The following sections of this BookRags Literature Study Guide is offprint from Gale's For Students Series: Presenting Analysis, Context, and Criticism on Commonly Studied Works: Introduction, Author Biography, Plot Summary, Characters, Themes, Style, Historical Context, Critical Overview, Criticism and Critical Essays, Media Adaptations, Topics for Further Study, Compare & Contrast, What Do I Read Next?, For Further Study, and Sources.
(c)1998-2002; (c)2002 by Gale. Gale is an imprint of The Gale Group, Inc., a division of Thomson Learning, Inc. Gale and Design and Thomson Learning are trademarks used herein under license.
The following sections, if they exist, are offprint from Beacham's Encyclopedia of Popular Fiction: "Social Concerns", "Thematic Overview", "Techniques", "Literary Precedents", "Key Questions", "Related Titles", "Adaptations", "Related Web Sites". (c)1994-2005, by Walton Beacham.
The following sections, if they exist, are offprint from Beacham's Guide to Literature for Young Adults: "About the Author", "Overview", "Setting", "Literary Qualities", "Social Sensitivity", "Topics for Discussion", "Ideas for Reports and Papers". (c)1994-2005, by Walton Beacham.
All other sections in this Literature Study Guide are owned and copyrighted by BookRags, Inc.
NOT IN CLASSIC LOOK, BUT RICH IN THE CHILD-SAGAS
OF THE KITCHEN
KNEEL, ALL GLOWING, TO THE COOL SPRING
NO BOY KNOWS WHEN HE GOES TO SLEEP
JAMESY ON THE SLACK-ROPE
ACROSS THE ORCHARD
WHILE ALL THE ARMY, FOLLOWING, IN CHORUS
CHEERS AND SINGS
WHERE IT GOES WHEN THE FIRE GOES OUT?
THE FAIRY QUEEN OF THE SEASONS
PORE PA! PORE PA!
SQUINT’ OUR EYES AN’ LAUGH’
AGAIN
HE’S A-MARCHIN’ ROUND THE
ROOM
THE OLD TREE SAYS HE’S ALL OUR TREE
THEREFORE READ NO LONGER
SHE’S BUT A RACING SCHOOL-GIRL
THEY WAS GOD’S PEOPLE
THEM WUZ THE BEST TIMES EVER WUZ
HE’S GO’ HITCH UP, CHRIS’MUS-DAY,
AN’ COME TAKE ME BACK AGAIN
WHEN WE DROVE TO HARMONY
A BIG, HOLLOW, OLD OAK-TREE, WHICH HAD
BEEN BLOWN DOWN BY A STORM
THE YOUNG FOXES IN IT, ON THE HEARTH BESIDE
HER
AN’ ALL BE POETS AN’ ALL RECITE
ALONG THE BRINK OF WILD BROOK-WAYS
I LIKE TO WATCH HIM
WHILE KATE PICKS BY, YET LOOKS NOT THERE
LEND ME THE BREATH OF A FRESHENING GALE
BOW TO ME IN THE WINDER THERE
OUR “OLD-KRISS"-MILKMAN
THE CHILDISH DREAMS IN HIS WISE OLD HEAD
* * * * *
THE BOOK OF JOYOUS CHILDREN
Bound and bordered in leaf-green,
Edged with trellised buds
and flowers
And glad Summer-gold, with clean
White and purple
morning-glories
Such as suit the
songs and stories
Of this book of ours,
Unrevised in text or scene,—
The
Book of Joyous Children.
Wild and breathless in their glee—
Lawless rangers of all ways
Winding through lush greenery
Of Elysian vales—the
viny,
Bowery groves
of shady, shiny
Haunts of childish days.
Spread and read again with me
The
Book of Joyous Children.
What a whir of wings, and what
Sudden drench of dews upon
The young brows, wreathed, all unsought,
With the apple-blossom
garlands
Of the poets of
those far lands
Whence all dreams are drawn
Set herein and soiling not
The
Book of Joyous Children.
In their blithe companionship
Taste again, these pages through,
The hot honey on your lip
Of the sun-smit
wild strawberry,
Or the chill tart
of the cherry;
Kneel, all glowing, to
The cool spring, and with it sip
The
Book of Joyous Children.
As their laughter needs no rule,
So accept their language,
pray.—
Touch it not with any tool:
Surely we may
understand it,—
As the heart has
parsed or scanned it
Is a worthy way,
Though found not in any School
The
Book of Joyous Children.
[Illustration: “KNEEL, ALL GLOWING, TO THE COOL SPRING.”]
Be a truant—know no place
Of prison under heaven’s
rim!
Front the Father’s smiling face—
Smiling, that
you smile the brighter
For the heavy
hearts made lighter,
Since you smile with Him.
Take—and thank Him for His
grace—
The
Book of Joyous Children.
* * * * *
[Illustration]
When I wuz ist a little bit
o’ weenty-teenty
kid
I maked up a Fairy-tale,
all by myse’f,
I did:—
I
Wunst upon a time wunst
They wuz a Fairy King,
An’ ever’thing he have wuz
gold—,
His clo’es, an’
ever’thing!
An’ all the other Fairies
In his goldun Palace-hall
Had to hump an’ hustle—
’Cause he wuz bosst
of all!
II
He have a goldun trumput,
An’ when he blow’
on that,
It’s a sign he want’ his boots,
Er his coat er hat:
They’s a sign fer ever’thing,—
An’ all the Fairies
knowed
Ever’ sign, an’ come a-hoppin’
When the King blowed!
[Illustration]
III
Wunst he blowed an’ telled ’em
all:
“Saddle up yer bees—
Fireflies is gittin’ fat
An’ sassy as you please!—
Guess we’ll go a-huntin’!”
So they hunt’ a little
bit,
Till the King blowed “Supper-time,”
Nen they all quit.
[Illustration]
IV
Nen they have a Banqut
In the Palace-hall,
An’ ist et! an’ et! an’
et!
Nen they have a Ball;
An’ when the Queen o’
Fairyland
Come p’omenadin’
through,
The King says an’ halts her,—
“Guess I’ll marry
you!”
[Illustration]
* * * * *
“Wasn’t it a funny dream!—perfectly
bewild’rin’!—
Last night, and night before,
and night before that,
Seemed like I saw the march o’ regiments
o’ children,
Marching to the robin’s
fife and cricket’s rat-ta-tat!
Lily-banners overhead, with the dew upon
’em,
On flashed the little army,
as with sword and flame;
Like the buzz o’ bumble-wings, with
the honey on ’em,
Came an eerie, cheery chant,
chiming as it came:—
[Illustration]
Where go the children? Travelling!
Travelling!
Where go the children,
travelling ahead?
Some go to kindergarten; some go to
day-school;
Some go to night-school;
and some go to bed!
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
Smooth roads or rough roads, warm or winter
weather,
On go the children, tow-head
and brown,
Brave boys and brave girls, rank and file
together,
Marching out of Morning-Land,
over dale and down:
[Illustration]
Some go a-gypsying out in country places—
Out through the orchards,
with blossoms on the boughs
Wild, sweet, and pink and white as their
own glad faces;
And some go, at evening, calling
home the cows.
[Illustration]
Where go the children? Travelling!
Travelling!
Where go the children,
travelling ahead?
Some go to foreign wars, and camps
by the firelight—
Some go to glory so; and
some go to bed!
[Illustration]
Some go through grassy lanes leading to
the city—
Thinner grow the green trees
and thicker grows the dust;
Ever, though, to little people any path
is pretty
So it leads to newer lands,
as they know it must.
Some go to singing less; some go to list’ning;
Some go to thinking over ever-nobler
themes;
Some go anhungered, but ever bravely whistling,
Turning never home again only
in their dreams.
Where go the children? Travelling!
Travelling!
Where go the children,
travelling ahead?
Some go to conquer things; some go
to try them;
Some go to dream them;
and some go to bed!
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
* * * * *
[Illustration: ELMER BROWN]
[Illustration]
Awf’lest boy in this-here town
Er anywheres is Elmer Brown!
He’ll mock you—yes, an’
strangers, too,
An’ make a face an’ yell at
you,—
“Here’s
the way you look!”
[Illustration]
Yes, an’ wunst in School one day,
An’ Teacher’s lookin’
wite that way,
He helt his slate, an’ hide his
head,
An’ maked a face at her,
an’ said,—
“Here’s
the way you look!”
[Illustration]
An’ sir! when Rosie Wheeler smile
One morning at him ’crosst the aisle,
He twist his face all up, an’ black
His nose wiv ink, an’ whisper back,—
“Here’s
the way you look!”
[Illustration]
Wunst when his Aunt’s all dressed
to call,
An’ kiss him good-bye in the hall,
An’ latch the gate an’ start
away,
He holler out to her an’ say,—
“Here’s
the way you look!”
[Illustration]
An’ when his Pa he read out loud
The speech he maked, an’ feel so
proud
It’s in the paper—Elmer’s
Ma
She ketched him—wite behind
his Pa,—
“Here’s
the way you look!”
[Illustration]
Nen when his Ma she slip an’ take
Him in the other room an’ shake
Him good! w’y, he don’t care—no-sir!—
He ist look up an’ laugh at her,—
“Here’s
the way you look!”
* * * * *
There are many things that boys may know—
Why this and that are thus and so,—
Who made the world in the dark and lit
The great sun up to lighten it:
Boys know new things every day—
When they study, or when they play,—
When they idle, or sow and reap—
But no boy knows when he goes to sleep.
Boys who listen—or should,
at least,—
May know that the round old earth rolls
East;—
And know that the ice and the snow and
the rain—
Ever repeating their parts again—
Are all just water the sunbeams first
Sip from the earth in their endless thirst,
And pour again till the low streams leap.—
But no boy knows when he goes to sleep.
A boy may know what a long glad while
It has been to him since the dawn’s
first smile,
When forth he fared in the realm divine
Of brook-laced woodland and spun-sunshine;—
He may know each call of his truant mates,
And the paths they went,—and
the pasture-gates
Of the ’cross-lots home through
the dusk so deep.—
But no boy knows when he goes to sleep.
O I have followed me, o’er and o’er,
From the flagrant drowse on the parlor-floor,
To the pleading voice of the mother when
I even doubted I heard it then—
To the sense of a kiss, and a moonlit
room,
And dewy odors of locust-bloom—
A sweet white cot—and a cricket’s
cheep.—
But no boy knows when he goes to sleep.
[Illustration]
* * * * *
[Illustration: “NO BOY KNOWS WHEN HE GOES TO SLEEP.”]
* * * * *
Wasn’t it a good time,
Long Time Ago—
When we all were little tads
And first played
“Show"!—
When every newer day
Wore as bright
a glow
As the ones we laughed away—
Long Time Ago!
Calf was in the back-lot;
Clover in the
red;
Bluebird in the pear-tree;
Pigeons on the
shed;
Tom a-chargin’ twenty pins
At the barn; and
Dan
Spraddled out just like “The
’Injarubber’-Man!”
Me and Bub and Rusty,
Eck and Dunk and
Sid,
‘Tumblin’ on the sawdust
Like the A-rabs
did;
Jamesy on the slack-rope
In a wild retreat,
Grappling back, to start again—
When he chalked his feet!
[Illustration]
Wasn’t Eck a wonder,
In his stocking-tights?
* * * * *
[Illustration: “JAMESY ON THE SLACK-ROPE.”]
* * * * *
Wasn’t Dunk—his leaping
lion—
Chief of all delights!
Yes, and wasn’t “Little Mack”
Boss of all the Show,—
Both Old Clown and Candy-Butcher—
Long Time Ago!
Sid the Bareback-Rider;
And—oh-me-oh-my!—
Bub, the spruce Ring-master,
Stepping round so spry!—
In his little waist-and-trousers
All made in one,
Was there a prouder youngster
Under the sun!
And NOW—who will tell me,—
Where are they all?
Dunk’s a sanatorium doctor,
Up at Waterfall;
Sid’s a city street-contractor;
Tom has fifty clerks;
And Jamesy he’s the “Iron
Magnate”
Of “The Hecla Works.”
And Bub’s old and bald now,
Yet still he hangs on,—
Dan and Eck and “Little Mack,”
Long, long gone!
But wasn’t it a good time,
Long Time Ago—
When we all were little tads
And first played
“Show”!
* * * * *
[Illustration]
Gracie wuz allus a careless tot;
But Gracie dearly loved her
doll,
An’ played
wiv it on the winder-sill
’Way up-stairs, when she ought to
not,
An’ her muvver telled
her so an’ all;
But she won’t
mind what she say—till,
First thing she know, her dolly fall
Clean spang out o’ the
winder plumb
Into the street!
An’ here Grace come
Down-stairs, two at a time, ist wild
An’ a-screamin’, “Oh,
my child! my child!”
[Illustration]
Jule wuz a-bringin’ their basket
o’ clo’es
Ist then into their hall down
there,—
An’ she
ist stop’ when Gracie bawl,
An’ Jule she say “She
ist declare
She’s ist in time!” An’
what you s’pose?
She sets her basket
down in the hall,
An’ wite on top o’ the snowy
clo’es
Wuz Gracie’s dolly a-layin’
there
An’ ist
ain’t bu’st ner hurt a-tall!
[Illustration]
Nen Gracie smiled—ist sobbed
an’ smiled—
An’ cried, “My child! my precious
child!”
* * * * *
When Autumn shakes the rambo-tree—
It’s a long, sweet way
across the orchard!—
The bird sings low as the bumble-bee—
It’s a long, sweet way
across the orchard!—
The poor shote-pig he says, says he:
“When Autumn shakes the rambo-tree
There’s enough for you and enough
for me.”—
It’s a long, sweet way
across the orchard.
For just two truant lads like we,
When Autumn shakes the rambo-tree
There’s enough for you and enough
for me—
It’s a long, sweet
way across the orchard.
When Autumn shakes the rambo-tree—
It’s a long, sweet way
across the orchard!—
The mole digs out to peep and see—
It’s a long, sweet way
across the orchard!—
The dusk sags down, and the moon swings
free,
There’s a far, lorn call, “Pig-gee!
’Pig-gee!”
And two boys—glad enough for
three.—
It’s a long, sweet way
across the orchard.
For just two truant lads like we,
When Autumn shakes the rambo-tree
There’s enough for you and enough
for me—
It’s a long, sweet
way across the orchard.
* * * * *
[Illustration: “ACROSS THE ORCHARD.”]
* * * * *
Our three cats is Maltese cats,
An’ they’s two
that’s white,—
An’ bofe of ’em’s deef—an’
that’s
’Cause their eyes
ain’t right.—
[Illustration]
Uncle say that Huxley say
Eyes of white Maltese—
When they don’t match thataway—
They’re deef as you
please!
Girls, they like our white cats
best,
’Cause they’re
white as snow,
Yes, an’ look the stylishest—
But they’re deef, you
know!
They don’t know their names, an’
don’t
Hear us when we call
“Come in, Nick an’ Finn!”—they
won’t
Come fer us at all!
But our other cat, he knows
Mister Nick an’ Finn,—
Mowg’s his name,—an’
when he goes
Fer ’em, they come in!
Mowgli’s all his name—the
same
Me an’ Muvver took
Like the Wolf-Child’s other
name,
In “The Jungul Book.”
I bet Mowg’s the smartest cat
In the world!—He’s
not
White, but mousy-plush, with that
Smoky gloss he’s got!
All’s got little bells to ring,
Round their neck; but none
Only Mowg knows anything—
He’s the only one!
I ist ’spect sometimes he hate
White cats’ stupid ways:—
He won’t hardly ’sociate
With ’em, lots o’
days!
Mowg wants in where we air,—well,
He’ll ist take his paw
An’ ist ring an’ ring his
bell
There till me er Ma
Er somebody lets him in
Nen an’ shuts the door.—
An’, when he wants out ag’in,
Nen he’ll ring some
more.
Ort to hear our Katy tell!
She sleeps ’way up-stairs;
An’ last night she hear Mowg’s
bell
Ringin’ round somewheres...
Trees grows by her winder.—So,
She lean out an’ see
Mowg up there, ’way out, you know,
In the clingstone-tree;—
An’-sir! he ist hint an’
ring,—
Till she ketch an’ plat
Them limbs;—nen he crawl an’
spring
In where Katy’s at!
[Illustration]
* * * * *
I want to be a Soldier!—
A
Soldier!—
A
Soldier!—
I want to be a Soldier, with a sabre in
my hand
Or a little carbine rifle, or a musket
on my shoulder,
Or just a snare-drum, snarling in the
middle of the band;
I want to hear, high overhead, The Old
Flag flap her wings
While all the Army, following, in chorus
cheers and sings;
I want to hear the tramp and jar
Of patriots a million,
As gayly dancing off to war
As dancing a cotillion.
I want to be a Soldier!—
A
Soldier!—
A
Soldier!—
I want to be a Soldier, with a sabre
in my hand
Or a little carbine rifle, or a musket
on my shoulder,
Or just a snare-drum, snarling in the
middle of the band.
I want to see the battle!—
The
battle!—
The
battle!—
I want to see the battle, and be in it
to the end;—
I want to hear the cannon clear their
throats and catch the prattle
Of all the pretty compliments the enemy
can send!—
And then I know my wits will go,—and
where I should’nt be—
Well, there’s the spot, in any fight,
that you may search for me.
So, when our foes have had their fill,
Though I’m among the
dying,
To see The Old Flag flying still,
I’ll laugh to leave
her flying!
I want to be a Soldier!—
A
Soldier!—
A
Soldier!—
I want to be a Soldier, with a sabre
in my hand
Or a little carbine rifle, or a musket
on my shoulder,
Or just a snare-drum, snarling in the
middle of the band.
* * * * *
[Illustration: “WHILE ALL THE ARMY, FOLLOWING, IN CHORUS CHEERS AND SINGS.”]
* * * * *
[Illustration]
A little boy once played so loud
That the Thunder, up in a thunder-cloud,
Said, “Since I can’t be heard,
why, then
I’ll never, never thunder again!”
[Illustration]
And a little girl once kept so still
That she heard a fly on the window-sill
Whisper and say to a lady-bird,—
“She’s the stilliest child
I ever heard!”
* * * * *
INTELLECTUAL LIMITATIONS
Parunts knows lots more than us,
But they don’t know
all things,—
’Cause we ketch ’em, lots
o’ times,
Even on little small things.
One time Winnie ask’ her Ma,
At the winder, sewin’,
What’s the wind a-doin’ when
It’s a-not a-blowin’?
Yes, an’ ‘Del’, that
very day,
When we’re nearly froze
out,
He ask’ Uncle where it goes
When the fire goes out?
Nen I run to ask my Pa,
That way, somepin’ funny;
But I can’t say ist but “Say,”
When he turn to me an’ say,
“Well, what is it, Honey?”
* * * * *
[Illustration: “WHERE IT GOES WHEN THE FIRE GOES OUT?”]
* * * * *
Scene.—A kitchen.—Group of Children, popping corn.—The Fairy Queen of the Seasons discovered in the smoke of the corn-popper.—Waving her wand, and, with eerie, sharp, imperious ejaculations, addressing the bespelled auditors, who neither see nor hear her nor suspect her presence.
Summer or Winter or Spring or Fall,—
Which do you like the best of all?
LITTLE JASPER
When I’m dressed warm as warm can
be,
And
with boots, to go
Through
the deepest snow,
Winter-time is the time for me!
Summer or Winter or Spring or Fall,—
Which do you like the best of all?
LITTLE MILDRED
I like blossoms, and birds that sing;
The grass and
the dew,
And the sunshine,
too,—
So, best of all I like the Spring.
Summer or Winter or Spring or Fall,—
Which do you like the best of all?
LITTLE MANDEVILLE
O little friends, I most rejoice
When I hear the
drums
As the Circus
comes,—
So Summer-time’s my special choice.
Summer or Winter or Spring or Fall,—
Which do you like the best of all?
LITTLE EDITH
Apples of ruby, and pears of gold,
And grapes of
blue
That the bee stings
through.—
Fall—it is all that my heart
can hold!
* * * * *
[Illustration: “THE FAIRY QUEEN OF THE SEASONS.”]
* * * * *
Soh! my lovelings and pretty dears,
You’ve each a favorite, it
appears,—
Summer and Winter and Spring and Fall.—
That’s the reason I send them all!
* * * * *
THOMAS THE PRETENDER
Tommy’s alluz playin’ jokes,
An’ actin’ up, an’ foolin’
folks;
An’ wunst one time he
creep
In Pa’s big chair, he did, one night,
An’ squint an’ shut his eyes
bofe tight,
An’ say, “Now
I ’m asleep.”
An’ nen we knowed, an’ Ma
know’ too,
He ain’t asleep no more ’n
you!
[Illustration]
An’ wunst he clumbed on our back’fence
An’ flop his arms an’ nen
commence
To crow, like he’s a
hen;
But when he failed off, like he done,
He didn’t fool us childern none,
Ner didn’t crow
again.
An’ our Hired Man, as he come by,
Says, “Tom can’t crow,
but he kin cry.”
* * * * *
[Illustration: “PORE PA! PORE PA!”]
* * * * *
When Dicky was sick
In the night, and the clock,
As he listened, said “Tick-
Atty—tick-atty—tock!”
He said that it said,
Every time it said “Tick,”
It said “Sick,” instead,
And he heard it say
“Sick!”
And when it said “Tick-
Atty—tick-atty—tock,”
He said it said “Sick-
Atty—sick-atty—sock!”
And he tried to see then,
But the light was too dim,
Yet he heard it again—
And’t was talking
to him!
And then it said “Sick-
Atty—sick-atty—sick
You poor little Dick-
Atty—Dick-atty—dock!
Have you got the hick-
Atties? Hi! send for
Doc
To hurry up quick
Atty—quick-atty—quock,
And heat a hot brick-
Atty—brick-atty—brock,
[Illustration]
And rikle-ty wrap it
And clickle-ty clap it
Against his cold feet-
Al-ty—weep-aty—eepaty—
There he goes, slapit-
Ty—slippaty—sleepaty!”
* * * * *
Me an’ Bert an’ Minnie-Belle
Knows a joke, an’ we won’t
tell!
No, we don’t—’cause
we don’t know
Why we got to laughin’ so;
But we got to laughin’ so,
“We ist
kep’ a-laughin’.
Wind wuz blowin’ in the tree—
An’ wuz only ist us three
Playin’ there; an’ ever’
one
Ketched each other, like we done,
Squintin’ up there at the sun
Like we wuz a-laughin’.
Nothin’ funny anyway;
But I laughed, an’ so did they—
An’ we all three laughed, an’
nen
Squint’ our eyes an’ laugh’
again:
Ner we didn’t ist p’ten’—
We wuz shore-’nough
laughin’.
* * * * *
[Illustration: “SQUINT’ OUR EYES AN’ LAUGH’ AGAIN”]
* * * * *
“We ist laugh’ an’ laugh’,
tel Bert
Say he can’t quit an’
it hurt.
Nen I howl, an’ Minnie-Belle
She tear up the grass a spell
An’ ist stop her yeers an’
yell
Like she’d
die a-laughin’.
Never sich fool-youngens yit!
Nothin’ funny,—not a
bit!—
But we laugh’ so; tel we whoop’
Purt’-nigh like we have the croup—
All so hoarse we’d wheeze an’
whoop
An’ ist
choke a-laughin’.
* * * * *
Sometimes I keep
From going to sleep,
To hear the katydids “cheep-cheep!”
And think they say
Their prayers that way;
But katydids don’t have to
pray!
[Illustration]
I listen when
They cheep again
And so, I think, they’re singing
then!
But, no; I’m wrong,—
The sound’s too long
And all-alike to be a song!
I think, “Well, there!
I do declare,
If it is neither song nor prayer,
It’s talk—and
quite
Too vain and light
For me to listen to all night!”
And so, I smile,
And think,—“Now I’ll
Not listen for a little while!”—
Then, sweet and clear,
Next “cheep” I hear
’S a kiss.... Good morning,
Mommy dear!
[Illustration]
* * * * *
Ho! it’s come, kids, come!
“With a bim! bam! bum!
Here’s little Billy bangin’
on his big bass drum!
He’s a-marchin’ round the
room,
With his feather-duster plume
A-noddin’ an’ a-bobbin’
with his bim! bom! boom!
Looky, little Jane an’ Jim!
Will you only look at him,
A-humpin’ an’ a-thumpin’
with his bam! bom! bim!
Has the Day o’ Judgment come
Er the New Mi-len-nee-um?
Er is it only Billy with his bim! bam!
bim!
* * * * *
[Illustration: “HE’S A-MARCHIN’ ROUND THE ROOM.”]
* * * * *
I ‘m a-comin’; yes, I am—
Jim an’ Sis, an’ Jane an’
Sam!
We’ll all march off with Billy an’
his bom! bim! bam!
Come hurrawin’ as you come,
Er they’ll think you’re deef-an’-dumb
Ef you don’t hear little Billy an’
his big bass drum!
* * * * *
O big old tree, so tall an’ fine,
Where all us childern swings
an’ plays,
Though neighbers says you’re on
the line
Between Pa’s house an’
Mr. Gray’s,—
Us childern used to almost fuss,
Old Tree, about you when we
’d play.—
We’d argy you belonged to us,
An’ them Gray-kids the
other way!
Till Elsie, one time she
wuz here
An’ playin’ wiv
us—Don’t you mind,
Old Mister Tree?—an’
purty near
She scolded us the hardest
kind
Fer quar’llin’ ’bout
you thataway,
An’ say she’ll
find—ef we’ll keep still—
Whose tree you air fer shore, she
say,
An’ settle it fer
good, she will!
* * * * *
[Illustration: “THE OLD TREE SAYS HE’S ALL OUR TREE.”]
* * * * *
So all keep still: An’ nen
she gone
An’ pat the Old Tree,
an’ says she,—
“Whose air you, Tree?” an’
nen let on
Like she’s a-list’nin’
to the Tree,—
An’ nen she say, “It’s
settled,—’cause
The Old Tree says he’s
all our tree—
His trunk belongs to bofe your
Pas,
But shade belongs to
you an’ me.”
* * * * *
[Illustration]
“When little ’Pollus Morton
he’s
A-go’ to speak a piece,
w’y, nen
The Teacher smiles an’ says ’at
she’s
Most proud, of all her little
men
An’ women in her school—’cause
’Poll
He allus speaks the best of all.
An’ nen she’ll pat him on
the cheek,
An’ hold her finger
up at you
Before he speak’; an’
when he speak’
It’s ist some piece
she learn’ him to!
‘Cause he’s her favorite....
An’ she
Ain’t pop’lar as she ust
to be!
When ’Pollus Morton speaks, w’y,
nen
Ist all the other childern
knows
They’re smart as him an’ smart-again!—
Ef they can’t
speak an’ got fine clo’es,
Their Parunts loves ’em more ’n
’Poll-
Us Morton, Teacher, speech, an’
all!
* * * * *
Lay away the story,—
Though the theme is sweet,
There’s a lack of something yet,
Leaves it incomplete:—
There’s a nameless yearning—
Strangely undefined—
For a story sweeter still
Than the written kind.
Therefore read no longer—
I’ve no heart to hear
But just something you make up,
O my mother dear.—
With your arms around me,
Hold me, folded-eyed,—
Only let your voice go on—
I’ll be satisfied.
* * * * *
[Illustration: “THEREFORE READ NO LONGER.”]
* * * * *
[Illustration: The TWINS]
“IGO AND AGO”
We’re The Twins from Aunt Marinn’s,
Igo and Ago.
When Dad comes, the show begins!—
Iram, coram, dago.
Dad he says he named us two
Igo and Ago
For a poem he always knew,
Iram, coram, dago.
Then he was a braw Scotchman—
Igo and Ago.—
Now he’s Scotch-Amer-i-can.
Iram, coram, dago.
“Hey!” he cries, and
pats his knee,
“Igo and Ago,
My twin bairnies, ride wi’ me—
Iram, coram, dago!”
[Illustration]
“Here,” he laughs, “ye’ve
each a leg,
Igo and Ago,
Gleg as Tam O’Shanter’s ‘Meg’!
Iram, coram, dago!”
Then we mount, with shrieks of mirth—
Igo and Ago,—
The two gladdest twins on earth!
Iram, coram, dago.
Wade and Silas-Walker cry,—
“Igo and Ago—
Annie’s kissin’ ’em ’good-bye’!”—
Iram, coram, dago.
Aunty waves us fond farewells.—
“Igo and Ago,”
Granny pipes, “tak care yersels!”
Iram, coram, dago.
* * * * *
O The Little Lady’s dainty
As the picture in a book,
And her hands are creamy-whiter
Than the water-lilies look;
Her laugh’s the undrown’d music
Of the maddest meadow-brook.—
Yet all in vain I praise The Little Lady!
Her eyes are blue and dewy
As the glimmering Summer-dawn,—
Her face is like the eglantine
Before the dew is gone;
And were that honied mouth of hers
A bee’s to feast upon,
He’d be a bee bewildered, Little
Lady!
Her brow makes light look sallow;
And the sunshine, I declare,
Is but a yellow jealousy
Awakened by her hair—
For O the dazzling glint of it
Nor sight nor soul can bear,—
So Love goes groping for The Little Lady.
* * * * *
[Illustration: “SHE’S BUT A RACING SCHOOL-GIRL.”]
* * * * *
And yet she’s neither Nymph nor
Fay,
Nor yet of Angelkind:—
She’s but a racing school-girl,
with
Her hair blown out behind
And tremblingly unbraided by
The fingers of the Wind,
As it wildly swoops upon The Little Lady.
* * * * *
“COMPANY MANNERS”
When Bess gave her Dollies a Tea, said
she,—
“It’s unpolite, when they’s
Company,
To say you’ve drinked two
cups, you see,—
But say you’ve drinked a couple
of tea.”
[Illustration]
* * * * *
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
Picnics is fun ’at’s purty
hard to beat.
I purt’-nigh ruther go to them than
eat.
I purt’-nigh ruther go to them than
go
With our Char_lot_ty to the Trick-Dog
Show.
* * * * *
When we hear Uncle Sidney tell
About the long-ago
An’ old, old friends he loved so
well
When he was young—My-oh!—
Us childern all wish we’d ’a’
bin
A-livin’ then with Uncle,—so
We could a-kindo’ happened in
On them old friends he used
to know!—
The good, old-fashioned
people—
The hale, hard-working
people—
The kindly country
people
’At
Uncle used to know!
They was God’s people, Uncle says,
An’ gloried in His name,
An’ worked, without no selfishness,
An’ loved their neighbers
same
As they was kin: An’ when they
biled
Their tree-molasses, in the
Spring,
Er butchered in the Fall, they smiled
An’ sheered with all
jist ever’thing!—
* * * * *
[Illustration: “THEY WAS GOD’S PEOPLE.”]
* * * * *
The good, old-fashioned
people—
The hale, hard-working
people—
The kindly country
people
’At
Uncle used to know!
He tells about ’em, lots o’
times,
Till we’d all ruther
hear
About ’em than the Nurs’ry
Rhymes
Er Fairies—mighty
near!—
Only sometimes he stops so long
An’ then talks on so
low an’ slow,
It’s purt’-nigh sad as any
song
To listen to him talkin’
so
Of the good, old-fashioned
people—
The hale, hard-working
people—
The kindly country
people
’At
Uncle used to know!
* * * * *
[Illustration]
When Old Folks they wuz young like
us
An’ little as you an’ me,—
[Illustration]
Them wuz the best times ever wuz
Er ever goin’ to be!
* * * * *
[Illustration: “THEM WUZ THE BEST TIMES EVER WUZ.”]
* * * * *
“HIK-TEE-DIK!”
[Illustration]
When two little boys—renowned
but for noise—
Hik-tee-dik! Billy and
Buddy!—
May hurt a whole school, and the head
it employs,
Hik-tee-dik! Billy and
Buddy!
Such loud and hilarious pupils indeed
Need learning—and yet something
further they need,
Though fond hearts that love them may
sorrow and bleed.
Hik-tee-dik! Billy and
Buddy!
O the schoolmarm was cool, and in no wise
a fool;
Hik-tee-dik! Billy and
Buddy!
And in ruling her ranks it was her
rule to rule;
Hik-tee-dik! Billy and
Buddy!
So when these two pupils conspired, every
day,
Some mad piece of mischief, with whoop
and hoo-ray,
That hurt yet defied her,—how
happy were they!—
Hik-tee-dik! Billy and
Buddy!
At the ring of the bell they ’d
rush in with a yell—
Hik-tee-dik! Billy and
Buddy!
And they’d bang the school-door
till the plastering fell,
Hik-tee-dik! Billy and
Buddy!
They’d clinch as they came, and
pretend not to see
As they knocked her desk over—then,
My! and O-me!
How awfully sorry they’d both seem
to be!
Hik-tee-dik! Billy and
Buddy!
[Illustration]
This trick seemed so neat and so safe
a conceit,—
Hik-tee-dik! Billy and
Buddy!—
They played it three times—though
the third they were beat;
Hik-tee-dik! Billy and
Buddy!
For the teacher, she righted her desk—raised
the lid
And folded and packed away each little
kid—
Closed the incident so—yes,
and locked it, she did—
Hik-tee-dik! Billy and
Buddy!
[Illustration]
* * * * *
Pa he bringed me here to stay
’Til my Ma she’s
well.—An’ nen
He’s go’ hitch up, Chris’mus-day,
An’ come take me back
again
Wher’ my Ma’s at! Won’t
I be
Tickled when he comes fer me!
My Ma an’ my A’nty they
’Uz each-uvver’s
sisters. Pa—
A’nty telled me, th’ other
day,—
He comed here an’ married
Ma....
A’nty said nen, “Go run play,
I must work now!” ...
An’ I saw,
When she turn’ her face away,
She ‘uz cryin’.—An’
nen I
‘Tend-like I “run
play”—an’ cry.
This-here house o’ A’nty’s
wher’
They ‘uz borned—my Ma
an’ her!—
An’ her Ma ’uz my Ma’s
Ma,
An’ her Pa ’uz my Ma’s
Pa—
* * * * *
[Illustration: “HE’S GO’ HITCH UP, CHRIS’MUS-DAY, AN’ COME TAKE ME BACK AGAIN.”]
* * * * *
Ain’t that funny?—An’
they’re dead:
An’ this-here’s “th’
ole Homestead.”—
An’ my A’nty said, an’
cried,
It’s mine, too, ef my Ma died—
Don’t know what she mean—’cause
my
Ma she’s nuvver go’ to die!
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
When Pa bringed me here ’t ’uz
night—
‘Way dark night!
An’ A’nty spread
Me a piece—an’ light
the light
An’ say I must go to
bed.—
I cry not to—–but
Pa said,
“Be good boy now, like you telled
Mommy ‘at you’re
go’ to be!”
An’, when he ‘uz
kissin’ me
My good night,
his cheeks’ all wet
An’ taste salty.—An’
he held
Wite close to me an’
rocked some
An’ langhed-like—’til
A’nty come
Git me while he’s
rockin’ yet.
A’nty he’p me, ’til
I be
Purt’-nigh strip-pud—nen
hug me
In bofe arms an’ lif’ me ’way
Up in her high bed—an’
pray
Wiv me,—’bout
my Ma—an’ Pa—
An’ ole Santy Claus—an’
Sleigh—
An’ Reindeers an’
little Drum—
Yes, an’ Picture-books,
“Tom Thumb,”
An’ “Three Bears,” an’
ole “Fee-Faw”—
Yes, an’
“Tweedle-Dee” an’ “Dum,”
An’ “White
Knight” an’ “Squidjicum,”
An’ most things you ever saw!—
An’ when
A’nty kissed me, she
‘Uz all
cryin’ over me!
Don’t want Santy Claus—ner
things
Any kind he ever brings!—
Don’t want A’nty!—Don’t
want Pa!—
I ist only want my Ma!
* * * * *
“OLD BOB WHITE”
Old Bob White’s a funny bird!—
Funniest you ever heard!—
Hear him whistle,—“Old—Bob—White!”
You can hear him, clean from where
He’s ’way ’crosst the wheat-field
there,
Whistlin’ like he didn’t care—
“Old-Bob-White!”
* * * * *
[Illustration: WHEN WE DROVE TO HARMONY]
* * * * *
Whistles alluz ist the same—
So’s we won’t fergit his name!—
Hear him say it?—“Old—Bob—White!”
There! he’s whizzed off down the lane—
Gone back where his folks is stayin’—
Hear him?—There he goes again,—
“Old—Bob—White!”
When boys ever tries to git
Clos’t to him—how quick he’ll
quit
Whistlin’ his “Old-Bob—White!”
“Whoo-rhoo-rhoo!” he’s
up an’ flew,
Ist a-purt’-nigh skeerin’ you
Into fits!—’At’s what he’ll
do.—
“Old-Bob—White!”
Wunst our Hired Man an’ me,
When we drove to Harmony,
Saw one, whistlin’ “Old—Bob—White!”
An’ we drove wite clos’t, an’
I
Saw him an’ he didn’t fly,—
Birds likes horses, an’ that’s why.
“Old—Bob—White!”
One time, Uncle Sidney says,
Wunst he rob’ a Bob White’s nes’
Of the eggs of “Old Bob White”;
Nen he hatched ’em wiv a hen
An’ her little chicks, an’ nen
They ist all flewed off again!
“Old—Bob—White!”
* * * * *
[1869]
ONE OF HIS ANIMAL STORIES
Now, Tudens, you sit on this knee—and
’scuse
It having no side-saddle on;—and,
Jeems,
You sit on this—and
don’t you wobble so
And chug my old shins with your coppertoes;—
And, all the rest of you, range round
someway,—
Ride on the rockers and hang to the arms
Of our old-time splint-bottom carryall!—
Do anything but squabble for a
place,
Or push or shove or scrouge, or breathe
out loud,
Or chew wet, or knead taffy in my beard!—
Do anything almost—act
anyway,—
Only keep still, so I can hear
myself
Trying to tell you “just one story
more!”
One winter afternoon my father, with
A whistle to our dog, a shout to us—
His two boys—six and eight
years old we were,—
Started off to the woods, a half a mile
From home, where he was chopping wood.
We raced,
We slipped and slid; reaching, at last,
the north
Side of Tharp’s corn-field.—There
we struck what seemed
To be a coon-track—so we all
agreed:
And father, who was not a hunter, to
Our glad surprise, proposed we follow
* * * * *
[Illustration: “A BIG, HOLLOW, OLD OAK-TREE, WHICH HAD BEEN BLOWN DOWN BY A STORM.”]
* * * * *
And the mother-fox is drawing ‘Ring’ and us Away from their nest there!” “Oh, le’ ’s go back!— Do le’ ’s go back!” we little vandals cried,— “Le’ ’s go back, quick, and find the little things— Please, father!—Yes, and take ’em home for pets— ’Cause ‘Ring’ he’ll kill the old fox anyway!” So father turned at last, and back we went, And father chopped a hole in the old tree About ten feet below the limb from which The old fox ran, and—Bless their little lives!— There, in the hollow of the old tree-trunk— There, on a bed of warm dry leaves and moss— There, snug as any bug in any rug— We found—one—two—three—four, and, yes-sir, five Wee, weenty-teenty baby-foxes, with Their eyes just barely opened—Cute?—my-oh!— The cutest—the most cunning little things Two boys ever saw, in all their lives! “Raw weather for the little fellows now!” Said father, as though talking to himself,— “Raw weather, and no home now!”—And off came His warm old “waumus”; and in that he wrapped The helpless little animals, and held Them soft and warm against him as he could,— And home we happy children followed him.— Old “Ring" did not reach home till nearly dusk: The mother-fox had led him a long chase—
“Yes, and a fool’s chase, too!” he seemed to say, And looked ashamed to hear us praising him. But, mother—well, we could not understand Her acting as she did—and we so pleased! I can see yet the look of pained surprise And deep compassion of her troubled face When father very gently laid his coat, With the young foxes in it, on the hearth Beside her, as she brightened up the fire. She urged—for the oldPage 17
fox’s sake and theirs— That they be taken back to the old tree; But father—for our wistful sakes, no doubt— Said we would keep them, and would try our best To raise them. And at once he set about Building a snug home for the little things Out of an old big bushel-basket, with Its fractured handle and its stoven ribs: So, lining and padding this all cosily, He snuggled in its little tenants, and Called in John Wesley Thomas, our hired man, And gave him in full charge, with much advice Regarding the just care and sustenance of Young foxes.—“John,” he said, “you feed ’em milk— Warm milk, John Wesley! Yes, and keep ’em by The stove—and keep your stove a-roarin’, too, Both night and day!—And keep ’em covered up— Not smothered, John, but snug and comfortable.—
* * * * *
[Illustration: “THE YOUNG FOXES IN IT, ON THE HEARTH BESIDE HER.”]
* * * * *
And now, John Wesley Thomas, first and
last,—
You feed ’em milk—fresh
milk—and always warm—
Say five or six or seven times a day—
Of course we’ll grade that by the
way they thrive.”
But, for all sanguine hope, and care,
as well,
The little fellows did not thrive
at all.—
Indeed, with all our care and vigilance,
By the third day of their captivity
The last survivor of the fated five
Squeaked, like some battered little rubber
toy
Just clean worn out.—And that’s
just what it was!
And—nights,—the
cry of the mother-fox for her young
Was heard, with awe, for long weeks afterward.
And we boys, every night, would go to
the door
And, peering out in the darkness, listening,
Could hear the poor fox in the black bleak
woods
Still calling for her little ones in vain.
As, all mutely, we returned to the warm
fireside,
Mother would say: “How would
you like for me
To be out there, this dark night, in the
cold woods,
Calling for my children?”
[Illustration]
* * * * *
UNCLE BRIGHTENS UP—
[Illustration]
Uncle he says ’at ’way down
in the sea
Ever’thing’s ist like it used
to be:—
He says they’s mermaids, an’
mermens, too,
An’ little merchildern, like me
an’ you—
Little merboys, with tops an’ balls,
An’ little mergirls, with little
merdolls.
[Illustration]
Uncle Sidney’s vurry proud
Of little Leslie-Janey,
‘Cause she’s so smart, an’
goes to school
Clean ’way in Pennsylvany!
* * * * *
[Illustration: “AN’ ALL BE POETS AN’ ALL RECITE.”]
* * * * *
She print’ an’ sent a postul-card
To Uncle Sidney, telling
How glad he’ll be to hear that she
“Toock the onners in
Speling.”
Uncle he learns us to rhyme an’
write
An’ all be poets an’ all recite:
His little-est poet’s his little-est
niece,
An’ this is her little-est poetry-piece.
[Illustration]
* * * * *
SINGS A “WINKY-TOODEN” SONG—
[Illustration]
O here’s a little rhyme for the
Spring- or Summer-time—
An a-ho-winky-tooden-an-a-ho!—
Just a little bit o’ tune you can
twitter, May or June,
An a-ho-winky-tooden-an-a-ho!
It’s a song that soars and sings,
As the birds that twang their wings
Or the katydids and things
Thus and so, don’t you
know,
An a-ho-winky-tooden-an-a-ho!
It’s a song just broken loose, with
no reason or excuse—
An a-ho-winky-tooden-an-a-ho!
You can sing along with it—or
it matters not a bit—
An a-ho-winky-tooden-an-a-ho!
It’s a lovely little thing
That ’most any one could sing
With a ringle-dingle-ding,
Soft and low, don’t
you know,
An a-ho-winky-tooden-an-a-ho!
[Illustration]
* * * * *
[Illustration]
AND MAKES NURSERY RHYMES
1
[Illustration]
Our dog Fred
Et the bread.
[Illustration]
Our dog Dash
Et the hash.
[Illustration]
Our dog Pete
Et the meat.
[Illustration]
Our dog Davy
Et the gravy.
[Illustration]
Our dog Toffy
Et the coffee.
[Illustration]
Our dog Jake
Et the cake.
[Illustration]
Our dog Trip
Et the dip.
And—the worst,
From the first,—
[Illustration]
Our dog Fido
Et the pie-dough.
* * * * *
2
Miss Medairy Dory-Ann
Cast her line and caught a man,
[Illustration]
But when he looked so pleased, alack!
She unhooked and plunked him back.—
“I never like to catch what I can,”
Said Miss Medairy Dory-Ann.
* * * * *
3
[Voice from behind high board-fence.]
[Illustration]
“Where’s the crowd that dares
to go
Where I dare to lead?—you know!”
[Illustration]
“Well, here’s one!”
Shouts Ezry Dunn.
[Illustration]
“Count me two!”
Yells Cootsy Drew.
[Illustration]
“Here’s yer three!”
Sings Babe Magee.
[Illustration]
“Score me four!”
Roars Leech-hole Moore.
[Illustration]
“Tally—five!”
Howls Jamesy Clive.
[Illustration]
“I make six!”
Chirps Herbert Dix.
[Illustration]
“Punctchul!—seven!”
Pipes Runt Replevin.
[Illustration]
“Mark me eight!”
Grunts Mealbag Nate.
[Illustration]
“I’m yet nine!”
Growls “Lud’rick” Stein.
[Illustration]
“Hi! here’s ten!”
Whoops Catfish Ben.
[Illustration]
“And now we march, in daring line,
For the banks of Brandywine!”
* * * * *
4
“IT”
A wee little worm in a hickory-nut
Sang, happy as he could be,—
[Illustration]
“O I live in the heart of the whole
round world,
And it all belongs to me!”
* * * * *
5
A daring prince, of the realm Rangg Dhune,
Once went up in a big balloon
[Illustration]
That caught and stuck on the horns of
the moon,
And he hung up there till next day noon—
When all at once he exclaimed, “Hoot-toot!”
And then came down in his parachute.
[Illustration]
* * * * *
[Illustration]
Us-folks is purty pore—but Ma She’s waitin’—two years more—tel Pa He serve his term out. Our Pa he— He’s in the Penitenchurrie!
Now don’t you never tell!—’cause
Sis,
The baby, she don’t
know he is.—
’Cause she wuz only four, you know,
He kissed her last an’ hat to go!
Pa alluz liked Sis best of all
Us childern.—’Spect it’s
’cause she fall
“When she’uz ist a child,
one day—
An’ make her back look thataway.
Pa—’fore he be a burglar—he’s
A locksmiff, an’ maked locks, an’
keys,
An’ knobs you pull fer bells to
ring,
An’ he could ist make anything!—
[Illustration]
‘Cause our Ma say he can!—An’
this
Here little pair o’ crutches Sis
Skips round on—Pa maked them—yes-sir!—
An’ silivur-plate-name here fer
her!
Pa’s out o’ work when Chris’mus
come
One time, an’ stay away from home,
An’ ‘s drunk an’ ‘buse
our Ma, an’ swear
They ain’t no “Old Kriss”
anywhere!
An’ Sis she alluz say they wuz
A’ Old Kriss—an’
she alluz does.
But ef they is a’ Old Kriss, why,
When’s Chris’mus, Ma she alluz
cry?
This Chris’mus now, we live
here in
Where Ma’s rent’s alluz due
ag’in—
An’ she “ist slaves”—I
heerd her say
She did—ist them words thataway!
[Illustration]
An’ th’other night, when all’s
so cold
An’ stove’s ’most out—our
Ma she rolled
Us in th’old feather-bed an’
said,
“To-morry’s Chris’mus—go
to bed,
“An’ thank yer blessed stars
fer this—
We don’t ’spect nothin’
from Old Kriss!”
An’ cried, an’ locked the
door, an’ prayed,
An’ turned the lamp down....
An’ I laid
There, thinkin’ in the dark ag’in,
“Ef wuz Old Kriss, he can’t
git in,
’Cause ain’t no chimbly here
at all—
Ist old stovepipe stuck frue the wall!”
I sleeped nen.—An’ wuz
dreamin’ some
When I waked up an’ morning’s
come,—
Fer our Ma she wuz settin’ square
Straight up in bed, a-readin’ there
Some letter ’at she ‘d read,
an’ quit,
An’ nen hold like she’s huggin’
it.—
An’ diamon’ ear-rings she
don’t know
Wuz in her ears tel I say so—
An’ wake the rest up. An’
the sun
In frue the winder dazzle-un
Them eyes o’ Sis’s, wiv a
sure-
Enough gold chain Old Kriss bringed to
’er!
An’ all of us git gold things!—Sis,
Though, say she know it “ain’t
Old Kriss—
He kissed her, so she waked an’
saw
Him skite out—an’ it
wuz her Pa.”
* * * * *
[Illustration: “ALONG THE BRINK OF WILD BROOK-WAY.”]
* * * * *
Sing! gangling lad, along the brink
Of wild brook-ways of shoal
and deep,
Where killdees dip, and cattle drink,
And glinting little minnows
leap!
Sing! slimpsy lass who trips above
And sets the foot-log quivering!
Sing! bittern, bumble-bee, and dove—
Sing! Sing! Sing!
Sing as you will, O singers all
Who sing because you want
to sing!
Sing! peacock on the orchard wall,
Or tree-toad by the trickling
spring!
Sing! every bird on every bough—
Sing! every living, loving
thing—
Sing any song, and anyhow,
But Sing! Sing!
Sing!
* * * * *
THE JAYBIRD
The Jaybird he’s my favorite
Of all the birds they is!
I think he’s quite a stylish sight
In that blue suit of his:
An’ when he’ lights an’
shuts his wings,
His coat’s a “cutaway”—
I guess it’s only when he sings
You’d know he wuz a
jay.
I like to watch him when he’s lit
In top of any tree,
’Cause all birds git wite out of
it
When he ‘lights,
an’ they see
How proud he act’, an’ swell
an’ spread
His chest out more an’
more,
An’ raise the feathers on his head
Like it’s cut pompadore!
* * * * *
[Illustration: “I LIKE TO WATCH HIM.”]
* * * * *
[Illustration]
Wunst, ’way West in Illinoise,
Wuz two Bears an’ their two boys:
An’ the two boys’ names, you
know,
Wuz—like ours is,—Jim
an’ Jo;
An’ their parunts’
names wuz same’s,
All big grown-up people’s names,—
Ist Miz Bear, the neighbers call
’Em, an’ Mister Bear—’at’s
all.
Yes—an’ Miz Bear scold
him, too,
Ist like grown folks shouldn’t
do!
[Illustration]
Wuz a grea’-big river there,
An’, ’crosst that, ’s
a mountain where
Old Bear said some day he’d go,
Ef she don’t quit scoldin’so!
So, one day when he been down
The river, fishin’, ’most
to town,
An’ come back ’thout no fish
a-tall,
An’ Jim an’ Jo they run an’
bawl
An’ tell their ma their pa hain’t
fetch’
No fish,—she scold again an’
ketch
Her old broom up an’ biff him, too.—
[Illustration]
An’ he ist cry, an’ say, “Boo-hoo!
I told you what I ’d do some
day’.”
An’ he ist turned an’ runned
away
To where’s the grea’-big river
there,
An’ ist splunged in an’
swum to where
The mountain’s at, ’way th’other
side,
An’ clumbed up there. An’
Miz Bear cried—
An’ little Jo an’ little Jim—
Ist like their ma—bofe cried
fer him!—
But he clumbed on, clean out o’
sight,
He wuz so mad!—An’ served
’em right!
Nen—when the Bear got ’way
on top
The mountain, he heerd somepin’
flop
Its wings—an’ somepin’
else he heerd
A-rattlin’-like.—An’
he wuz skeerd,
An’ looked ’way up, an’—Mercy
sake!—
[Illustration]
It wuz a’ Eagul an’ a SNAKE!
An’-sir! the Snake, he bite an’
kill’
The Eagul, an’ they bofe fall till
They strike the ground—k’spang-k’spat!—
Wite where the Bear wuz standin’
at!
An’ when here come the Snake at
him,
The Bear he think o’ little Jim
An’ Jo, he did—an’
their ma, too,—
All safe at home; an’ he ist flew
Back down the mountain—an’
could hear
The old Snake rattlin’, sharp an’
clear,
Wite clos’t behind!—An’
Bear he’s so
All tired out, by time, you know,
He git down to the river there,
He know’ he can’t swim
back to where
His folks is at. But ist wite nen
He see a boat an’ six big men
[Illustration]
‘At’s been a-shootin’
ducks: An’ so
He skeerd them out the boat, you know,
An’ ist jumped in—an’
Snake he tried
To jump in, too, but failed outside
Where all the water wuz; an’ so
The Bear grabs one the things you row
The boat wiv an’ ist whacks the
head
Of the old Snake an’ kills him dead!—
An’ when he’s killed him dead, w’y, nen The old Snake’s drownded dead again! Nen Bear set in the boat an’ bowed His back an’ rowed—an’ rowed—an’ rowed— Till he’s safe home—so tired he can’t Do nothin’ but lay there an’ pant An’ tell his childern, “Bresh my coat!” An’ tell his wife, “Go chain my boat!” An’ they’re so glad he’s back, they say “They knowed he’s comin’ thataway To ist surprise the dear ones there!” An’ Jim an’ Jo they dried his hair
[Illustration]
An’ pulled the burrs out; an’
their ma
She ist set there an’ helt his paw
Till he wuz sound asleep, an’ nen
She tell’ him she won’t scold
again—
Never—never—never—
Ferever an’
ferever!
* * * * *
[Illustration: SOME SONGS AFTER MASTER SINGERS]
SONG
[W.S.]
With a hey! and a hi! and a hey-ho rhyme!
O the shepherd
lad
He is ne’er
so glad
As when he pipes, in the blossom-time,
So rare!
While Kate picks by, yet looks not there.
So rare! so rare!
With a hey! and a hi! and a ho!
The grasses curdle where the daisies
blow!
With a hey! and a hi! and a hey-ho vow!
Then he sips her
face
At the sweetest
place—
And ho! how white is the hawthorn now!—
So rare!—
And the daisied world rocks round them
there.
So rare! so rare!
With a hey! and a hi! and a ho!
The grasses curdle where the daisies
blow!
* * * * *
[Illustration: “WHILE KATE PICKS BY, YET LOOKS NOT THERE.”]
* * * * *
TO THE CHILD JULIA
[R.H.]
Little Julia, since that we
May not as our elders be,
Let us blithely fill the days
Of our youth with pleasant plays.
First we’ll up at earliest dawn,
While as yet the dew is on
The sooth’d grasses and the pied
Blossomings of morningtide;
Next, with rinsed cheeks that shine
As the enamell’d eglantine,
We will break our fast on bread
With both cream and honey spread;
Then, with many a challenge-call,
We will romp from house and hall,
Gypsying with the birds and bees
Of the green-tress’d garden trees.
In a bower of leaf and vine
Thou shalt be a lady fine
Held in duress by the great
Giant I shall personate.
Next, when many mimics more
Like to these we have played o’er,
[Illustration]
We’ll betake us home-along
Hand in hand at evensong.
[Illustration]
* * * * *
THE DOLLY’S MOTHER
[W.W.]
A little maid, of summers four—
Did you compute her years,—
And yet how infinitely more
To me her age appears:
I mark the sweet child’s serious
air,
At her unplayful play,—
The tiny doll she mothers there
And lulls to sleep away,
Grows—’neath the grave
similitude—
An infant real, to me,
And she a saint of motherhood
In hale maturity.
[Illustration]
So, pausing in my lonely round,
And all unseen of her,
I stand uncovered—her profound
And abject worshipper.
* * * * *
[Illustration: “LEND ME THE BREATH OF A FRESHENING GALE.”]
* * * * *
WIND OF THE SEA
[A.T.]
Wind of the Sea, come fill my sail—
Lend me the breath of a freshening gale
And bear my port-worn ship
away!
For O the greed of the tedious town—
The shutters up and the shutters down!
Wind of the Sea, sweep over
the bay
And bear me away!—away!
Whither you bear me, Wind of the Sea,
Matters never the least to me:
Give me your fogs, with the
sails adrip,
Or the weltering path thro’ the
starless night—
On, somewhere, is a new daylight
And the cheery glint of another
ship
As its colors
dip and dip!
[Illustration]
Wind of the Sea, sweep over the bay
And bear me away!—away!
* * * * *
SUBTLETY
[R.B.]
Whilst little Paul, convalescing, was
staying
Close indoors, and his boisterous classmates
paying
[Illustration]
Him visits, with fresh school-notes
and surprises,—
With nettling pride they sprung the word
“Athletic,”
With much advice and urgings sympathetic
Anent “Athletic exercises.”
Wise as
Lad might look, quoth Paul: “I’ve
pondered o’er that
‘Athletic,’ but I mean to
take, before that,
Downstairic and outdooric
exercises.”
* * * * *
BORN TO THE PURPLE
[W.M.]
Most-like it was this kingly lad
Spake out of the pure joy he had
In his child-heart of the wee maid
Whose eerie beauty sudden laid
A spell upon him, and his words
Burst as a song of any bird’s:—
A peerless Princess thou shalt be,
Through wit of love’s rare sorcery:
To crown the crown of thy gold hair
Thou shalt have rubies, bleeding there
Their crimson splendor midst the marred
Pulp of great pearls, and afterward
[Illustration]
Leaking in fainter ruddy stains
Adown thy neck-and-armlet-chains
Of turquoise, chrysoprase, and mad
Light-frenzied diamonds, dartling glad
Swift spirts of shine that interfuse
As though with lucent crystal dews
That glance and glitter like split rays
Of sunshine, born of burgeoning Mays
When the first bee tilts down the lip
Of the first blossom, and the drip
Of blended dew and honey heaves
Him blinded midst the underleaves.
For raiment, Fays shall weave for thee—
Out of the phosphor of the sea
And the frayed floss of starlight, spun
With counterwarp of the firm sun—
A vesture of such filmy sheen
As, through all ages, never queen
Therewith strove truly to make less
One fair line of her loveliness.
Thus gowned and crowned with gems and
gold,
Thou shalt, through centuries untold,
Rule, ever young and ever fair,
As now thou rulest, smiling there.
* * * * *
Old Man Whiskery-Whee-Kum-Wheeze Lives ‘way up in the leaves o’ trees. An’ wunst I slipped up-stairs to play In Aunty’s room, while she ’uz away; An’ I clumbed up in her cushion-chair An’ ist peeked out o’ the winder there; An’ there I saw—wite out in the trees— Old Man Whiskery-Whee-Kum-Wheeze!
An’ Old Man Whiskery-Whee-Kum-Wheeze
Would bow an’ bow, with the leaves
in the breeze,
An’ waggle his whiskers an’
raggledy hair,
An’ bow to me in the winder there!
An’ I ‘d peek out, an’
he’d peek in
An’ waggle his whiskers an’
bow ag’in,
Ist like the leaves’u’d wave
in the breeze—
Old Man Whiskery-Whee-Kum-Wheeze!
* * * * *
[Illustration: “BOW TO ME IN THE WINDER THERE!”]
* * * * *
An’ Old Man Whiskery-Whee-Kum-Wheeze,
Seem-like, says to me: “See
my bees
A-bringin’ my dinner? An’
see my cup
O’ locus’-blossoms they’ve
plum’ filled up?”
An’ “Um-yum, honey!”
wuz last he said,
An’ waggled his whiskers an’
bowed his head;
An’ I yells, “Gimme some,
won’t you, please,
Old Man Whiskery-Whee-Kum-Wheeze?”
[Illustration]
* * * * *
[Illustration]
I’m twins, I guess, ’cause
my Ma say
I’m two little girls.
An’ one o’ me
Is Good little girl;
an’ th’other ‘n’ she
Is Bad little girl as she
can be!
An’ Ma say so, ‘most ever’
day.
An’ she’s the funniest
Ma! ’Cause when
My Doll won’t mind,
an’ I ist cry,
W’y, nen my Ma she sob
an’ sigh,
An’ say, “Dear
Good little girl, good-bye!—
Bad little girl’s comed here
again!”
Last time ‘at Ma act’ thataway,
I cried all to myse’f
awhile
Out on the steps, an’
nen I smile,
An’ git my Doll all
fix’ in style,
An’ go in where Ma’s at, an’
say:
"Morning to you, Mommy
dear!
Where’s that Bad
little girl wuz here?
Bad little girl’s
goned clean away,
An’ Good little girl’s
comed back to stay."
[Illustration]
* * * * *
Last Thanksgivin’-dinner we
Et at Granny’s house, an’
she
[Illustration]
Had—ist like she alluz does—
Most an’ best pies ever wuz.
Canned black burry-pie an’
goose
Burry, squshin’-full o’ juice;
An’ rozburry—yes,
an’ plum—
Yes, an’ churry-pie—um-yum!
Peach an’ punkin, too, you bet.
Lawzy! I kin taste ’em yet!
Yes, an’ custard-pie, an’
mince!
* * * * *
An’—I—ain’t—et—no—pie—since!
[Illustration]
* * * * *
When frost’s all on our winder,
an’ the snow’s
All out-o’-doors, our “Old-Kriss"-milkman
goes
A-drivin’ round, ist purt’-nigh
froze to death,
With his old white mustache froze full
o’ breath.
But when it’s summer an’ all
warm ag’in,
He comes a-whistlin’ an’ a-drivin
in
Our alley, ’thout no coat on, ner
ain’t cold,
Ner his mustache ain’t white, ner
he ain’t old.
[Illustration]
* * * * *
[Illustration: “OUR ’OLD-KRISS’-MILKMAN.”]
* * * * *
Sometimes I think ’at Parents does
Things ist about as bad as us—
[Illustration]
Wite ’fore our vurry
eyes, at that!
Fer one time Pa he scold’ my Ma
’Cause he can’t
find his hat;
An’ she ist cried, she did!
An’ I
Says, “Ef you scold
my Ma
Ever again an’ make her cry,
Wy, you sha’n’t
be my Pa!”
An’ nen he laugh’ an’
find his hat
Ist wite where Ma she said it’s
at!
* * * * *
[Illustration: “THE CHILDISH DREAMS IN HIS WISE OLD HEAD.”]
* * * * *
O the night was dark and the night was
late,
And the robbers came to rob
him;
And they picked the locks of his palace-gate,
The robbers that came to rob
him—
They picked the locks of his palace-gate,
Seized his jewels and gems of state,
His coffers of gold and his priceless
plate,—
The robbers that came to rob
him.
But loud laughed he in the morning red!—
For of what had the robbers
robbed him?—
Ho! hidden safe, as he slept in bed,
When the robbers came to rob
him,—
They robbed him not of a golden shred
Of the childish dreams in his wise old
head—
“And they’re welcome to all
things else,” he said,
When the robbers came to rob
him.
[Illustration]
* * * * *
[Illustration]