to the gate.“Beg pardon, but I would like to see—see—!”“Meander!” she shouted, looking around for a weapon; “we don’t want any flour-sifters here!”“You’re mistaken,” he replied, smiling blandly. “I called to—”“Don’t want anything to keep moths away—fly!” exclaimed Sarah, getting red in the face.“Is the lady in?” he inquired, trying to look over Sarah’s head.“Yes, the lady is in, and I’m in, and you are out!” she snapped; “and now I don’t want to stand here talking to a fly-trap agent any longer! Come lift your boots!”“I’m not an agent,” he said, trying to smile. “I’m the new—”“Yes, I know you—you are the new man with the patent flat-iron, but we don’t want any, and you’d better go before I call the dog!”“Will you give the lady my card, and say that I called?”“No, I won’t; we are bored to death with cards and handbills and circulars. Come, I can’t stand here all day.”“Didn’t know that I was a minister?” he asked, as he backed off.“No, nor I don’t know it now; you look like the man who sold the woman next door a ten cent chromo for two dollars.”“But here is my card.”“I don’t care for cards, I tell you! If you leave that gate open, I will have to fling a flower-pot at you!”“I will call again,” he said, as he went through the gate.“It won’t do any good!” she shouted after him; “we don’t want no prepared food for infants—no piano music—no stuffed birds! I know the policeman on this beat, and if you come around here again, he’ll soon find out whether you are a confidence man or vagrant!”And she took unusual care to lock the door.

And she did. She threw the door open wide, bluffed right up at ’em, and when she got through talking, the cheekiest agent was only too glad to leave. It got so after a while that peddlers marked that house, and the door-bell never rang except for company.

The other day, as the girl of the house was wiping off the spoons, the bell rang. She hastened to the door, expecting to see a lady, but her eyes encountered a slim man, dressed in black and wearing a white necktie. He was the new minister, and was going around to get acquainted with the members of his flock, but Sarah wasn’t expected to know this.

“Ah—um—is—Mrs.—ah!”

“Git!” exclaimed Sarah, pointing to the gate.

“Beg pardon, but I would like to see—see—!”

“Meander!” she shouted, looking around for a weapon; “we don’t want any flour-sifters here!”

“You’re mistaken,” he replied, smiling blandly. “I called to—”

“Don’t want anything to keep moths away—fly!” exclaimed Sarah, getting red in the face.

“Is the lady in?” he inquired, trying to look over Sarah’s head.

“Yes, the lady is in, and I’m in, and you are out!” she snapped; “and now I don’t want to stand here talking to a fly-trap agent any longer! Come lift your boots!”

“I’m not an agent,” he said, trying to smile. “I’m the new—”

“Yes, I know you—you are the new man with the patent flat-iron, but we don’t want any, and you’d better go before I call the dog!”

“Will you give the lady my card, and say that I called?”

“No, I won’t; we are bored to death with cards and handbills and circulars. Come, I can’t stand here all day.”

“Didn’t know that I was a minister?” he asked, as he backed off.

“No, nor I don’t know it now; you look like the man who sold the woman next door a ten cent chromo for two dollars.”

“But here is my card.”

“I don’t care for cards, I tell you! If you leave that gate open, I will have to fling a flower-pot at you!”

“I will call again,” he said, as he went through the gate.

“It won’t do any good!” she shouted after him; “we don’t want no prepared food for infants—no piano music—no stuffed birds! I know the policeman on this beat, and if you come around here again, he’ll soon find out whether you are a confidence man or vagrant!”

And she took unusual care to lock the door.

Now, in dese busy wukin’ days, dey’s changed de Scripter fashions,An’ you needn’t look to mirakuls to furnish you wid rations;Now, when you’s wantin’ loaves o’ bread, you got to go and fetch ’em,An’ ef you’s wantin’ fishes, you mus’ dig your wums an’ ketch ’em;For you kin put it down as sartin dat the time is long gone by,When sassages an’ ’taters use to rain fum out de sky!I nebber likes de cullud man dat thinks too much o’ eatin’;But frolics froo de wukin’ days, and snoozes at de meetin’;Dat jines de Temp’ance ’Ciety, an’ keeps a gettin’ tight,An’ pulls his water-millions in de middle ob de night!Dese milerterry nigger chaps, with muskets in deir han’s,Perradin’ froo de city to de music ob de ban’s,Had better drop deir guns, an’ go to marchin’ wid deir hoesAn’ git a honest libbin’ as dey chop de cotton-rows,Or de State may put ’em arter while to drillin’ in de ditches,Wid more’n a single stripe a-runnin’ ’cross deir breeches.Well, you think dat doin’ nuffin’ ’tall is mighty sort o’ nice,But it busted up de renters in de lubly Paradise!You see, dey bofe was human bein’s jes’ like me an’ you,An’ dey couldn’t reggerlate deirselves wid not a thing to do;Wid plenty wuk befo’ ’em, an’ a cotton crop to make,Dey’d nebber thought o’ loafin’ roun’ an’ chattin’ wid de snake.

Now, in dese busy wukin’ days, dey’s changed de Scripter fashions,

An’ you needn’t look to mirakuls to furnish you wid rations;

Now, when you’s wantin’ loaves o’ bread, you got to go and fetch ’em,

An’ ef you’s wantin’ fishes, you mus’ dig your wums an’ ketch ’em;

For you kin put it down as sartin dat the time is long gone by,

When sassages an’ ’taters use to rain fum out de sky!

I nebber likes de cullud man dat thinks too much o’ eatin’;But frolics froo de wukin’ days, and snoozes at de meetin’;Dat jines de Temp’ance ’Ciety, an’ keeps a gettin’ tight,An’ pulls his water-millions in de middle ob de night!

I nebber likes de cullud man dat thinks too much o’ eatin’;

But frolics froo de wukin’ days, and snoozes at de meetin’;

Dat jines de Temp’ance ’Ciety, an’ keeps a gettin’ tight,

An’ pulls his water-millions in de middle ob de night!

Dese milerterry nigger chaps, with muskets in deir han’s,Perradin’ froo de city to de music ob de ban’s,Had better drop deir guns, an’ go to marchin’ wid deir hoesAn’ git a honest libbin’ as dey chop de cotton-rows,Or de State may put ’em arter while to drillin’ in de ditches,Wid more’n a single stripe a-runnin’ ’cross deir breeches.

Dese milerterry nigger chaps, with muskets in deir han’s,

Perradin’ froo de city to de music ob de ban’s,

Had better drop deir guns, an’ go to marchin’ wid deir hoes

An’ git a honest libbin’ as dey chop de cotton-rows,

Or de State may put ’em arter while to drillin’ in de ditches,

Wid more’n a single stripe a-runnin’ ’cross deir breeches.

Well, you think dat doin’ nuffin’ ’tall is mighty sort o’ nice,But it busted up de renters in de lubly Paradise!You see, dey bofe was human bein’s jes’ like me an’ you,An’ dey couldn’t reggerlate deirselves wid not a thing to do;Wid plenty wuk befo’ ’em, an’ a cotton crop to make,Dey’d nebber thought o’ loafin’ roun’ an’ chattin’ wid de snake.

Well, you think dat doin’ nuffin’ ’tall is mighty sort o’ nice,

But it busted up de renters in de lubly Paradise!

You see, dey bofe was human bein’s jes’ like me an’ you,

An’ dey couldn’t reggerlate deirselves wid not a thing to do;

Wid plenty wuk befo’ ’em, an’ a cotton crop to make,

Dey’d nebber thought o’ loafin’ roun’ an’ chattin’ wid de snake.

O don’t go way until you hearA story, though it may seem queer,Of a family known both near and farBy the funny name of Ump Ha Ha.Mr. Ump Ha Ha, one day,Thought he would like to take a sleighAnd ride upon the frozen snow;And Mrs. Ump Ha Ha said she would go,Taking all the family, of course,Including, too, the family horse.He was a mule, and a thin one, too;You could see his ribs where the hay stuck through.They hitched him up to an old-time bob.Then you ought to have seen the mob!There were Patrick, Mary Ump Ha Ha,Grace and Carrie Ump Ha Ha,Mike and Freddie Ump Ha Ha,Willie and Eddie Ump Ha Ha,Tim and Juley Ump Ha Ha,Rose and Peggy Ump Ha Ha,Lizzie and Mayme Ump Ha Ha,Big fat Jammie Ump Ha Ha.Fifteen people in one sleighStarted out to spend the day.The way they packed and jammed them in,It made the family horse look thin.As luck will have it, as it will,They started from the top of a hill.The hill was slippery; down they flew.How fast they went they never knew.The time they made it can’t be beat.The old mule had no use for his feet;He went like a bird or ships on sail;He flew with his ears and steered with his tail.It was a mile to the bottom and the bottom was mud,And they went down with a sickening thud.Mary Ump Ha Ha was dazed,Patrick Ump Ha Ha was crazed,Little Willie bumped his nose,Big fat Jammie she got froze.Fourteen doctors came at once.The old mule was buried in the ground.Did you ever see a dead mule laying around?It took four drays to get them home,And when they found they broke no bones,They all sat down and thanked their stars,And then they laughed out, Ump Ha Ha.

O don’t go way until you hearA story, though it may seem queer,Of a family known both near and farBy the funny name of Ump Ha Ha.

O don’t go way until you hear

A story, though it may seem queer,

Of a family known both near and far

By the funny name of Ump Ha Ha.

Mr. Ump Ha Ha, one day,Thought he would like to take a sleighAnd ride upon the frozen snow;And Mrs. Ump Ha Ha said she would go,Taking all the family, of course,Including, too, the family horse.He was a mule, and a thin one, too;You could see his ribs where the hay stuck through.

Mr. Ump Ha Ha, one day,

Thought he would like to take a sleigh

And ride upon the frozen snow;

And Mrs. Ump Ha Ha said she would go,

Taking all the family, of course,

Including, too, the family horse.

He was a mule, and a thin one, too;

You could see his ribs where the hay stuck through.

They hitched him up to an old-time bob.Then you ought to have seen the mob!There were Patrick, Mary Ump Ha Ha,Grace and Carrie Ump Ha Ha,Mike and Freddie Ump Ha Ha,Willie and Eddie Ump Ha Ha,Tim and Juley Ump Ha Ha,Rose and Peggy Ump Ha Ha,Lizzie and Mayme Ump Ha Ha,Big fat Jammie Ump Ha Ha.

They hitched him up to an old-time bob.

Then you ought to have seen the mob!

There were Patrick, Mary Ump Ha Ha,

Grace and Carrie Ump Ha Ha,

Mike and Freddie Ump Ha Ha,

Willie and Eddie Ump Ha Ha,

Tim and Juley Ump Ha Ha,

Rose and Peggy Ump Ha Ha,

Lizzie and Mayme Ump Ha Ha,

Big fat Jammie Ump Ha Ha.

Fifteen people in one sleighStarted out to spend the day.The way they packed and jammed them in,It made the family horse look thin.As luck will have it, as it will,They started from the top of a hill.The hill was slippery; down they flew.How fast they went they never knew.The time they made it can’t be beat.The old mule had no use for his feet;He went like a bird or ships on sail;He flew with his ears and steered with his tail.It was a mile to the bottom and the bottom was mud,And they went down with a sickening thud.

Fifteen people in one sleigh

Started out to spend the day.

The way they packed and jammed them in,

It made the family horse look thin.

As luck will have it, as it will,

They started from the top of a hill.

The hill was slippery; down they flew.

How fast they went they never knew.

The time they made it can’t be beat.

The old mule had no use for his feet;

He went like a bird or ships on sail;

He flew with his ears and steered with his tail.

It was a mile to the bottom and the bottom was mud,

And they went down with a sickening thud.

Mary Ump Ha Ha was dazed,Patrick Ump Ha Ha was crazed,Little Willie bumped his nose,Big fat Jammie she got froze.Fourteen doctors came at once.The old mule was buried in the ground.Did you ever see a dead mule laying around?It took four drays to get them home,And when they found they broke no bones,They all sat down and thanked their stars,And then they laughed out, Ump Ha Ha.

Mary Ump Ha Ha was dazed,

Patrick Ump Ha Ha was crazed,

Little Willie bumped his nose,

Big fat Jammie she got froze.

Fourteen doctors came at once.

The old mule was buried in the ground.

Did you ever see a dead mule laying around?

It took four drays to get them home,

And when they found they broke no bones,

They all sat down and thanked their stars,

And then they laughed out, Ump Ha Ha.

Jane Jones keeps a-whisperin’ to me all the time,An’ says: “Why don’t you make it a ruleTo study your lessons, an’ work hard an’ learn,An’ never be absent from school?Remember the story of Elihu Burritt,How he clumb up to the top;Got all the knowledge ’at he ever hadDown in the blacksmithin’ shop.”Jane Jones she honestly said it was so;Mebby he did—I dunno;’Course, what’s a-keepin’ me ’way from the topIs not never havin’ no blacksmithin’ shop.She said ’at Ben Franklin was awfully poor,But full o’ ambition and brains,An’ studied philosophy all ’is hull life—An’ see what he got for his pains.He brought electricity out of the skyWith a kite an’ the lightnin’ an’ key,So we’re owin’ him more’n any one elseFor all the bright lights ’at we see.Jane Jones she actually said it was so.Mebby he did—I dunno;’Course, what’s allers been hinderin’ meIn not havin’ any kite, lightnin’ or key.Jane Jones said Columbus was out at the kneesWhen he first thought up his big scheme;An’ all of the Spaniards an’ Italians, too,They laughed an’ just said ’twas a dream;But Queen Isabella she listened to him,An’ pawned all her jewels o’ worth,An’ bought ’im the “Santa Marier” ’n said:“Go hunt up the rest of the earth.”Jane Jones she honestly said it was so;Mebby he did—I dunno;’Course, that may all be, but you must allowThey ain’t any land to discover just now.Ben King.

Jane Jones keeps a-whisperin’ to me all the time,

An’ says: “Why don’t you make it a rule

To study your lessons, an’ work hard an’ learn,

An’ never be absent from school?

Remember the story of Elihu Burritt,

How he clumb up to the top;

Got all the knowledge ’at he ever had

Down in the blacksmithin’ shop.”

Jane Jones she honestly said it was so;

Mebby he did—I dunno;

’Course, what’s a-keepin’ me ’way from the top

Is not never havin’ no blacksmithin’ shop.

She said ’at Ben Franklin was awfully poor,But full o’ ambition and brains,An’ studied philosophy all ’is hull life—An’ see what he got for his pains.He brought electricity out of the skyWith a kite an’ the lightnin’ an’ key,So we’re owin’ him more’n any one elseFor all the bright lights ’at we see.Jane Jones she actually said it was so.Mebby he did—I dunno;’Course, what’s allers been hinderin’ meIn not havin’ any kite, lightnin’ or key.

She said ’at Ben Franklin was awfully poor,

But full o’ ambition and brains,

An’ studied philosophy all ’is hull life—

An’ see what he got for his pains.

He brought electricity out of the sky

With a kite an’ the lightnin’ an’ key,

So we’re owin’ him more’n any one else

For all the bright lights ’at we see.

Jane Jones she actually said it was so.

Mebby he did—I dunno;

’Course, what’s allers been hinderin’ me

In not havin’ any kite, lightnin’ or key.

Jane Jones said Columbus was out at the kneesWhen he first thought up his big scheme;An’ all of the Spaniards an’ Italians, too,They laughed an’ just said ’twas a dream;But Queen Isabella she listened to him,An’ pawned all her jewels o’ worth,An’ bought ’im the “Santa Marier” ’n said:“Go hunt up the rest of the earth.”Jane Jones she honestly said it was so;Mebby he did—I dunno;’Course, that may all be, but you must allowThey ain’t any land to discover just now.

Jane Jones said Columbus was out at the knees

When he first thought up his big scheme;

An’ all of the Spaniards an’ Italians, too,

They laughed an’ just said ’twas a dream;

But Queen Isabella she listened to him,

An’ pawned all her jewels o’ worth,

An’ bought ’im the “Santa Marier” ’n said:

“Go hunt up the rest of the earth.”

Jane Jones she honestly said it was so;

Mebby he did—I dunno;

’Course, that may all be, but you must allow

They ain’t any land to discover just now.

Ben King.

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