out o’ hearin’;
  Snipes on the t’other side, where the County Ditch is,
  Wadin’ up and down the aidge like they’d rolled their britches! 
  Old turkle on the root kindo-sorto drappin’
  Intoo th’ worter like he don’t know how it happen! 
  Worter, shade and all so mixed, don’t know which you’d orter
  Say, th’ worter in the shadder—­shadder in the worter!

  Somebody hollerin’—­’way around the bend in
  Upper Fork—­where yer eye kin jes’ ketch the endin’
  Of the shiney wedge o’ wake some muss-rat’s a-makin’
  With that pesky nose o’ his!  Then a sniff o’ bacon,
  Corn-bread and ‘dock-greens—­and little Dave a-shinnin’
  ‘Crost the rocks and mussel-shells, a-limpin’ and a-grinnin’,
  With yer dinner far ye, and a blessin’ from the giver. 
  Noon-time and June-time down around the river!

KNEELING WITH HERRICK.

  Dear Lord, to Thee my knee is bent.—­
    Give me content—­
  Full-pleasured with what comes to me,
    What e’er it be: 
  An humble roof—­a frugal board,
    And simple hoard;
  The wintry fagot piled beside
    The chimney wide,
  While the enwreathing flames up-sprout
    And twine about
  The brazen dogs that guard my hearth
    And household worth: 
  Tinge with the ember’s ruddy glow
    The rafters low;
  And let the sparks snap with delight,
    As ringers might
  That mark deft measures of some tune
    The children croon: 
  Then, with good friends, the rarest few
    Thou holdest true,
  Ranged round about the blaze, to share
    My comfort there,—­
  Give me to claim the service meet
    That makes each seat
  A place of honor, and each guest
    Loved as the rest.

ROMANCIN’.

  I’ b’en a-kindo musin’, as the feller says, and I’m
  About o’ the conclusion that they ain’t no better time,
  When you come to cipher on it, than the times we used to know
  When we swore our first “dog-gone-it” sorto solem’-like and low!

  You git my idy, do you?—­Little tads, you understand—­
  Jes’ a wishin’ thue and thue you that you on’y was a man.—­
  Yit here I am, this minute, even forty, to a day,
  And fergittin’ all that’s in it, wishin’ jes’ the other way!

  I hain’t no hand to lectur’ on the times, er dimonstrate
  Whur the trouble is, er hector and domineer with Fate,—­
  But when I git so flurried, and so pestered-like and blue,
  And so rail owdacious worried, let me tell you what I do!—­

  I jes’ gee-haw the hosses, and unhook the swingle-tree,
  Whur the hazel-bushes tosses down their shadders over me,
  And I draw my plug o’ navy, and I climb the fence, and set
  Jes’ a-thinkin’ here, ’y gravy! till my eyes is wringin’-wet!

  Tho’ I still kin see the trouble o’ the present, I kin see—­
  Kindo like my sight was double—­all the things that used to be;
  And the flutter o’ the robin, and the teeter o’ the wren
  Sets the willer branches bobbin “howdy-do” thum Now to Then!