A Hindoo died, a happy thing to do,When twenty years united to a shrew.Released, he hopefully for entrance criesBefore the gates of Brahma's paradise."Hast thou been through purgatory?" Brahma said,"No, but I've been married," and he hung his head."Come in, come in, and welcome too, my son,Marriage and purgatory are as one."In bliss extreme he entered heaven's door,And knew the peace he ne'er had known before.But scarce had he entered the garden fair,When another Hindoo asked admission there.The self-same question, Brahma asked,"Hast thou been through purgatory?""No, what then?" "Thou canst not enter," did the God reply."Why, he that entered first was there no more than I.""All that is true, but he has married been,And so on earth, had suffered from all sin.""Married, 'tis well, I've been married twice.""Begone, we'll have no fools in Paradise."
A Hindoo died, a happy thing to do,When twenty years united to a shrew.Released, he hopefully for entrance criesBefore the gates of Brahma's paradise.
A Hindoo died, a happy thing to do,
When twenty years united to a shrew.
Released, he hopefully for entrance cries
Before the gates of Brahma's paradise.
"Hast thou been through purgatory?" Brahma said,"No, but I've been married," and he hung his head."Come in, come in, and welcome too, my son,Marriage and purgatory are as one."
"Hast thou been through purgatory?" Brahma said,
"No, but I've been married," and he hung his head.
"Come in, come in, and welcome too, my son,
Marriage and purgatory are as one."
In bliss extreme he entered heaven's door,And knew the peace he ne'er had known before.But scarce had he entered the garden fair,When another Hindoo asked admission there.
In bliss extreme he entered heaven's door,
And knew the peace he ne'er had known before.
But scarce had he entered the garden fair,
When another Hindoo asked admission there.
The self-same question, Brahma asked,"Hast thou been through purgatory?""No, what then?" "Thou canst not enter," did the God reply."Why, he that entered first was there no more than I."
The self-same question, Brahma asked,
"Hast thou been through purgatory?"
"No, what then?" "Thou canst not enter," did the God reply.
"Why, he that entered first was there no more than I."
"All that is true, but he has married been,And so on earth, had suffered from all sin.""Married, 'tis well, I've been married twice.""Begone, we'll have no fools in Paradise."
"All that is true, but he has married been,
And so on earth, had suffered from all sin."
"Married, 'tis well, I've been married twice."
"Begone, we'll have no fools in Paradise."
If I knew the box where the smiles are kept,No matter how large the key,Or strong the bolt, I would try so hard,'Twould open, I know, for me.Then over the land and sea broadcast,I'd scatter the smiles to play,That the children's faces might hold them fastFor many and many a day.If I knew a box that was large enoughTo hold all the frowns I meet,I would like to gather them, every one,From the nursery, school and street,Then, holding and folding I'd pack them in,And turning the monster keyI'd hire a giant to drop the box,Into the depths of the sea.
If I knew the box where the smiles are kept,No matter how large the key,Or strong the bolt, I would try so hard,'Twould open, I know, for me.Then over the land and sea broadcast,I'd scatter the smiles to play,That the children's faces might hold them fastFor many and many a day.
If I knew the box where the smiles are kept,
No matter how large the key,
Or strong the bolt, I would try so hard,
'Twould open, I know, for me.
Then over the land and sea broadcast,
I'd scatter the smiles to play,
That the children's faces might hold them fast
For many and many a day.
If I knew a box that was large enoughTo hold all the frowns I meet,I would like to gather them, every one,From the nursery, school and street,Then, holding and folding I'd pack them in,And turning the monster keyI'd hire a giant to drop the box,Into the depths of the sea.
If I knew a box that was large enough
To hold all the frowns I meet,
I would like to gather them, every one,
From the nursery, school and street,
Then, holding and folding I'd pack them in,
And turning the monster key
I'd hire a giant to drop the box,
Into the depths of the sea.
I remember going to the British Museum one day to read up the treatment for some slight ailment of which I had a touch—hay fever, I fancy it was. I got down the book, and read all I came to read; and then, in an unthinking moment, Iidly turned the leaves, and began to indolently study diseases generally. I forget which was the first distemper I plunged into—some fearful, devastating scourge I know—and, before I had glanced half down the list of "premonitory symptoms," it was borne in upon me that I had fairly got it.
I sat for a while, frozen with horror; and then, in the listlessness of despair, I again turned over the pages. I came to typhoid fever—read the symptoms—discovered that I had typhoid fever, must have had it for months without knowing it—wondered what else I had got; turned up St. Vitus's Dance—found, as I expected, that I had that too,—began to get interested in my case, and determined to sift it to the bottom and so started alphabetically—read up ague, and learned that I was sickening for it, and that the acute stage would commence in about another fortnight. Bright's disease, I was relieved to find, I had only in a modified form, and, so far as that was concerned, I might live for years. Cholera I had, with severe complications; and diphtheria I seemed to have been born with. I plodded conscientiously through the twenty-six letters, and the only malady I could conclude I had not got was housemaid's knee.
I felt rather hurt about this at first; it seemed somehow to be a sort of slight. Why hadn't I got housemaid's knee? Why this invidious reservation? After a while, however, less grasping feelings prevailed. I reflected that I had every other known malady in the pharmacology, and grew less selfish, and determined to do without housemaid's knee. Gout, in its most malignant stage, it would appear, had seized me without my being aware of it; and zymosis I had evidently been suffering with from boyhood. There were no more diseases after zymosis, so I concluded there was nothing else the matter with me.
I sat and pondered. I thought what an interesting case I must be from a medical point of view, what an acquisition Ishould be to a class! Students would have no need to "walk the hospitals," if they had me. I was a hospital in myself. All they need do would be to walk around me, and, after that, take their diploma.
Then I wondered how long I had to live. I tried to examine myself. I felt my pulse. I could not at first feel any pulse at all. Then, all of a sudden, it seemed to start off. I pulled out my watch and timed it. I made a hundred and forty-seven to the minute. I tried to feel my heart. I could not feel my heart. It had stopped beating. I have since been induced to come to the opinion that it must have been there all the time, and must have been beating, but I cannot account for it. I patted myself all over my front, from what I call my waist up to my head, and I went a bit round each side, and a little way up the back. But I could not feel or hear anything. I tried to look at my tongue. I stuck it out as far as ever it would go, and I shut one eye, and tried to examine it with the other. I could only see the tip, and the only thing that I could gain from that was to feel more certain than before that I had scarlet fever.
I went to my medical man. He is an old chum of mine, and feels my pulse, and looks at my tongue, and talks about the weather, all for nothing, when I fancy I'm ill; so I thought I would do him a good turn by going to him now. "What a doctor wants," I said, "is practice. He shall have me. He will get more practice out of me than out of seventeen hundred of your ordinary, commonplace patients, with only one or two diseases each." So I went straight up and saw him, and he said:
"Well, what's the matter with you?"
I said:
"I will not take up your time, dear boy, with telling you what is the matter with me. Life is brief, and you might pass away before I had finished. But I will tell you what is notthe matter with me. I have not got housemaid's knee. Why I have not got housemaid's knee, I cannot tell you; but the fact remains that I have not got it. Everything else, however, I have got."
And I told him how I came to discover it all.
Then he opened me and looked down me, and clutched hold of my wrist, and then he hit me over the chest when I wasn't expecting it—a cowardly thing to do, I call it—and immediately afterward butted me with the side of his head. After that, he sat down and wrote out a prescription, and folded it up and gave it me, and I put it in my pocket and went out.
I did not open it. I took it to the nearest chemist's and handed it in. The man read it and then handed it back. He said he didn't keep it.
I said:
"You are a chemist?"
"I am a chemist. If I was a coöperative store and family hotel combined I might be able to oblige you. Being only a chemist hampers me."
I read the prescription. It ran:
"1 lb. beefsteak, every 6 hours,1 ten-mile walk every morning,1 bed at 11 sharp every night.And don't stuff up your head with things you don't understand."
"1 lb. beefsteak, every 6 hours,1 ten-mile walk every morning,1 bed at 11 sharp every night.And don't stuff up your head with things you don't understand."
"1 lb. beefsteak, every 6 hours,
1 ten-mile walk every morning,
1 bed at 11 sharp every night.
And don't stuff up your head with things you don't understand."
FOOTNOTE:[70]From "Three Men in a Boat," published by Henry Holt & Co.
[70]From "Three Men in a Boat," published by Henry Holt & Co.
[70]From "Three Men in a Boat," published by Henry Holt & Co.
Jane Jones keeps talkin' to me all the time,An' says you must make it a ruleTo study your lessons 'nd work hard 'nd learn,An' never be absent from school.Remember the story of Elihu Burrit,An' how he clum up to the top,Got all the knowledge 'at ever he hadDown in a blacksmithing shop!Jane Jones she honestly said it was so!Mebbe he did—I dunno!O' course what's a-keepin' me 'way from the top,Is not never havin' no blacksmithing shop.She said 'at Ben Franklin was awfully poor,But full of ambition an' brains;An' studied philosophy all his hull life,An' see what he got for his pains!He brought electricity out of the sky,With a kite an' a bottle an' key,An' we're owing him more 'n any one elseFor all the bright lights 'at we see.Jane Jones she honestly said it was so!Mebbe he did—I dunno!O' course what's allers been hinderin' meIs not havin' any kite, lightning, er key.Jane Jones said Abe Lincoln had no books at allAn' used to split rails when a boy;An' General Grant was a tanner by tradeAn' lived way out in Ill'nois.So when the great war in the South first broke outHe stood on the side o' the right,An' when Lincoln called him to take charge o' thingsHe won nearly every blamed fight.Jane Jones she honestly said it was so!Mebbe he did—I dunno!Still I ain't to blame, not by a big sight,For I ain't never had any battles to fight.She said 'at Columbus was out at the kneesWhen he first thought up his big scheme,An' told all the Spaniards 'nd Italians, too,An' all of 'em said 'twas a dream.But Queen Isabella jest listened to him,'Nd pawned all her jewels o' worth,'Nd bought him the Santa Maria 'nd said,"Go hunt up the rest o' the earth!"Jane Jones she honestly said it was so!Mebbe he did—I dunno!O' course that may be, but then you must allowThey ain't no land to discover jest now!
Jane Jones keeps talkin' to me all the time,An' says you must make it a ruleTo study your lessons 'nd work hard 'nd learn,An' never be absent from school.Remember the story of Elihu Burrit,An' how he clum up to the top,Got all the knowledge 'at ever he hadDown in a blacksmithing shop!Jane Jones she honestly said it was so!Mebbe he did—I dunno!O' course what's a-keepin' me 'way from the top,Is not never havin' no blacksmithing shop.
Jane Jones keeps talkin' to me all the time,
An' says you must make it a rule
To study your lessons 'nd work hard 'nd learn,
An' never be absent from school.
Remember the story of Elihu Burrit,
An' how he clum up to the top,
Got all the knowledge 'at ever he had
Down in a blacksmithing shop!
Jane Jones she honestly said it was so!
Mebbe he did—
I dunno!
O' course what's a-keepin' me 'way from the top,
Is not never havin' no blacksmithing shop.
She said 'at Ben Franklin was awfully poor,But full of ambition an' brains;An' studied philosophy all his hull life,An' see what he got for his pains!He brought electricity out of the sky,With a kite an' a bottle an' key,An' we're owing him more 'n any one elseFor all the bright lights 'at we see.Jane Jones she honestly said it was so!Mebbe he did—I dunno!O' course what's allers been hinderin' meIs not havin' any kite, lightning, er key.
She said 'at Ben Franklin was awfully poor,
But full of ambition an' brains;
An' studied philosophy all his hull life,
An' see what he got for his pains!
He brought electricity out of the sky,
With a kite an' a bottle an' key,
An' we're owing him more 'n any one else
For all the bright lights 'at we see.
Jane Jones she honestly said it was so!
Mebbe he did—
I dunno!
O' course what's allers been hinderin' me
Is not havin' any kite, lightning, er key.
Jane Jones said Abe Lincoln had no books at allAn' used to split rails when a boy;An' General Grant was a tanner by tradeAn' lived way out in Ill'nois.So when the great war in the South first broke outHe stood on the side o' the right,An' when Lincoln called him to take charge o' thingsHe won nearly every blamed fight.Jane Jones she honestly said it was so!Mebbe he did—I dunno!Still I ain't to blame, not by a big sight,For I ain't never had any battles to fight.
Jane Jones said Abe Lincoln had no books at all
An' used to split rails when a boy;
An' General Grant was a tanner by trade
An' lived way out in Ill'nois.
So when the great war in the South first broke out
He stood on the side o' the right,
An' when Lincoln called him to take charge o' things
He won nearly every blamed fight.
Jane Jones she honestly said it was so!
Mebbe he did—
I dunno!
Still I ain't to blame, not by a big sight,
For I ain't never had any battles to fight.
She said 'at Columbus was out at the kneesWhen he first thought up his big scheme,An' told all the Spaniards 'nd Italians, too,An' all of 'em said 'twas a dream.But Queen Isabella jest listened to him,'Nd pawned all her jewels o' worth,'Nd bought him the Santa Maria 'nd said,"Go hunt up the rest o' the earth!"Jane Jones she honestly said it was so!Mebbe he did—I dunno!O' course that may be, but then you must allowThey ain't no land to discover jest now!
She said 'at Columbus was out at the knees
When he first thought up his big scheme,
An' told all the Spaniards 'nd Italians, too,
An' all of 'em said 'twas a dream.
But Queen Isabella jest listened to him,
'Nd pawned all her jewels o' worth,
'Nd bought him the Santa Maria 'nd said,
"Go hunt up the rest o' the earth!"
Jane Jones she honestly said it was so!
Mebbe he did—
I dunno!
O' course that may be, but then you must allow
They ain't no land to discover jest now!
FOOTNOTE:[71]By permission of the author and Forbes & Co., publishers.
[71]By permission of the author and Forbes & Co., publishers.
[71]By permission of the author and Forbes & Co., publishers.
Tell you what I like the best—'Long about knee-deep in June,'Bout the time strawberries meltOn the vine,—some afternoonLike to jes' git out and rest,And not work at nothin' else!Orchard's where I'd ruther be—Needn't fence it in fer me!Jes' the whole sky overhead,And the whole airth underneath—Sorto' so's a man kin breatheLike he ort, and kind o' hasElbow-room to keerlesslySprawl out len'thways on the grassWhere the shadders thick and softAs the kivvers on the bedMother fixes in the loftAllus, when they's company!Jes' a-sorto' lazin' there—S'lazy, 'at you peek and peerThrough the wavin' leaves aboveLike a feller 'at's in loveAnd don't know it, ner don't kere!Ever'thing you hear and seeGot some sort o' interest—Maybe find a bluebird's nestTucked up there conveenentlyFer the boy 'at's apt to beUp some other apple-tree!Watch the swallers skootin' past'Bout as peert as you could ast;Er the Bob-white raise and whizWhere some other's whistle is.Ketch a shadder down below,And look up to find the crow—Er a hawk,—away up there,'Pearantly froze in the air!—Hear the old hen squak, and squatOver ever' chick she's got,Suddent-like—And she knows whereThat-air hawk is, well as you!—You jes' bet yer life she do!—Eyes a-glitterin' like glass,Waitin' till he makes a pass!Pee-wees' singin', to expressMy opinion, 's second class,Yit you'll hear 'em more er less;Sapsucks gittin' down to biz,Weedin' out the lonesomeness;Mr. Bluejay, full o' sass,In them base-ball clothes o' his,Sportin' 'round the orchard jes'Like he owned the premises!Sun out in the fields kin sizz,But flat on yer back, I guess,In the shade's where glory is!That's jes' what I'd like to doStiddy fer a year er two!Plague! ef they ain't somepin' inWork 'at kindo' goes ag'inMy convictions!—'long aboutHere in June especially!—Under some old apple-tree,Jes' a-restin' through and through,I could git along withoutNothin else at all to doOnly jes' a-wishin' youWas a-gittin' there like me,And June war eternity!Lay out there and try to seeJes' how lazy you kin be!—Tumble round and souse yer headIn the clover-bloom, er pullYer straw hat acrost yer eyes,And peek through it at the skies,Thinkin' of old chums 'at's dead,Maybe, smilin' back at youIn betwixt the beautifulClouds o' gold and white and blue!—Month a man kin railly love—June, you know, I'm talkin' of!March ain't never nothin' new!Aprile's altogether tooBrash fer me! and May—I jes''Bominate its promises,—Little hints o' sunshine andGreen around the timber-land—A few blossoms, and a fewChip-birds, and a sprout er two—Drap asleep, and it turns in'Fore daylight and snows ag'in!—But when June comes—Clear my th'oatWith wild honey!—Rench my hairIn the dew! and hold my coat!Whoop out loud! and th'ow my hat!—June wants me, and I'm to spare!Spread them shadders anywhere,I'll git down and waller there,And obleeged to you at that!
Tell you what I like the best—'Long about knee-deep in June,'Bout the time strawberries meltOn the vine,—some afternoonLike to jes' git out and rest,And not work at nothin' else!
Tell you what I like the best—
'Long about knee-deep in June,
'Bout the time strawberries melt
On the vine,—some afternoon
Like to jes' git out and rest,
And not work at nothin' else!
Orchard's where I'd ruther be—Needn't fence it in fer me!Jes' the whole sky overhead,And the whole airth underneath—Sorto' so's a man kin breatheLike he ort, and kind o' hasElbow-room to keerlesslySprawl out len'thways on the grassWhere the shadders thick and softAs the kivvers on the bedMother fixes in the loftAllus, when they's company!
Orchard's where I'd ruther be—
Needn't fence it in fer me!
Jes' the whole sky overhead,
And the whole airth underneath—
Sorto' so's a man kin breathe
Like he ort, and kind o' has
Elbow-room to keerlessly
Sprawl out len'thways on the grass
Where the shadders thick and soft
As the kivvers on the bed
Mother fixes in the loft
Allus, when they's company!
Jes' a-sorto' lazin' there—S'lazy, 'at you peek and peerThrough the wavin' leaves aboveLike a feller 'at's in loveAnd don't know it, ner don't kere!Ever'thing you hear and seeGot some sort o' interest—Maybe find a bluebird's nestTucked up there conveenentlyFer the boy 'at's apt to beUp some other apple-tree!Watch the swallers skootin' past'Bout as peert as you could ast;Er the Bob-white raise and whizWhere some other's whistle is.
Jes' a-sorto' lazin' there—
S'lazy, 'at you peek and peer
Through the wavin' leaves above
Like a feller 'at's in love
And don't know it, ner don't kere!
Ever'thing you hear and see
Got some sort o' interest—
Maybe find a bluebird's nest
Tucked up there conveenently
Fer the boy 'at's apt to be
Up some other apple-tree!
Watch the swallers skootin' past
'Bout as peert as you could ast;
Er the Bob-white raise and whiz
Where some other's whistle is.
Ketch a shadder down below,And look up to find the crow—Er a hawk,—away up there,'Pearantly froze in the air!—Hear the old hen squak, and squatOver ever' chick she's got,Suddent-like—And she knows whereThat-air hawk is, well as you!—You jes' bet yer life she do!—Eyes a-glitterin' like glass,Waitin' till he makes a pass!
Ketch a shadder down below,
And look up to find the crow—
Er a hawk,—away up there,
'Pearantly froze in the air!—
Hear the old hen squak, and squat
Over ever' chick she's got,
Suddent-like—And she knows where
That-air hawk is, well as you!—
You jes' bet yer life she do!—
Eyes a-glitterin' like glass,
Waitin' till he makes a pass!
Pee-wees' singin', to expressMy opinion, 's second class,Yit you'll hear 'em more er less;Sapsucks gittin' down to biz,Weedin' out the lonesomeness;Mr. Bluejay, full o' sass,In them base-ball clothes o' his,Sportin' 'round the orchard jes'Like he owned the premises!Sun out in the fields kin sizz,But flat on yer back, I guess,In the shade's where glory is!That's jes' what I'd like to doStiddy fer a year er two!
Pee-wees' singin', to express
My opinion, 's second class,
Yit you'll hear 'em more er less;
Sapsucks gittin' down to biz,
Weedin' out the lonesomeness;
Mr. Bluejay, full o' sass,
In them base-ball clothes o' his,
Sportin' 'round the orchard jes'
Like he owned the premises!
Sun out in the fields kin sizz,
But flat on yer back, I guess,
In the shade's where glory is!
That's jes' what I'd like to do
Stiddy fer a year er two!
Plague! ef they ain't somepin' inWork 'at kindo' goes ag'inMy convictions!—'long aboutHere in June especially!—Under some old apple-tree,Jes' a-restin' through and through,I could git along withoutNothin else at all to doOnly jes' a-wishin' youWas a-gittin' there like me,And June war eternity!
Plague! ef they ain't somepin' in
Work 'at kindo' goes ag'in
My convictions!—'long about
Here in June especially!—
Under some old apple-tree,
Jes' a-restin' through and through,
I could git along without
Nothin else at all to do
Only jes' a-wishin' you
Was a-gittin' there like me,
And June war eternity!
Lay out there and try to seeJes' how lazy you kin be!—Tumble round and souse yer headIn the clover-bloom, er pullYer straw hat acrost yer eyes,And peek through it at the skies,Thinkin' of old chums 'at's dead,Maybe, smilin' back at youIn betwixt the beautifulClouds o' gold and white and blue!—Month a man kin railly love—June, you know, I'm talkin' of!
Lay out there and try to see
Jes' how lazy you kin be!—
Tumble round and souse yer head
In the clover-bloom, er pull
Yer straw hat acrost yer eyes,
And peek through it at the skies,
Thinkin' of old chums 'at's dead,
Maybe, smilin' back at you
In betwixt the beautiful
Clouds o' gold and white and blue!—
Month a man kin railly love—
June, you know, I'm talkin' of!
March ain't never nothin' new!Aprile's altogether tooBrash fer me! and May—I jes''Bominate its promises,—Little hints o' sunshine andGreen around the timber-land—A few blossoms, and a fewChip-birds, and a sprout er two—Drap asleep, and it turns in'Fore daylight and snows ag'in!—
March ain't never nothin' new!
Aprile's altogether too
Brash fer me! and May—I jes'
'Bominate its promises,—
Little hints o' sunshine and
Green around the timber-land—
A few blossoms, and a few
Chip-birds, and a sprout er two—
Drap asleep, and it turns in
'Fore daylight and snows ag'in!—
But when June comes—Clear my th'oatWith wild honey!—Rench my hairIn the dew! and hold my coat!Whoop out loud! and th'ow my hat!—June wants me, and I'm to spare!Spread them shadders anywhere,I'll git down and waller there,And obleeged to you at that!
But when June comes—Clear my th'oat
With wild honey!—Rench my hair
In the dew! and hold my coat!
Whoop out loud! and th'ow my hat!—
June wants me, and I'm to spare!
Spread them shadders anywhere,
I'll git down and waller there,
And obleeged to you at that!
FOOTNOTE:[72]From "Afterwhiles," published by the Bobbs-Merrill Co., Indianapolis, Ind.
[72]From "Afterwhiles," published by the Bobbs-Merrill Co., Indianapolis, Ind.
[72]From "Afterwhiles," published by the Bobbs-Merrill Co., Indianapolis, Ind.
I don't go much on religion,I never ain't had no show;But I've got a middlin' tight grip, sir,On the handful o' things I know.I don't pan out on the prophets,And free-will and that sort of thing,But I believe in God and the angels,Ever sence one night last spring.I come into town with some turnips,And my little Gabe come along—No four-year-old in the countryCould beat him for pretty and strong,Peart and chipper and sassy,Always ready to swear and fight—And I'd larnt him to chew terbacker,Jest to keep his milk teeth white.The snow come down like a blanketAs I passed by Taggart's store;I went in for a jug of molassesAnd left the team at the door.They scared at something and started—I heard one little squall,And hell-to-split over the prairieWent team, Little Breeches and all.Hell-to-split over the prairie!I was almost froze with skeer;But we rousted up some torches,And searched for 'em far and near.At last we struck hosses and wagon,Snowed under a soft white mound,Upsot, dead beat—but of little GabeNo hide nor hair was found.And here all hope soured on me,Of my fellow-critters' aid—I jest flopped down on my marrow bones,Crotch deep in the snow, and prayed.By this the torches was played out,And me and Isrul ParrWent off for some wood to a sheepfoldThat he said was somewhar thar.We found it at last, and a little shedWhere they shut up the lambs at night;We looked in, and seen them huddled thar,So warm and sleepy and white.And thar sat Little Breeches and chirped,As peart as ever you see,"I want a chaw of terbacker,And that's what's the matter with me."How did he get thar? Angels.He could never have walked in that storm,They just scooped down and toted himTo whar it was safe and warm;And I think that saving a little childAnd bringing him to his own,Is a derned sight better businessThan loafing around the Throne.
I don't go much on religion,I never ain't had no show;But I've got a middlin' tight grip, sir,On the handful o' things I know.I don't pan out on the prophets,And free-will and that sort of thing,But I believe in God and the angels,Ever sence one night last spring.
I don't go much on religion,
I never ain't had no show;
But I've got a middlin' tight grip, sir,
On the handful o' things I know.
I don't pan out on the prophets,
And free-will and that sort of thing,
But I believe in God and the angels,
Ever sence one night last spring.
I come into town with some turnips,And my little Gabe come along—No four-year-old in the countryCould beat him for pretty and strong,Peart and chipper and sassy,Always ready to swear and fight—And I'd larnt him to chew terbacker,Jest to keep his milk teeth white.
I come into town with some turnips,
And my little Gabe come along—
No four-year-old in the country
Could beat him for pretty and strong,
Peart and chipper and sassy,
Always ready to swear and fight—
And I'd larnt him to chew terbacker,
Jest to keep his milk teeth white.
The snow come down like a blanketAs I passed by Taggart's store;I went in for a jug of molassesAnd left the team at the door.They scared at something and started—I heard one little squall,And hell-to-split over the prairieWent team, Little Breeches and all.
The snow come down like a blanket
As I passed by Taggart's store;
I went in for a jug of molasses
And left the team at the door.
They scared at something and started—
I heard one little squall,
And hell-to-split over the prairie
Went team, Little Breeches and all.
Hell-to-split over the prairie!I was almost froze with skeer;But we rousted up some torches,And searched for 'em far and near.At last we struck hosses and wagon,Snowed under a soft white mound,Upsot, dead beat—but of little GabeNo hide nor hair was found.
Hell-to-split over the prairie!
I was almost froze with skeer;
But we rousted up some torches,
And searched for 'em far and near.
At last we struck hosses and wagon,
Snowed under a soft white mound,
Upsot, dead beat—but of little Gabe
No hide nor hair was found.
And here all hope soured on me,Of my fellow-critters' aid—I jest flopped down on my marrow bones,Crotch deep in the snow, and prayed.By this the torches was played out,And me and Isrul ParrWent off for some wood to a sheepfoldThat he said was somewhar thar.
And here all hope soured on me,
Of my fellow-critters' aid—
I jest flopped down on my marrow bones,
Crotch deep in the snow, and prayed.
By this the torches was played out,
And me and Isrul Parr
Went off for some wood to a sheepfold
That he said was somewhar thar.
We found it at last, and a little shedWhere they shut up the lambs at night;We looked in, and seen them huddled thar,So warm and sleepy and white.And thar sat Little Breeches and chirped,As peart as ever you see,"I want a chaw of terbacker,And that's what's the matter with me."
We found it at last, and a little shed
Where they shut up the lambs at night;
We looked in, and seen them huddled thar,
So warm and sleepy and white.
And thar sat Little Breeches and chirped,
As peart as ever you see,
"I want a chaw of terbacker,
And that's what's the matter with me."
How did he get thar? Angels.He could never have walked in that storm,They just scooped down and toted himTo whar it was safe and warm;And I think that saving a little childAnd bringing him to his own,Is a derned sight better businessThan loafing around the Throne.
How did he get thar? Angels.
He could never have walked in that storm,
They just scooped down and toted him
To whar it was safe and warm;
And I think that saving a little child
And bringing him to his own,
Is a derned sight better business
Than loafing around the Throne.
FOOTNOTE:[73]By permission of Mrs. Hay.
[73]By permission of Mrs. Hay.
[73]By permission of Mrs. Hay.
When first I saw sweet Peggy,'Twas on a market-day;A low-backed car she drove, and satUpon a truss of hay;But when that hay was blooming grass,And decked with flowers of spring,No flower was there that could compareWith the blooming girl I sing.As she sat in the low-backed car,The man at the turnpike barNever asked for the toll,But just rubbed his owld poll,And looked after the low-backed car.In battle's wild commotion,The proud and mighty MarsWith hostile scythes demands his tithesOf death—in warlike cars;While Peggy, peaceful goddess,Has darts in her bright eyesThat knock men down in the market-town,As right and left they fly;While she sits in her low-backed car:Than battle more dangerous far—For the doctor's artCannot cure the heartThat is hit from that low-backed car.Sweet Peggy round her cart, sir,Has strings of ducks and geese,But the scores of hearts she slaughtersBy far outnumber these;While she among her poultry sits,Just like a turtle-dove,Well worth the cage, I do engage,Of the blooming god of love;While she sits in her low-backed car,The lovers come near and far,And envy the chickenThat Peggy is pickin'As she sits in her low-backed car.Oh! I'd rather own that car, sir,With Peggy by my side,Than a coach and four, and gold galore,And a lady for my bride;For the lady would sit forninst me,On a cushion made with taste,While Peggy would sit beside me,With my arm around her waist,While we drove in the low-backed carTo be married by Father Maher;Oh! my heart would beat highAt her glance and her sigh,Though it beat in a low-backed car.
When first I saw sweet Peggy,'Twas on a market-day;A low-backed car she drove, and satUpon a truss of hay;But when that hay was blooming grass,And decked with flowers of spring,No flower was there that could compareWith the blooming girl I sing.As she sat in the low-backed car,The man at the turnpike barNever asked for the toll,But just rubbed his owld poll,And looked after the low-backed car.
When first I saw sweet Peggy,
'Twas on a market-day;
A low-backed car she drove, and sat
Upon a truss of hay;
But when that hay was blooming grass,
And decked with flowers of spring,
No flower was there that could compare
With the blooming girl I sing.
As she sat in the low-backed car,
The man at the turnpike bar
Never asked for the toll,
But just rubbed his owld poll,
And looked after the low-backed car.
In battle's wild commotion,The proud and mighty MarsWith hostile scythes demands his tithesOf death—in warlike cars;While Peggy, peaceful goddess,Has darts in her bright eyesThat knock men down in the market-town,As right and left they fly;While she sits in her low-backed car:Than battle more dangerous far—For the doctor's artCannot cure the heartThat is hit from that low-backed car.
In battle's wild commotion,
The proud and mighty Mars
With hostile scythes demands his tithes
Of death—in warlike cars;
While Peggy, peaceful goddess,
Has darts in her bright eyes
That knock men down in the market-town,
As right and left they fly;
While she sits in her low-backed car:
Than battle more dangerous far—
For the doctor's art
Cannot cure the heart
That is hit from that low-backed car.
Sweet Peggy round her cart, sir,Has strings of ducks and geese,But the scores of hearts she slaughtersBy far outnumber these;While she among her poultry sits,Just like a turtle-dove,Well worth the cage, I do engage,Of the blooming god of love;While she sits in her low-backed car,The lovers come near and far,And envy the chickenThat Peggy is pickin'As she sits in her low-backed car.
Sweet Peggy round her cart, sir,
Has strings of ducks and geese,
But the scores of hearts she slaughters
By far outnumber these;
While she among her poultry sits,
Just like a turtle-dove,
Well worth the cage, I do engage,
Of the blooming god of love;
While she sits in her low-backed car,
The lovers come near and far,
And envy the chicken
That Peggy is pickin'
As she sits in her low-backed car.
Oh! I'd rather own that car, sir,With Peggy by my side,Than a coach and four, and gold galore,And a lady for my bride;For the lady would sit forninst me,On a cushion made with taste,While Peggy would sit beside me,With my arm around her waist,While we drove in the low-backed carTo be married by Father Maher;Oh! my heart would beat highAt her glance and her sigh,Though it beat in a low-backed car.
Oh! I'd rather own that car, sir,
With Peggy by my side,
Than a coach and four, and gold galore,
And a lady for my bride;
For the lady would sit forninst me,
On a cushion made with taste,
While Peggy would sit beside me,
With my arm around her waist,
While we drove in the low-backed car
To be married by Father Maher;
Oh! my heart would beat high
At her glance and her sigh,
Though it beat in a low-backed car.
Now, whah d'ye s'pose dat chile is?My, he's got a head!He's a-hidin' frum his mammy'Case it's time to go to bed.Hyah, you, Petah Johnsing!Come inside dat fence.I done tole you yes'dayYou didn't hab no sense.What's dat? A-waitin' fo' yo' daddy?(Bress his little hea't!)Why, chile! Yo' daddy won't be comin'Froo dat woodsy pa'tAt dis time ob de ebenin'.Don't you see dat moon?Dat's de sign dat spooks'Ll be a-trablin' soon.I b'lieve I see 'emComin'—Massy me!As sho' as you is breavin'Dar's one behind dat tree!Ha! Ha! I t'ought dat 'd bring him.Come hyah, sweety hon',Come to yo' ole mammy,An' if dose spookies comeAn' want my pickaninny,I'll swat 'em in de face;I'll take dar flowin' ga'ments,An' jest wipe up de place.I'll take dat ar bu'nt hoe-cake,An' hit 'em on de head,Till dey'll be glad to go away,An' let my baby go to bed.So, don't cry no mo', my honey,Jes' close yo' little eye,An' mammy'll rock ye in her a'ms,An' sing de—"Lullaby,Close yo' eye,Mammy's little dusky baby;Hush-a-bye,Close yo' eye,Mammy's little baby boy,Den hush-a-bye."Now, what's de mattah, honey?Ain't you neber gwine ter sleep?Dose spookies ain't a-comin';Dey's gwine off down de street.Now shet yo' eyes up tight,An' go right off to sleep;An' to-morrow for yo' breakfus'You'll hab' possum for to eat.So, don't cry no mo', my honey,Jes' close yo' little eye,While mammy rocks you in her a'msAn' sings de—"Lullaby," etc.
Now, whah d'ye s'pose dat chile is?My, he's got a head!He's a-hidin' frum his mammy'Case it's time to go to bed.
Now, whah d'ye s'pose dat chile is?
My, he's got a head!
He's a-hidin' frum his mammy
'Case it's time to go to bed.
Hyah, you, Petah Johnsing!Come inside dat fence.I done tole you yes'dayYou didn't hab no sense.
Hyah, you, Petah Johnsing!
Come inside dat fence.
I done tole you yes'day
You didn't hab no sense.
What's dat? A-waitin' fo' yo' daddy?(Bress his little hea't!)Why, chile! Yo' daddy won't be comin'Froo dat woodsy pa't
What's dat? A-waitin' fo' yo' daddy?
(Bress his little hea't!)
Why, chile! Yo' daddy won't be comin'
Froo dat woodsy pa't
At dis time ob de ebenin'.Don't you see dat moon?Dat's de sign dat spooks'Ll be a-trablin' soon.
At dis time ob de ebenin'.
Don't you see dat moon?
Dat's de sign dat spooks
'Ll be a-trablin' soon.
I b'lieve I see 'emComin'—Massy me!As sho' as you is breavin'Dar's one behind dat tree!
I b'lieve I see 'em
Comin'—Massy me!
As sho' as you is breavin'
Dar's one behind dat tree!
Ha! Ha! I t'ought dat 'd bring him.Come hyah, sweety hon',Come to yo' ole mammy,An' if dose spookies come
Ha! Ha! I t'ought dat 'd bring him.
Come hyah, sweety hon',
Come to yo' ole mammy,
An' if dose spookies come
An' want my pickaninny,I'll swat 'em in de face;I'll take dar flowin' ga'ments,An' jest wipe up de place.
An' want my pickaninny,
I'll swat 'em in de face;
I'll take dar flowin' ga'ments,
An' jest wipe up de place.
I'll take dat ar bu'nt hoe-cake,An' hit 'em on de head,Till dey'll be glad to go away,An' let my baby go to bed.
I'll take dat ar bu'nt hoe-cake,
An' hit 'em on de head,
Till dey'll be glad to go away,
An' let my baby go to bed.
So, don't cry no mo', my honey,Jes' close yo' little eye,An' mammy'll rock ye in her a'ms,An' sing de—"Lullaby,Close yo' eye,Mammy's little dusky baby;Hush-a-bye,Close yo' eye,Mammy's little baby boy,Den hush-a-bye."
So, don't cry no mo', my honey,
Jes' close yo' little eye,
An' mammy'll rock ye in her a'ms,
An' sing de—
"Lullaby,
Close yo' eye,
Mammy's little dusky baby;
Hush-a-bye,
Close yo' eye,
Mammy's little baby boy,
Den hush-a-bye."
Now, what's de mattah, honey?Ain't you neber gwine ter sleep?Dose spookies ain't a-comin';Dey's gwine off down de street.
Now, what's de mattah, honey?
Ain't you neber gwine ter sleep?
Dose spookies ain't a-comin';
Dey's gwine off down de street.
Now shet yo' eyes up tight,An' go right off to sleep;An' to-morrow for yo' breakfus'You'll hab' possum for to eat.
Now shet yo' eyes up tight,
An' go right off to sleep;
An' to-morrow for yo' breakfus'
You'll hab' possum for to eat.
So, don't cry no mo', my honey,Jes' close yo' little eye,While mammy rocks you in her a'msAn' sings de—"Lullaby," etc.
So, don't cry no mo', my honey,
Jes' close yo' little eye,
While mammy rocks you in her a'ms
An' sings de—
"Lullaby," etc.
By the old Moulmein Pagoda, lookin' eastward to the sea,There's a Burma girl a-settin', an' I know she thinks o' me;For the wind is in the palm-trees, an' the temple-bells they say:"Come you back, you British soldier; come you back to Mandalay!"Come you back to Mandalay,Where the old Flotilla lay:Can't you 'ear their paddles chuckin' from Rangoon to Mandalay?On the road to Mandalay,Where the flyin'-fishes play,An' the dawn comes up like thunder outer China 'crost the Bay!'Er petticut was yaller an' 'er little cap was green,An' 'er name was Supi-yaw-lat—jes' the same as Theebaw's Queen,An' I seed her fust a-smokin' of a whackin' white cheroot,An' a-wastin' Christian kisses on an 'eathen idol's foot:Bloomin' idol made o' mud—Wot they called the Great Gawd Budd—Plucky lot she cared for idols when I kissed 'er where she stud!On the road to Mandalay—When the mist was on the rice fields an' the sun was droppin' slow,She'd git 'er little banjo an' she'd sing "Kullalo-lo!"With 'er arm upon my shoulder an' her cheek agin my cheekWe useter watch the steamers an' the hathis pilin' teak.Elephints a-pilin' teakIn the sludgy, squdgy creek,Where the silence 'ung that 'eavy you was 'arf afraid to speak!On the road to Mandalay—But that's all shove be'ind me—long ago an' fur away,An' there ain't no 'buses runnin' from the Benk to Mandalay;An' I'm learnin' 'ere in London what the ten-year sodger tells:"If you've 'eard the East a-callin,' why, you won't 'eed nothin' else."No! you won't 'eed nothin' elseBut them spicy garlic smellsAn' the sunshine an' the palm-trees an' the tinkly temple-bells!On the road to Mandalay—I am sick o' wastin' leather on these gutty pavin'-stones,An' the blasted Henglish drizzle wakes the fever in my bones;Tho' I walks with fifty 'ousemaids outer Chelsea to the Strand,An' they talks a lot o' lovin', but wot do they understand?Beefy face an' grubby 'and—Law! wot do they understand?I've a neater, sweeter maiden in a cleaner, greener, land!On the road to Mandalay—Ship me somewheres east of Suez where the best is like the worst,Where there aren't no Ten Commandments, an' a man can raise a thirst;For the temple-bells are callin', an' it's there that I would be—By the old Moulmein Pagoda, lookin' lazy at the sea—On the road to Mandalay,Where the old Flotilla lay,With our sick beneath the awnings when we went to Mandalay!On the road to Mandalay,Where the flyin'-fishes play,An' the dawn comes up like thunder outer China 'crost the Bay!
By the old Moulmein Pagoda, lookin' eastward to the sea,There's a Burma girl a-settin', an' I know she thinks o' me;For the wind is in the palm-trees, an' the temple-bells they say:"Come you back, you British soldier; come you back to Mandalay!"Come you back to Mandalay,Where the old Flotilla lay:Can't you 'ear their paddles chuckin' from Rangoon to Mandalay?On the road to Mandalay,Where the flyin'-fishes play,An' the dawn comes up like thunder outer China 'crost the Bay!
By the old Moulmein Pagoda, lookin' eastward to the sea,
There's a Burma girl a-settin', an' I know she thinks o' me;
For the wind is in the palm-trees, an' the temple-bells they say:
"Come you back, you British soldier; come you back to Mandalay!"
Come you back to Mandalay,
Where the old Flotilla lay:
Can't you 'ear their paddles chuckin' from Rangoon to Mandalay?
On the road to Mandalay,
Where the flyin'-fishes play,
An' the dawn comes up like thunder outer China 'crost the Bay!
'Er petticut was yaller an' 'er little cap was green,An' 'er name was Supi-yaw-lat—jes' the same as Theebaw's Queen,An' I seed her fust a-smokin' of a whackin' white cheroot,An' a-wastin' Christian kisses on an 'eathen idol's foot:Bloomin' idol made o' mud—Wot they called the Great Gawd Budd—Plucky lot she cared for idols when I kissed 'er where she stud!On the road to Mandalay—
'Er petticut was yaller an' 'er little cap was green,
An' 'er name was Supi-yaw-lat—jes' the same as Theebaw's Queen,
An' I seed her fust a-smokin' of a whackin' white cheroot,
An' a-wastin' Christian kisses on an 'eathen idol's foot:
Bloomin' idol made o' mud—
Wot they called the Great Gawd Budd—
Plucky lot she cared for idols when I kissed 'er where she stud!
On the road to Mandalay—
When the mist was on the rice fields an' the sun was droppin' slow,She'd git 'er little banjo an' she'd sing "Kullalo-lo!"With 'er arm upon my shoulder an' her cheek agin my cheekWe useter watch the steamers an' the hathis pilin' teak.Elephints a-pilin' teakIn the sludgy, squdgy creek,Where the silence 'ung that 'eavy you was 'arf afraid to speak!On the road to Mandalay—
When the mist was on the rice fields an' the sun was droppin' slow,
She'd git 'er little banjo an' she'd sing "Kullalo-lo!"
With 'er arm upon my shoulder an' her cheek agin my cheek
We useter watch the steamers an' the hathis pilin' teak.
Elephints a-pilin' teak
In the sludgy, squdgy creek,
Where the silence 'ung that 'eavy you was 'arf afraid to speak!
On the road to Mandalay—
But that's all shove be'ind me—long ago an' fur away,An' there ain't no 'buses runnin' from the Benk to Mandalay;An' I'm learnin' 'ere in London what the ten-year sodger tells:"If you've 'eard the East a-callin,' why, you won't 'eed nothin' else."No! you won't 'eed nothin' elseBut them spicy garlic smellsAn' the sunshine an' the palm-trees an' the tinkly temple-bells!On the road to Mandalay—
But that's all shove be'ind me—long ago an' fur away,
An' there ain't no 'buses runnin' from the Benk to Mandalay;
An' I'm learnin' 'ere in London what the ten-year sodger tells:
"If you've 'eard the East a-callin,' why, you won't 'eed nothin' else."
No! you won't 'eed nothin' else
But them spicy garlic smells
An' the sunshine an' the palm-trees an' the tinkly temple-bells!
On the road to Mandalay—
I am sick o' wastin' leather on these gutty pavin'-stones,An' the blasted Henglish drizzle wakes the fever in my bones;Tho' I walks with fifty 'ousemaids outer Chelsea to the Strand,An' they talks a lot o' lovin', but wot do they understand?Beefy face an' grubby 'and—Law! wot do they understand?I've a neater, sweeter maiden in a cleaner, greener, land!On the road to Mandalay—
I am sick o' wastin' leather on these gutty pavin'-stones,
An' the blasted Henglish drizzle wakes the fever in my bones;
Tho' I walks with fifty 'ousemaids outer Chelsea to the Strand,
An' they talks a lot o' lovin', but wot do they understand?
Beefy face an' grubby 'and—
Law! wot do they understand?
I've a neater, sweeter maiden in a cleaner, greener, land!
On the road to Mandalay—
Ship me somewheres east of Suez where the best is like the worst,Where there aren't no Ten Commandments, an' a man can raise a thirst;For the temple-bells are callin', an' it's there that I would be—By the old Moulmein Pagoda, lookin' lazy at the sea—On the road to Mandalay,Where the old Flotilla lay,With our sick beneath the awnings when we went to Mandalay!On the road to Mandalay,Where the flyin'-fishes play,An' the dawn comes up like thunder outer China 'crost the Bay!
Ship me somewheres east of Suez where the best is like the worst,
Where there aren't no Ten Commandments, an' a man can raise a thirst;
For the temple-bells are callin', an' it's there that I would be—
By the old Moulmein Pagoda, lookin' lazy at the sea—
On the road to Mandalay,
Where the old Flotilla lay,
With our sick beneath the awnings when we went to Mandalay!
On the road to Mandalay,
Where the flyin'-fishes play,
An' the dawn comes up like thunder outer China 'crost the Bay!
Well one time Mr. Rabbit an' Mr. Coon live close ter one anudder in de same neighborhoods. How dey does now I ain't a-tellin' you, but in dem days dey wa'n't no hard feelin's 'twixt um. Dey jest went along like two ole cronies. Mr. Rabbit he was a fisherman an' Mr. Coon he was a fisherman. But Mr. Rabbit he kotch fish, an' Mr. Coon he fished for frogs. Mr. Rabbit he had mighty good luck, and Mr. Coon he had mighty bad luck. Mr. Rabbit he got fat an' slick an' Mr. Coon he got po' an' sick. Hit went on dis-a-way tell one day Mr. Coon met Mr. Rabbit in de big road. Dey shook han's dey did, an' den Mr. Coon he 'low: "Brer Rabbit, whar you git sech a fine chance er fish?" Mr. Rabbit laugh an' say, "I kotch 'em outen de river, Brer Coon. All I got to do is to bait my hook," sezee.
Den Mr. Coon he shake his head an' 'low, "Den how come I ain't ketch no frogs?" Mr. Rabbit sat down in de road an' scratched fer fleas an' den he 'low, "It's kaze you done make um all mad, Brer Coon. One time in de dark er de moon, you slipped down ter de branch an' kotch de ole king frog, an' ever sence dat time, w'enever you er passin' by, you kin year um sing out, fus' one an' den anudder, 'Yer he come! Dar he goes! Hit 'im in de eye! Hit 'im in de eye! Mash 'im an' smash 'im! Mash 'im an' smash 'im!' Yasser, dat w'at dey say. I year um constant, Brer Coon, an' dat des w'at dey say."
Den Mr. Coon up an' say, "Ef dat de way dey gwine on, how de name er goodness kin I ketch um, Brer Rabbit. I bleege ter have sumfin ter eat fer me an' my fambly connection."
Mr. Rabbit sorter grin in de corner ob de mouf an' den he say, "Well, Brer Coon, bein' ez you bin so sociable 'long wid me, an' ain't never showed your toofies w'en I pull yo' tail, I'll des whirl in an' hep you out."
Mr. Coon he say, "Thanky, thanky, Brer Rabbit!"
Mr. Rabbit hang his fish on a tree lim an' say, "Now, Brer Coon, you bleege ter do dis lik' I tell you." Mr. Coon 'lowed dat he would ef de good Lawd spared 'im.
Den Mr. Rabbit say, "Now, Brer Coon, you des rack down yonder an' git on de big san-bar 'twix' de river an' de branch. Wen you git dar you mus' stagger like you sick, an' den you mus' whirl roun' an' roun' an' drap down lak you dead. Arter you drap down, you mus' sorter jerk yo' legs once er twice an' den you mus' lay right still. If fly light on yo' nose let 'im stay dar. Don't move; don't wink yo' eye; don't switch yo' tail. Des lay right dar an' 'twont' be long for yo' hear from me. Yit don't yo' move till I give de word."
Mr. Coon he paced off he did, an' done des like Mr. Rabbit told him. He staggered roun' on de san'-bank, an' den he drapped down dead. Atter so long a time, Mr. Rabbit comelopin' 'long, an' soon's he got dar he squall out, "Coon dead!" Dis rousted de frogs, an' dey stuck dey heads up fer ter see w'at all de rippet was about. One great big green frog up an' holler, "W'at de matter? W'at de matter?" He talk like he got bad cold. Mr. Rabbit he 'low, "Coon dead!" Frog say, "Don't believe it! Don't believe it!" N'er frog say, "Yes, he is! Yes, he is!" Little bit er one say, "No, he ain't! No, he ain't!"
Dey keep on sputin till bimeby hit look like all de frogs in de neighborhood wuz dar. Mr. Rabbit look like he ain't a-kearin' what dey do er say. He sot down dar in de san' like he gwine in moanin' fer Mr. Coon. De frogs kep' gittin' closer and closer. Mr. Coon he ain't move. W'en a fly'd git on 'im, Mr. Rabbit he'd bresh 'im off.
Bimeby he 'low, "Ef you want ter git 'im outin de way, now's you time, cousin frogs. Des whirl in an' bury 'im, deep in de san'."
Big old frog say, "How we gwine ter do it? How we gwine ter do it?"
Mr. Rabbit 'low, "Dig de san' out from under 'im an' let 'im down in de hole." Den de frogs dey went ter work sure enough. Dey mus' 'a' been a hundred un um, an' dey make dat san' fly.
Mr. Coon he ain't move. De frogs dey dig an' scratch in de san' tell atter while dey had a right smaht hole an' Mr. Coon wuz down in dar.
Bimeby Big Frog holler, "Dis deep nuff? Dis deep nuff?"
Mr. Rabbit' low, "Kin you jump out?"
Big Frog say, "Yes, I kin! Yes, I kin!"
Mr. Rabbit say, "Den 'tain't deep nuff."
Den de frogs dey dig an' dey dig tell bimeby Big Frog say, "Dis deep nuff? Dis deep nuff?" Mr. Rabbit 'low, "Kin you jump out?" Big Frog say, "I des kin! I des kin!" Mr. Rabbit say, "Dig it deeper." All de frogs keep on diggin' tellbimeby Big Frog holler out, "Dis deep nuff? Dis deep nuff?"
Mr. Rabbit 'low, "Kin you jump out?" Big Frog say, "No, I can't! No, I can't! Come he'p me! Come he'p me!"
Den Mr. Rabbit bust out laffin' an' holler out, "Rise up, sandy, an' git yo' meat." An' Mr. Coon riz.
FOOTNOTE:[74]By permission of D. Appleton & Co.
[74]By permission of D. Appleton & Co.
[74]By permission of D. Appleton & Co.
Ah, the buxom girls that helped the boys—The nobler Helens of humbler Troys—As they stripped the husks with rustling foldFrom eight-rowed corn as yellow as gold,By the candle-light in pumpkin bowls,And the gleams that showed fantastic holesIn the quaint old lantern's tattooed tin,From the hermit glim set up within;By the rarer light in girlish eyesAs dark as wells, or as blue as skies.I hear the laugh when the ear is red,I see the blush with the forfeit paid,The cedar cakes with the ancient twist,The cider cup that the girls have kissed.And I see the fiddler through the duskAs he twangs the ghost of "Money Musk!"The boys and girls in a double rowWait face to face till the magic bowShall whip the tune from the violin,And the merry pulse of the feet begin.In shirt of check, and tallowed hair,The fiddler sits in the bulrush chairLike Moses' basket stranded thereOn the brink of Father Nile.He feels the fiddle's slender neck,Picks out the note, with thrum and check;And times the tune with nod and beck,And thinks it a weary while.All ready! Now he gives the call,Cries, "Honor to the ladies!" AllThe jolly tides of laughter fallAnd ebb in a happy smile."Begin." D-o-w-n comes the bow on every string,"First couple join right hands and swing!"As light as any blue-bird's wing"Swing once and a half times round."Whirls Mary Martin all in blue—Calico gown and stockings new,And tinted eyes that tell you true,Dance all to the dancing sound.She flits about big Moses Brown,Who holds her hands to keep her downAnd thinks her hair a golden crown,And his heart turns over once!His cheek with Mary's breath is wet,It gives a second somerset!He means to win the maiden yet,Alas, for the awkward dance!"Your stoga boot has crushed my toe!""I'd rather dance with one-legged Joe!""You clumsy fellow!" "Pass below!"And the first pair dance apart.Then "Forward six!" advance, retreat,Like midges gay in sunbeam street.'Tis Money Musk by merry feetAnd the Money Musk by heart!"Three quarters round your partner swing!Across the set!" The rafters ring,The girls and boys have taken wingAnd have brought their roses out!'Tis "Forward six!" with rustic grace,Ah, rarer far than—"Swing to place!"Than golden clouds of old point-laceThey bring the dance about.Then clasping hands all—"Right and left!"All swiftly weave the measure deftAcross the woof in loving weft,And the Money Musk is done!Oh, dancers of the rustling husk,Good night, sweet hearts, 'tis growing dusk,Good night for aye to Money Musk,For the heavy march begun!
Ah, the buxom girls that helped the boys—The nobler Helens of humbler Troys—As they stripped the husks with rustling foldFrom eight-rowed corn as yellow as gold,
Ah, the buxom girls that helped the boys—
The nobler Helens of humbler Troys—
As they stripped the husks with rustling fold
From eight-rowed corn as yellow as gold,
By the candle-light in pumpkin bowls,And the gleams that showed fantastic holesIn the quaint old lantern's tattooed tin,From the hermit glim set up within;
By the candle-light in pumpkin bowls,
And the gleams that showed fantastic holes
In the quaint old lantern's tattooed tin,
From the hermit glim set up within;
By the rarer light in girlish eyesAs dark as wells, or as blue as skies.I hear the laugh when the ear is red,I see the blush with the forfeit paid,
By the rarer light in girlish eyes
As dark as wells, or as blue as skies.
I hear the laugh when the ear is red,
I see the blush with the forfeit paid,
The cedar cakes with the ancient twist,The cider cup that the girls have kissed.And I see the fiddler through the duskAs he twangs the ghost of "Money Musk!"
The cedar cakes with the ancient twist,
The cider cup that the girls have kissed.
And I see the fiddler through the dusk
As he twangs the ghost of "Money Musk!"
The boys and girls in a double rowWait face to face till the magic bowShall whip the tune from the violin,And the merry pulse of the feet begin.
The boys and girls in a double row
Wait face to face till the magic bow
Shall whip the tune from the violin,
And the merry pulse of the feet begin.
In shirt of check, and tallowed hair,The fiddler sits in the bulrush chairLike Moses' basket stranded thereOn the brink of Father Nile.He feels the fiddle's slender neck,Picks out the note, with thrum and check;And times the tune with nod and beck,And thinks it a weary while.All ready! Now he gives the call,Cries, "Honor to the ladies!" AllThe jolly tides of laughter fallAnd ebb in a happy smile.
In shirt of check, and tallowed hair,
The fiddler sits in the bulrush chair
Like Moses' basket stranded there
On the brink of Father Nile.
He feels the fiddle's slender neck,
Picks out the note, with thrum and check;
And times the tune with nod and beck,
And thinks it a weary while.
All ready! Now he gives the call,
Cries, "Honor to the ladies!" All
The jolly tides of laughter fall
And ebb in a happy smile.
"Begin." D-o-w-n comes the bow on every string,"First couple join right hands and swing!"As light as any blue-bird's wing"Swing once and a half times round."Whirls Mary Martin all in blue—Calico gown and stockings new,And tinted eyes that tell you true,Dance all to the dancing sound.
"Begin." D-o-w-n comes the bow on every string,
"First couple join right hands and swing!"
As light as any blue-bird's wing
"Swing once and a half times round."
Whirls Mary Martin all in blue—
Calico gown and stockings new,
And tinted eyes that tell you true,
Dance all to the dancing sound.
She flits about big Moses Brown,Who holds her hands to keep her downAnd thinks her hair a golden crown,And his heart turns over once!His cheek with Mary's breath is wet,It gives a second somerset!He means to win the maiden yet,Alas, for the awkward dance!
She flits about big Moses Brown,
Who holds her hands to keep her down
And thinks her hair a golden crown,
And his heart turns over once!
His cheek with Mary's breath is wet,
It gives a second somerset!
He means to win the maiden yet,
Alas, for the awkward dance!
"Your stoga boot has crushed my toe!""I'd rather dance with one-legged Joe!""You clumsy fellow!" "Pass below!"And the first pair dance apart.Then "Forward six!" advance, retreat,Like midges gay in sunbeam street.'Tis Money Musk by merry feetAnd the Money Musk by heart!
"Your stoga boot has crushed my toe!"
"I'd rather dance with one-legged Joe!"
"You clumsy fellow!" "Pass below!"
And the first pair dance apart.
Then "Forward six!" advance, retreat,
Like midges gay in sunbeam street.
'Tis Money Musk by merry feet
And the Money Musk by heart!
"Three quarters round your partner swing!Across the set!" The rafters ring,The girls and boys have taken wingAnd have brought their roses out!'Tis "Forward six!" with rustic grace,Ah, rarer far than—"Swing to place!"Than golden clouds of old point-laceThey bring the dance about.
"Three quarters round your partner swing!
Across the set!" The rafters ring,
The girls and boys have taken wing
And have brought their roses out!
'Tis "Forward six!" with rustic grace,
Ah, rarer far than—"Swing to place!"
Than golden clouds of old point-lace
They bring the dance about.
Then clasping hands all—"Right and left!"All swiftly weave the measure deftAcross the woof in loving weft,And the Money Musk is done!Oh, dancers of the rustling husk,Good night, sweet hearts, 'tis growing dusk,Good night for aye to Money Musk,For the heavy march begun!
Then clasping hands all—"Right and left!"
All swiftly weave the measure deft
Across the woof in loving weft,
And the Money Musk is done!
Oh, dancers of the rustling husk,
Good night, sweet hearts, 'tis growing dusk,
Good night for aye to Money Musk,
For the heavy march begun!
The Colonel had been detained at his office, but had sent word that I was to wait for him. Chad was serving the coffee. "My Marsa John," he remarked, filling the cup with the smoking beverage, "never drank nuffin' but tea, eben at de big dinners when all de gemmen had coffee in de little cups—dat's one ob 'em you's drinkin' out ob now; dey ain't mo' 'an fo' on 'em left. Old marsa would have his pot of tea. Henny useter make it for him; makes it now for Miss Nancy.
"Henny was a young gal den, long 'fo' we was married. Henny b'longed to Colonel Lloyd Barbour, on de next plantation to ourn.
"Mo' coffee, Major?" I handed Chad the empty cup. He refilled it, and went straight on without drawing breath.
"Wust scrape I eber got into wid old Marsa John was ober Henny. I tell ye she was a harricane in dem days. She come into de kitchen one time where I was helpin' git de dinner ready an' de cook had gone to de spring-house, an' she says:
"'Chad, what ye cookin' dat smells so nice?'
"'Dat's a goose,' I says, 'cookin' for Marsa John's dinner. We got quality,' says I, pintin' to de dinin'-room do'.
"'Quality!' she says. 'Spec' I know what de quality is. Dat's for you and de cook.'
"Wid dat she grabs a caarvin' knife from de table, opens de do' ob de big oven, cuts off a leg ob de goose, an' dis'pears round de kitchen corner wid de leg in her mouf.
"'Fo' I knowed whar I was Marsa John come to de kitchen do' an' says, 'Gittin' late, Chad; bring in de dinner.' You see, Major, dey ain't no up an' down-stairs in de big house, like it is yer; kitchen an' dinin'-room all on de same flo'.
"Well, sah, I was scared to def, but I tuk dat goose an' laid him wid de cut side down on de bottom of de pan 'fo' de cook got back, put some dressin' an' stuffin' ober him, an' shet de stove do'. Den I tuk de sweet potatoes an' de hominy an' put 'em on de table, an' den I went back in de kitchen to git de baked ham. I put on de ham an' some mo' dishes, an' marsa says, lookin' up:
"'I t'ought dere was a roast goose, Chad?'
"'I ain't yerd nothin' 'bout no goose,' I says. 'I'll ask de cook.'
"Next minute I hyerd old marsa a-hollerin:
"'Mammy Jane, ain't we got a goose?'
"'Lord-a-massy! yes, marsa. Chad, you wu'thless nigger, ain't you tuk dat goose out yit?'
"'Is we got a goose?' said I.
"'Is we got a goose? Didn't you help pick it?'
"I see whar my hair was short, an' I snatched up a hot dish from de hearth, opened de oven do', an' slide de goose in jes as he was, an' lay him down befo' Marsa John.
"'Now see what de ladies 'll have for dinner,' says ole marsa, pickin' up his carvin' knife.
"'What'll you take for dinner, Miss?' says I. 'Baked ham?'
"'No,' says she, lookin' up to whar Marsa John sat. 'I think I'll take a leg ob dat goose.'
"Well, marsa cut off de leg an' put a little stuffin' an' gravy on wid a spoon, an' says to me, 'Chad, see what dat gemman 'll have.'
"'What'll you take for dinner, sah?' says I. 'Nice breast o' goose, or slice o' ham?'
"'No; I think I'll take a leg ob dat goose.'
"I didn't say nuffin', but I knowed bery well he wa'n't a-gwine to git it. But you oughter seen ole marsa lookin' for de udder leg ob dat goose! He rolled him ober on de dish, dis way an' dat way, an' den he jabbed dat ole bone-handled carvin' fork in him an' hel' him up ober de dish, an' looked under him an' on top ob him, an' den he says, kinder sad like:
"'Chad, whar is de udder leg ob dat goose?'
"'It didn't hab none,' says I.
"'You mean to say dat de gooses on my plantation on'y got one leg?'
"'Some ob 'em has an' some ob 'em ain't. You see, marsa,we got two kinds in de pond, an' we was a little hurried to-day, so Mammy Jane cooked dis one 'cause I cotched it fust.'
"'Well,' said he, 'I'll settle wid ye after dinner.'
"Well, dar I was shiverin' an' shakin' in my shoes, an' droppin' gravy, an' spillin' de wine on de table-cloth, I was dat shuck up; an' when de dinner was ober he calls all de ladies an' gemmen, an' says, 'Now come down to de duck-pond. I'm gwine ter show dis nigger dat all de gooses on my plantation got mo' den one leg.'
"I followed 'long, trapesin' after de whole kit an' b'ilin', an' when we got to de pond"—here Chad nearly went into a convulsion with suppressed laughter—"dar was de gooses sittin' on a log in de middle of dat ole green goose-pond wid one leg stuck down—so—an' de udder tucked under de wing."
Chad was now on one leg, balancing himself by my chair, the tears running down his cheeks.
"'Dar, marsa,' says I, 'don't ye see? Look at dat ole gray goose! Dat's de berry match ob de one we had to-day.'
"Den de ladies all hollered an' de gemmen laughed so loud dey hyerd 'em at de big house.
"'Stop, you black scoun'rel!' Marsa John says, his face gittin' white an' he a-jerkin' his handkerchief from his pocket. 'Shoo!'
"Major, I hope to have my brains kicked out by a lame grasshopper if ebery one ob dem gooses didn't put down de udder leg!
"'Now, you lyin' nigger,' he says, raisin' his cane ober my head, 'I'll show you.'
"'Stop, Marsa John!' I hollered; ''tain't fair, 'tain't fair.'
"'Why ain't it fair?' says he.
"''Cause,' says I, 'you didn't say "Shoo!" to de goose what was on de table.'"
"And did he thrash you?"
"Marsa John? No, sah! He laughed loud as anybody; an' den dat night he says to me as I was puttin' some wood on de fire, 'Chad, where did dat leg go?' An' so I ups an' tells him all about Henny, an' how I was 'fraid the gal would git whipped, an' how she was on'y a-foolin', thinkin' it was my goose; an' den old marsa look in de fire a long time, an' den he says: 'Dat's Colonel Barbour's Henny, ain't it, Chad?'
"'Yes, marsa,' says I.
"Well, de nex' mawnin' Marse John had his black hoss saddled, an' I held de stir'up fur him to git on, an' he rode ober to de Barbour plantation an' didn't come back till plumb black night. When he come up I held de lantern so I could see his face, for I wa'n't easy in my mind all day; but it was all bright an' shinin' same as a' angel's.
"'Chad,' he says, handin' me de bridle reins, 'I bought yo' Henny dis evenin' from Colonel Barbour, she's comin' ober to-morrow, an' you can bofe git married next Sunday.'"