Let James Whitcomb Riley, skillfully cast in Bronze, simply clad in the plain blue garb of a Union Soldier Lad a Private—­ let him stand fur all Time, in your Circle, in the Centre, in the Heart of your City, the beloved City of his adoption.  Let him stand there, under the shadow of that Mighty Shaft, the Tribute of your Grand Commonwealth, to her Valiant Sons—­the Soldier, the Sailor.  Let him stand there, on a one-piece Pedestal of Indiana Stone; Simple, Massive.  Thereon carve his Name, the date of his Birth; the date of his Death; and these Immortal words: 

“Well, Goodby, Jim: 
Take Keer of Yourse’f!”

Read, re-read, and read again, the Poem.  That Poem is an American Classic!  It is the Epitome of Self-Sacrifice for the Sake of a Vital Cause!  It is the one Idyl of the Middle-West!  It is thoroughly America!  It is intensely Indiana!  Pardon the Plea!  But Prepare the Way!  Turn the Page—­read the Poem!

The Poem

  Old man never had much to say—­
    ‘Ceptin’ to Jim.—­
  And Jim was the wildest boy he had—­
    And the old man jes’ wrapped up in him! 
  Never heerd him speak but once
  Er twice in my life,—­and first time was
  When the army broke out, and Jim he went,
  The old man backin’ him, fer three months;
  And all ’at I heerd the old man say
  Was jes’ as we turned to start away,—­
    “Well, good-by, Jim: 
      Take keer of yourse’f!”

  ’Peared-like, he was more satisfied
    Jes’ lookin’ at Jim
  And likin’ him all to hisse’f-like, see? 
    ‘Cause he was jes’ wrapped up in him! 
  And over and over I mind the day
  The old man come and stood round in the way
  While we was drillin’, a-watchin’ Jim—­
  And down at the deepot a-heerin’ him say,
    “Well, good-by, Jim: 
      Take keer of yourse’f!”

  Never was nothin’ about the farm
    Disting’ished Jim;
  Neighbors all ust to wonder why
    The old man ’peered wrapped up in him;
  But when Cap.  Biggler he writ back
  ’At Jim was the bravest boy we had
  In the whole dern rigiment, white er black. 
  And his fighten’ good as his farmin’ bad—­
  ’At he had led, with a bullet clean
  Bored through his thigh, and carried the flag
  Through the bloodiest battle you ever seen,
  The old man wound up a letter to him
  ’At Cap. read to us, ’at said:  “Tell Jim
    Good-by,
      And take keer of hisse’f!”

  Jim come home jes’ long enough
    To take the whim
  ’At he’d like to go back in the calvery—­
    And the old man jes’ wrapped up in him! 
  Jim ’lowed ’at he’d had sich luck afore,
  Guessed he’d tackle her three years more. 
  And the old man give him a colt he’d raised,
  And follered him over to Camp Ben Wade,
  And laid around fer a week er so,
  Watchin’ Jim on dress-parade—­
  Tel finally he rid away,
  And last he heerd was the old man say,
    “Well, good-by, Jim: 
      Take keer of yourse’f!”