FOOTNOTE:[A]Pronounced lan-yap.Lagniappeis a small gratuity which New Orleans children always expect and usually get with a purchase. Retail druggists keep jars of candy, licorice, or other small confections for that purpose.
[A]Pronounced lan-yap.Lagniappeis a small gratuity which New Orleans children always expect and usually get with a purchase. Retail druggists keep jars of candy, licorice, or other small confections for that purpose.
[A]Pronounced lan-yap.Lagniappeis a small gratuity which New Orleans children always expect and usually get with a purchase. Retail druggists keep jars of candy, licorice, or other small confections for that purpose.
"'KEEP STEP, RABBIT, MAN!'""'KEEP STEP, RABBIT, MAN!'"
Keep step, Rabbit, man!Hunter comin' quick's he can!H'ist yo'se'f!Don'tcross de road,Less 'n he'll hit you fur a toad!Up an' skip it, 'fo' t's too late!Hoppit—lippit! Bull-frog gait!Hoppit—lippit—lippit—hoppit!Goodness me, why don't you stop it?Shame on you, Mr. Ge'man Rabbit,Ter limp along wid sech a habit!'F you'd balumps on yo' hime-legs straight,An' hurry wid a mannish gait,An' tie yo' ears down onder yo' th'oat,An' kivir yo' tail wid a cut-away coat,Rabbit-hunters by de dozenWould shek yo' han' an' call you cousin,An' like as not, you onery sinner,Dey'd ax' you home ter eat yo' dinner!Butdon't you go, 'caze ef you do,Dey'll set you down to rabbit-stew.An' de shape o' dem bones an' de smell o' dat meal'Ll meck you wish you was back in de fiel'.An' ef you'd stretch yo' mouf too wide,You know yo' ears mought come ontied;An' when you'd jump, you couldn't failTo show yo' little cotton tail,An' den, 'fo' you could twis' yo' phiz,Dey'dreconnizeyouwho you is;An' fo' you'd sca'cely bat yo' eye,Dey'd have you skun an' in a pie,Or maybe roasted on a coal,Widout one thought about yo' soul.So better teck ole Ephe's advice,Des rig yo'se'f out slick an' nice,An' tie yo' ears down, like I said,An' hide yo' tail an' lif' yo' head.
Keep step, Rabbit, man!Hunter comin' quick's he can!H'ist yo'se'f!Don'tcross de road,Less 'n he'll hit you fur a toad!
Up an' skip it, 'fo' t's too late!Hoppit—lippit! Bull-frog gait!Hoppit—lippit—lippit—hoppit!Goodness me, why don't you stop it?
Shame on you, Mr. Ge'man Rabbit,Ter limp along wid sech a habit!'F you'd balumps on yo' hime-legs straight,An' hurry wid a mannish gait,
An' tie yo' ears down onder yo' th'oat,An' kivir yo' tail wid a cut-away coat,Rabbit-hunters by de dozenWould shek yo' han' an' call you cousin,
An' like as not, you onery sinner,Dey'd ax' you home ter eat yo' dinner!Butdon't you go, 'caze ef you do,Dey'll set you down to rabbit-stew.
An' de shape o' dem bones an' de smell o' dat meal'Ll meck you wish you was back in de fiel'.An' ef you'd stretch yo' mouf too wide,You know yo' ears mought come ontied;
An' when you'd jump, you couldn't failTo show yo' little cotton tail,An' den, 'fo' you could twis' yo' phiz,Dey'dreconnizeyouwho you is;
An' fo' you'd sca'cely bat yo' eye,Dey'd have you skun an' in a pie,Or maybe roasted on a coal,Widout one thought about yo' soul.
So better teck ole Ephe's advice,Des rig yo'se'f out slick an' nice,An' tie yo' ears down, like I said,An' hide yo' tail an' lif' yo' head.
"'WELL, ONE MO' RABBIT FUR DE POT'""'WELL, ONE MO' RABBIT FUR DE POT'"
An' when you balumps on yo' foots,It wouldn't hurt ter put on boots.Den walkstraight up, like Mr. Man,An' when he offer you 'is han',Des smile, an' gi'e yo' hat a tip;Butdon't you show yo' rabbit lip.An' don't you have a word ter say,No mo'n ter pass de time o' day.An' ef he ax 'bout yo' affairs,Des 'low you gwine ter hunt some hares,An' ax 'im is he seen a jack—An' dat 'll put 'im off de track.Now, ef you'll foller dis advice,Instid o' bein' et wid rice,Ur baked in pie, ur stuffed wid sage,You'll live ter die of nachel age.'Sh! hush! What's dat? Was dat a gun?Don'ttrimble so. An'don't you run!Come, set heah on de lorg wid me—Hol' down yo' ears an' cross yo' knee.Don'trun,I say. Tut—tut! He's gorn.Right 'cross de road, as sho's you born!Slam bang! I know'd he'd ketch a shot!Well, one mo' rabbit fur de pot!
An' when you balumps on yo' foots,It wouldn't hurt ter put on boots.Den walkstraight up, like Mr. Man,An' when he offer you 'is han',
Des smile, an' gi'e yo' hat a tip;Butdon't you show yo' rabbit lip.An' don't you have a word ter say,No mo'n ter pass de time o' day.
An' ef he ax 'bout yo' affairs,Des 'low you gwine ter hunt some hares,An' ax 'im is he seen a jack—An' dat 'll put 'im off de track.
Now, ef you'll foller dis advice,Instid o' bein' et wid rice,Ur baked in pie, ur stuffed wid sage,You'll live ter die of nachel age.
'Sh! hush! What's dat? Was dat a gun?Don'ttrimble so. An'don't you run!Come, set heah on de lorg wid me—Hol' down yo' ears an' cross yo' knee.
Don'trun,I say. Tut—tut! He's gorn.Right 'cross de road, as sho's you born!Slam bang! I know'd he'd ketch a shot!Well, one mo' rabbit fur de pot!
September butterflies flew thickO'er flower-bed and clover-rick,When little Miss Penelope,Who watched them from grandfather's knee,Said, "Grandpa, what's a butterfly?"And, "Where do flowers go to when they die?"For questions hard as hard can beI recommend Penelope.But grandpa had a playful wayOf dodging things too hard to say,By giving fantasies insteadOf serious answers, so he said,"Whenever a tired old flower must die,Its soul mounts in a butterfly;Just now a dozen snow-wings spedFrom out that white petunia bed;"And if you'll search, you'll find, I'm sure,A dozen shrivelled cups or more;Each pansy folds her purple cloth,And soars aloft in velvet moth."So when tired sunflower doffs her capOf yellow frills to take a nap,'Tis but that this surrender bringsHer soul's release on golden wings.""Butis this so? It ought to be,"Said little Miss Penelope;"Because I'msure, dear grandpa,youWould only tell the thing that'strue."Are all the butterflies that flyReal angels of the flowers that die?"Grandfather's eyes looked far away,As if he scarce knew what to say."Dear little Blossom," stroking nowThe golden hair upon her brow,"I can't—exactly—say—I—know—it;I only heard it from a poet."And poets' eyes see wondrous things.Great mysteries of flowers and wings,And marvels of the earth and seaAnd sky, they tell us constantly."But we can never prove them right,Because we lack their finer sight;And they, lest we should think them wrong,Weave their strange stories into song"So beautiful, soseeming-true,So confidently stated too,That we, not knowing yes or no,Can onlyhope they may be so.""But, grandpapa, no tale should closeWithifsorbutsormay-be-sos;So let us play we're poets, too,And then we'llknowthat this is true."
September butterflies flew thickO'er flower-bed and clover-rick,When little Miss Penelope,Who watched them from grandfather's knee,
Said, "Grandpa, what's a butterfly?"And, "Where do flowers go to when they die?"For questions hard as hard can beI recommend Penelope.
But grandpa had a playful wayOf dodging things too hard to say,By giving fantasies insteadOf serious answers, so he said,
"Whenever a tired old flower must die,Its soul mounts in a butterfly;Just now a dozen snow-wings spedFrom out that white petunia bed;
"And if you'll search, you'll find, I'm sure,A dozen shrivelled cups or more;Each pansy folds her purple cloth,And soars aloft in velvet moth.
"So when tired sunflower doffs her capOf yellow frills to take a nap,'Tis but that this surrender bringsHer soul's release on golden wings."
"Butis this so? It ought to be,"Said little Miss Penelope;"Because I'msure, dear grandpa,youWould only tell the thing that'strue.
"Are all the butterflies that flyReal angels of the flowers that die?"Grandfather's eyes looked far away,As if he scarce knew what to say.
"Dear little Blossom," stroking nowThe golden hair upon her brow,"I can't—exactly—say—I—know—it;I only heard it from a poet.
"And poets' eyes see wondrous things.Great mysteries of flowers and wings,And marvels of the earth and seaAnd sky, they tell us constantly.
"But we can never prove them right,Because we lack their finer sight;And they, lest we should think them wrong,Weave their strange stories into song
"So beautiful, soseeming-true,So confidently stated too,That we, not knowing yes or no,Can onlyhope they may be so."
"But, grandpapa, no tale should closeWithifsorbutsormay-be-sos;So let us play we're poets, too,And then we'llknowthat this is true."
THE END
IMPRESSIONS AND EXPERIENCES. 12mo, Cloth, Uncut Edges and Gilt Top, $1 50.MY LITERARY PASSIONS. 12mo, Cloth, $1 50.STOPS OF VARIOUS QUILLS. Poems. Illustrated byHoward Pyle. 4to, Cloth, Ornamental, Uncut Edges and Gilt Top, $2 50.THE DAY OF THEIR WEDDING. A Story. Illustrated byT. de Thulstrup. 12mo, Cloth, $1 25.A TRAVELER FROM ALTRURIA. A Romance. 12mo, Cloth, $1 50; Paper, 50 cents.THE COAST OF BOHEMIA. A Novel. Illustrated. 12mo, Cloth, $1 50.THE WORLD OF CHANCE. A Novel. 12mo, Cloth, $1 50; Paper, 60 cents.THE QUALITY OF MERCY. A Novel. 12mo, Cloth, $1 50; Paper, 75 cents.AN IMPERATIVE DUTY. A Novel. 12mo, Cloth, $1 00; Paper, 50 cents.A HAZARD OF NEW FORTUNES. A Novel. Two Volumes. 12mo, Cloth, $2 00; Illustrated, 12mo, Paper, $1 00.A PARTING AND A MEETING. Illustrated. Square 32mo, Cloth, $1 00.THE SHADOW OF A DREAM. A Story. 12mo, Cloth, $1 00; Paper, 50 cents.ANNIE KILBURN. A Novel. 12mo, Cloth, $1 50; Paper, 75 cents.APRIL HOPES. A Novel. 12mo, Cloth, $1 50; Paper, 75 cents.CHRISTMAS EVERY DAY,and Other Stories. Illustrated. Post 8vo, Cloth, $1 25.A BOY'S TOWN. Described forHarper's Young People. Illustrated. Post 8vo, Cloth, $1 25.CRITICISM AND FICTION. With Portrait. 16mo, Cloth, $1 00. (In the Series "Harper's American Essayists.")MODERN ITALIAN POETS. Essays and Versions. With Portraits. 12mo, Cloth, $2 00.THE MOUSE-TRAP,and Other Farces. Illustrated. 12mo, Cloth, $1 00.FARCES:A Likely Story—The Mouse-Trap—Five o'Clock Tea—Evening Dress—The Unexpected Guests—A Letter of Introduction—The Albany Depot—The Garroters. In Uniform Style: Illustrated. 32mo, Cloth, 50 cents each. ("Harper's Black and White Series.")A LITTLE SWISS SOJOURN. Illustrated. 32mo, Cloth, 50 cents. (" Harper's Black and White Series.")MY YEAR IN A LOG CABIN. Illustrated. 32mo, Cloth, 50 cents. ("Harper's Black and White Series.")
IMPRESSIONS AND EXPERIENCES. 12mo, Cloth, Uncut Edges and Gilt Top, $1 50.
MY LITERARY PASSIONS. 12mo, Cloth, $1 50.
STOPS OF VARIOUS QUILLS. Poems. Illustrated byHoward Pyle. 4to, Cloth, Ornamental, Uncut Edges and Gilt Top, $2 50.
THE DAY OF THEIR WEDDING. A Story. Illustrated byT. de Thulstrup. 12mo, Cloth, $1 25.
A TRAVELER FROM ALTRURIA. A Romance. 12mo, Cloth, $1 50; Paper, 50 cents.
THE COAST OF BOHEMIA. A Novel. Illustrated. 12mo, Cloth, $1 50.
THE WORLD OF CHANCE. A Novel. 12mo, Cloth, $1 50; Paper, 60 cents.
THE QUALITY OF MERCY. A Novel. 12mo, Cloth, $1 50; Paper, 75 cents.
AN IMPERATIVE DUTY. A Novel. 12mo, Cloth, $1 00; Paper, 50 cents.
A HAZARD OF NEW FORTUNES. A Novel. Two Volumes. 12mo, Cloth, $2 00; Illustrated, 12mo, Paper, $1 00.
A PARTING AND A MEETING. Illustrated. Square 32mo, Cloth, $1 00.
THE SHADOW OF A DREAM. A Story. 12mo, Cloth, $1 00; Paper, 50 cents.
ANNIE KILBURN. A Novel. 12mo, Cloth, $1 50; Paper, 75 cents.
APRIL HOPES. A Novel. 12mo, Cloth, $1 50; Paper, 75 cents.
CHRISTMAS EVERY DAY,and Other Stories. Illustrated. Post 8vo, Cloth, $1 25.
A BOY'S TOWN. Described forHarper's Young People. Illustrated. Post 8vo, Cloth, $1 25.
CRITICISM AND FICTION. With Portrait. 16mo, Cloth, $1 00. (In the Series "Harper's American Essayists.")
MODERN ITALIAN POETS. Essays and Versions. With Portraits. 12mo, Cloth, $2 00.
THE MOUSE-TRAP,and Other Farces. Illustrated. 12mo, Cloth, $1 00.
FARCES:A Likely Story—The Mouse-Trap—Five o'Clock Tea—Evening Dress—The Unexpected Guests—A Letter of Introduction—The Albany Depot—The Garroters. In Uniform Style: Illustrated. 32mo, Cloth, 50 cents each. ("Harper's Black and White Series.")
A LITTLE SWISS SOJOURN. Illustrated. 32mo, Cloth, 50 cents. (" Harper's Black and White Series.")
MY YEAR IN A LOG CABIN. Illustrated. 32mo, Cloth, 50 cents. ("Harper's Black and White Series.")
Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York.The above works are for sale by all booksellers, or will be mailed bythe publishers, postage prepaid, on receipt of the price.
Transcriber's noteThe following changes have been made to the text:Page 25: "whem he was young" changed to "whenhe was young".Page 40: "Félice" changed to "Félicie".
The following changes have been made to the text:
Page 25: "whem he was young" changed to "whenhe was young".
Page 40: "Félice" changed to "Félicie".