Chapter XVII: Part IV (11)

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'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.

LITTLE BREECHES[73]

JOHN HAY

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 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 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 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 Parr
Went off for some wood to a sheepfold
That he said was somewhar thar.

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 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.

THE LOW-BACKED CAR

SAMUEL LOVER

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 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 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 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.

MAMMY'S PICKANIN'

LUCY DEAN JENKINS

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'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

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 '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

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.

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'ms
An' sings de--
"Lullaby," etc.

MANDALAY

RUDYARD KIPLING

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 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' 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--

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!

MISTER COON AND MISTER RABBIT[74]

JOEL CHANDLER HARRIS

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 come lopin' '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' tell bimeby 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.

MONEY MUSK

BENJAMIN F. TAYLOR

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 holes
In the quaint old lantern's tattooed tin,
From the hermit glim set up within;

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 dusk
As he twangs the ghost of "Money Musk!"

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 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.

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 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 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 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 ONE-LEGGED GOOSE[75]

F. HOPKINSON SMITH

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.'"

FOOTNOTE:

[75] Used by permission of and arrangement with Messrs. Houghton, Mifflin & Co., Boston, Mass., publishers of the works of F. Hopkinson Smith.

THE PESSIMIST[76]

BEN F. KING

Nothing to do but work,
Nothing to eat but food,
Nothing to wear but clothes
To keep one from going nude.

Nothing to breathe but air,
Quick as a flash 'tis gone;
Nowhere to fall but off,
Nowhere to stand but on.

Nothing to comb but hair,
Nowhere to sleep but in bed,
Nothing to weep but tears,
Nothing to bury but dead.

Nothing to sing but songs,
Ah, well, alas! alack!
Nowhere to go but out,
Nowhere to come but back.

Nothing to see but sights,
Nothing to quench but thirst,
Nothing to have but what we've got,
Thus thro' life we are cursed.

Nothing to strike but a gait;
Everything moves that goes.
Nothing at all but common sense
Can ever withstand these woes.

FOOTNOTE:

[76] By permission of the author and Forbes & Co., publishers.

SCHNEIDER SEES LEAH

ANONYMOUS

I vant to dold you vat it is, dot's a putty nice play. De first dime dot you see Leah, she runs cross a pridge, mit some fellers chasin' her mit putty big shticks. Dey ketch her right in de middle of der edge, und der leader (dot's de villen), he sez of her, "Dot it's better ven she dies, und dot he coodent allow it dot she can lif." Und de oder fellers hollers out, "So ve vill;" "Gife her some deth;" "Kill her putty quick;" "Shmack her of der jaw," und such dings; und chust as dey vill kill her, de priest says of dem, "Don'd you do dot," und dey shtop dot putty quick. In der nexd seen, dot Leah meets Rudolph (dot's her feller) in de voods. Before dot he comes in, she sits of de bottom of a cross, und she don'd look pooty lifely, und she says, "Rudolph, how is dot, dot you don'd come und see about me? You didn't shpeak of me for tree days long. I vant to dold you vot it is, dot ain't some luf. I don'd like dot." Vell, Rudolph he don'd was dere, so he coodent sed something. But ven he comes in, she dells of him dot she lufs him orful, und he says dot he guess he lufs her orful too, und vants to know vood she leef dot place, and go oud in some oder country mit him. Und she says, "I told you, I vill;" und he says, "Dot's all right," und he tells her he vill meet her soon, und dey vill go vay dogedder. Den he kisses her und goes oud, und she feels honkey dory bout dot.

Vell, in der nexd seen, Rudolph's old man finds oud all about dot, und he don'd feel putty goot; und he says of Rudolph, "Vood you leef me, und go mit dot gal?" und Rudolph feels putty bad. He don'd know vot he shall do. Und der old man he says, "I dold you vot I'll do. De skoolmaster (dot's de villen) says dot she might dook some money to go vay. Now, Rudolph, my poy, I'll gif de skoolmaster sum money to gif do her, und if she don'd dook dot money, I'll let you marry dot gal." Ven Rudolph hears dis, he chumps mit joyness, und says, "Fader, fader, dot's all righd. Dot's pully. I baed you anydings she voodent dook dot money." Vell, de old man gif de skoolmaster de money, und dells him dot he shall offer dot of her. Vell, dot pluddy skoolmaster comes back und says dot Leah dook dot gold right avay, ven she didn't do dot. Den de old man says, "Didn't I told you so?" und Rudolph gits so vild dot he svears dot she can't haf someding more to do mit him. So ven Leah vill meet him in de voods, he don'd vas dere, und she feels orful, und goes avay. Bime-by she comes up to Rudolph's house. She feels putty bad, und she knocks of de door. De old man comes oud, und says, "Got out of dot, you orful vooman. Don'd you come round after my boy again, else I put you in de dooms." Und she says, "Chust let me see Rudolph vonce, und I vill vander avay." So den Rudolph comes oud, und she vants to rush of his arms, but dot pluddy fool voodent allow dot. He chucks her avay, und says, "Don'd you touch me, uf you please, you deceitfulness gal." I dold you vot it is, dot looks ruff for dot poor gal. Und she is extonished, und says, "Vot is dis aboud dot?" Und Rudolph, orful mad, says, "Got oudsiedt, you ignomonous vooman." Und she feels so orful she coodent said a vord, und she goes oud.

Afterwards, Rudolph gits married to anoder gal in a shurch. Vell, Leah, who is vandering eferyveres, happens to go in dot shurchyard to cry, chust at de same dime of Rudolph's marriage, vich she don'd know someding aboud. Putty soon she hears de organ, und she says dere is some beeples gitten married, und dot it vill do her unhappiness goot if she sees dot. So she looks in de vinder, und ven she sees who dot is, my graciousness, don'd she holler, und shvears vengeance. Putty soon Rudolph chumps oud indo der shurchyard to got some air. He says he don't feel putty good. Putty soon dey see each oder, und dey had a orful dime. He says of her, "Leah, how is dot you been here?" Und she says mit big scornfulness, "God oud of dot, you beat. How is dot, you got cheek to talk of me afder dot vitch you hafe done?" Den he says, "Vell, vot for you dook dot gold, you false-hearded leetle gal?" und she says, "Vot gold is dot? I didn't dook some gold." Und he says, "Don'd you dold a lie about dot!" She says slowfully, "I told you I didn't dook some gold. Vot gold is dot?" Und den Rudolph tells her all aboud dot, und she says, "Dot is a orful lie. I didn't seen some gold;" und she adds mit much sarkasmness, "Und you beliefed I dook dot gold. Dot's de vorst I efer heered. Now, on accound of dot, I vill gif you a few gurses." Und den she swears mit orful voices dot Mister Kain's gurse should git on him, und dot he coodent never git any happiness eferyvere, no matter vere he is. Den she valks off. Vell, den a long dime passes avay, und den you see Rudolph's farm. He has got a nice vife, und a putiful leetle child. Putty soon Leah comes in, being shased, as ushual, by fellers mit shticks. She looks like she didn't ead someding for two monds. Rudolph's vife sends off dot mop, und Leah gits avay again. Den dat nice leedle child comes oud, und Leah comes back; und ven she sees dot child, don'd she feel orful aboud dot, und she says mit affectfulness, "Come here, leedle child, I voodn'd harm you;" und dot nice leedle child goes righd up, and Leah chumps on her, und grabs her in her arms, und gries, and kisses her. Oh! my graciousness don'd she gry aboud dot. You got to blow your noses righd avay. I vant to dold you vat it is, dot looks pully.

Und den she says vile she gries, "Leedle childs, don'd you got some names?" Und dot leedle child shpeaks oud so nice, pless her leedle hard, und says, "Oh! yes. My name dot's Leah, und my papa tells me dot I shall pray for you efery nighd." Oh! my goodnessness, don'd Leah gry orful ven she hears dot. I dold you vat it is, dot's a shplaindid ding. Und quick come dem tears in your eyes und you look up ad de vall, so dot nobody can'd see dot, und you make oud you don'd care aboud it. But your eyes gits fulled up so quick dot you couldn'd keep dem in, und de tears comes down of your face like a shnow storm, und den you don'd care a tarn if efery body sees dot. Und Leah kisses her und gries like dot her heart's broke, und she dooks off dot gurse from Rudolph und goes avay. De child den dell her fader and muder aboud dot, und dey pring her back. Den dot mop comes back und vill kill her again, but she exposes dot skoolmaster, dot villen, und dot fixes him. Den she falls down in Rudolph's arms, und your eyes gits fulled up again, und you can'd see someding more. I like to haf as many glasses of beer as dere is gryin' chust now. You couldn't help dot any vay. Und if I see a gal vot don'd gry in dot piece, I voodn't marry dot gal, efen if her fader owned a pig prewery. Und if I see a feller vot don'd gry, I voodn't dook a trink of lager bier mit him. Vell, afder de piece is oud, you feel so bad, und so goot, dot you must ead a few pieces of hot stuff do drife avay der plues. But I told you vat it is, dot's a pully piece, I baed you, don'd it?

THE SUPERFLUOUS MAN

JOHN G. SAXE

I long have been puzzled to guess,
And so I have frequently said,
What the reason could really be
That I never have happened to wed;
But now it is perfectly clear
I am under a natural ban;
The girls are already assigned--
And I'm a superfluous man!

Those clever statistical chaps
Declare the numerical run
Of women and men in the world
Is Twenty to Twenty-and-one:
And hence in the pairing, you see,
Since wooing and wedding began,
For every connubial score
They've got a superfluous man!

By twenties and twenties they go,
And giddily rush to their fate,
For none of the number, of course,
Can fail of the conjugal mate;
But while they are yielding in scores
To nature's inflexible plan,
There's never a woman for me--
For I'm a superfluous man!

It isn't that I am a churl,
To solitude over-inclined,
It isn't that I am at fault
In morals or manners or mind;
Then what is the reason, you ask,
I'm still with the bachelor clan?
I merely was numbered amiss--
And I'm a superfluous man!

It isn't that I am in want
Of personal beauty or grace,
For many a man with a wife
Is uglier far in the face.
Indeed, among elegant men
I fancy myself in the van;
But what is the value of that,
When I'm a superfluous man?

Although I am fond of the girls,
For aught I could ever discern,
The tender emotion I feel
Is one that they never return;
'Tis idle to quarrel with fate,
For, struggle as hard as I can,
They're mated already, you know,
And I'm a superfluous man!

No wonder I grumble at times,
With women so pretty and plenty,
To know that I never was born
To figure as one of the Twenty;
But yet, when the average lot
With critical vision I scan,
I think it may be for the best
That I'm a superfluous man!

THE USUAL WAY

ANONYMOUS

There was once a little man, and his rod and line he took,
For he said, "I'll go a-fishing in the neighboring brook."
And it chanced a little maiden was walking out that day,
And they met--in the usual way.

Then he sat him down beside her, and an hour or two went by,
But still upon the grassy brink his rod and line did lie;
"I thought," she shyly whispered, "you'd be fishing all the day!"
And he was--in the usual way.

So he gravely took his rod in hand and threw the line about,
But the fish perceived distinctly he was not looking out;
And he said, "Sweetheart, I love you," but she said she could not
stay,
But she did--in the usual way.

Then the stars came out above them, and she gave a little sigh
As they watched the silver ripples like the moments running by;
"We must say good-by," she whispered by the alders old and gray,
And they did--in the usual way.

And day by day beside the stream, they wandered to and fro,
And day by day the fishes swam securely down below,
Till this little story ended, as such little stories may,
Very much--in the usual way.

And now that they are married, do they always bill and coo?
Do they never fret and quarrel, like other couples do?
Does he cherish her and love her? does she honor and obey?
Well, they do--in the usual way.

THE WEDDING FEE

R. M. STREETER

One morning, fifty years ago,--
When apple trees were white with snow
Of fragrant blossoms, and the air
Was spellbound with the perfume rare,--
Upon a farm horse, large and lean,
And lazy with its double load,
A sun-browned youth and maid were seen
Jogging along the winding road.

Blue were the arches of the skies;
But bluer were that maiden's eyes.
The dewdrops on the grass were bright;
But brighter was the loving light
That sparkled 'neath the long-fringed lid,
Where those bright eyes of blue were hid;
Adown the shoulders brown and bare
Rolled the soft waves of golden hair,
Where, almost strangled with the spray,
The sun, a willing sufferer, lay.

It was the fairest sight, I ween,
That the young man had ever seen;
And with his features all aglow,
The happy fellow told her so!
And she without the least surprise
Looked on him with those heavenly eyes;
Saw underneath that shade of tan
The handsome features of a man;
And with a joy but rarely known
She drew that dear face to her own,
And by her bridal bonnet hid--
I cannot tell you what she did!

So, on they ride until among
The new-born leaves with dewdrops hung,
The parsonage, arrayed in white,
Peers out,--a more than welcome sight.
Then, with a cloud upon his face,
"What shall we do," he turned to say,
"Should he refuse to take his pay
From what is in the pillow-case?"
And glancing down his eye surveyed
The pillow-case before him laid,
Whose contents reaching to its hem,
Might purchase endless joy for them.
The maiden answers, "Let us wait,
To borrow trouble where's the need?"
Then, at the parson's squeaking gate
Halted the more than willing steed.

Down from the horse the bridegroom sprung;
The latchless gate behind him swung.
The knocker of that startled door,
Struck as it never was before,
Brought the whole household pale with fright;
And there, with blushes on his cheek,
So bashful he could hardly speak,
The farmer met their wondering sight.

The groom goes in, his errand tells,
And, as the parson nods, he leans
Far o'er the window-sill and yells,
"Come in! He says he'll take the beans!"

Oh! how she jumped! With one glad bound,
She and the bean-bag reached the ground.
Then, clasping with each dimpled arm
The precious product of the farm,
She bears it through the open door;
And, down upon the parlor floor,
Dumps the best beans vines ever bore.

Ah! happy were their songs that day,
When man and wife they rode away.
But happier this chorus still
Which echoed through those woodland scenes:
"God bless the priest of Whitinsville!
God bless the man who took the beans!"

WHEN MALINDY SINGS[77]

PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR

G'way an' quit dat noise, Miss Lucy--
Put dat music book away;
What's de use to keep on tryin'?
Ef you practice twell you're gray,
You cain't sta't no notes a-flyin'
Lak de ones dat rants and rings
F'om de kitchen to de big woods
When Malindy sings.

You ain't got de nachel o'gans
Fu' to make de soun' come right,
You ain't got de tunes an' twistin's
Fu' to make it sweet an' light.
Tell you one thing now, Miss Lucy,
An' I'm tellin' you fu' true,
When hit comes to raal right singin'
'Tain't no easy thing to do.

Easy 'nough fu' folks to hollah,
Lookin' at de lines an' dots,
When dey ain't no one kin sense it,
An' de chune comes in, in spots;
But fu' real melojous music,
Dat jes' strikes yo' hea't and clings,
Jes' you stan' an' listen wif me
When Malindy sings.

Ain't you nevah hyeahd Malindy?
Blessed soul, tek up de cross!
Look hyeah, ain't you jokin', honey?
Well, you don't know what you los'.
Y'ought to hyeah dat gal a-wa'blin',
Robins, la'ks, an' all dem things,
Hush dey moufs an' hides dey faces
When Malindy sings.

Fiddlin' man jes' stop his fiddlin',
Lay his fiddle on de she'f;
Mockin' bird quit tryin' to whistle,
'Cause he jes' so shamed hisse'f.
Folks a-playin' on de banjo
Draps dey fingahs on de strings--
Bless yo' soul--fu'gits to move 'em,
When Malindy sings.

She jes' spreads huh mouf and hollahs,
"Come to Jesus," twell you hyeah
Sinnahs' tremblin' steps an' voices,
Timid-lak, a-drawin' neah;
Den she tu'ns to "Rock of Ages,"
Simply to de cross she clings,
An' you fin' yo' teahs a-drappin'
When Malindy sings.

Who dat says dat humble praises
Wif de Master nevah counts?
Hush yo' mouf, I hyeah dat music,
Ez hit rises up an' mounts--
Floatin' by de hills an' valleys,
Way above dis buryin' sod,
Ez hit makes its way to glory
To de very gates of God!

Oh, hit's sweetah dan de music
Of an edicated band;
An' it's dearah dan de battle's
Song o' triumph in de lan'.
It seems holier dan evenin'
When de solemn chu'ch-bell rings,
Ez I sit an' calmly listen
While Malindy sings.

Towsah, stop dat ba'kin', hyeah me!
Mandy, mek dat chile keep still;
Don't you hyeah de echoes callin',
F'om de valley to de hill?
Let me listen, I can hyeah it,
Th'oo de bresh of angel's wings,
Sof' an' sweet, "Swing Low, Sweet Chariot,"
Ez Malindy sings.

FOOTNOTE:

[77] By permission of Dodd, Mead & Co., publishers. From "Lyrics of the Hearthside," 1899.

WHEN THE COWS COME HOME

AGNES E. MITCHELL

With klingle, klangle, klingle,
Way down the dusty dingle,
The cows are coming home;
Now sweet and clear and faint and low,
The airy tinklings come and go,
Like chimings from some far off tower,
Or patterings of some April shower
That makes the daisies grow;
Ko-ling, ko-lang, kolinglelingle,
'Way down the darkening dingle
The cows come slowly home;
And old-time friends and twilight plays,
And starry nights and sunny days,
Come trooping up the misty ways
When the cows come home.

With jingle, jangle, jingle,
Soft tunes that sweetly mingle,
The cows are coming home.
Malvine and Pearl and Florimel,
Dekamp, Redrose and Gretchen Schnell,
Queen Bell and Sylph and Spangled Sue--
Across the fields I hear her "loo-oo"
And clang her silver bell;
Goling, golang, golinglelingle,
With faint far sounds that mingle,
The cows come slowly home;
And mother-songs of long-gone years,
And baby joys and childish tears,
And youthful hopes and youthful fears,
When the cows come home.

With ringle, rangle, ringle,
By twos and threes and single
The cows are coming home.
Through violet air we see the town
And the summer sun a slipping down,
And the maple in the hazel glade
Throws down the path a longer shade,
And the hills are growing brown;
To-ring, to-rang, to-ringleringle,
By threes and fours and single
The cows are coming home;
The same sweet sound of wordless psalm,
The same sweet June-day rest and calm,
The same sweet scent of bud and balm,
When the cows come home.

With tinkle, tankle, tinkle,
Through fern and periwinkle
The cows are coming home;
A-loitering in the checkered stream
Where the sun-rays glance and gleam,
Clarine, Peachbloom and Phoebe Phillis
Stand knee-deep in the creamy lilies
In a drowsy dream;
To-link, to-lank, to-linklelinkle,
O'er banks with butter cups a-twinkle,
The cows come slowly home;
And up through memory's deep ravine
Come the brook's old song and its old-time sheen,
And the crescent of the silver queen,
When the cows come home.

With klingle, klangle, klingle,
With loo-oo and moo-oo and jingle
The cows are coming home;
And over there in Merlin hill,
Hear the plaintive cry of the whip-poor-will;
The dew drops lie on the tangled vines,
And over the poplars Venus shines,
And over the silent mill;
Ko-ling, ko-lang, kolinglelingle
With ting-a-ling and jingle
The cows come slowly home;
Let down the bars, let in the train
Of long-gone songs, and flowers and rain,
For dear old times come back again,
When the cows come home.

V

DRAMATIC NOT IN THE DRAMA

THE CONFESSIONAL

ANONYMOUS

'Twas twilight, and the early lighted lamps
Were flickering down into the Arno's tide
While yet the daylight lingered in the skies,
Silvering and paling, when I saw him first.
I was returning from my work, and paused
Upon the bridge of Santa Trinita
To rest, and think how fair our Florence is.
And I remember, o'er the hazy hills,
Far, far away, how exquisitely fair
The twilight seemed that night. My heart was soft
With tender longings, misted with a dim,
Sad pleasure as a mirror with the breath.
Ah, never will those feelings come again!

I was in a mood to take a stamp
From any passing chance, even like those clouds
That caught the tenderest thrill of dying day,
When, by some inward sense, I know not what,
I felt that I was gazed at, drawn away
By eyes that had a strange magnetic will.
And so I turned from those far hills to see--
A stranger? No; even then he did not seem
A stranger, but as one I once had known,
Not here in Florence, not in any place,
But somewhere in my spirit known and seen.
I felt his eyes were fixed upon me,
And a sweet, serious smile was on his lips:
Nor could I help but look and smile again.

I know not what it was went to and fro
Between us in that swift smile and glance.
We neither spoke;
But something went that thrilled me through and through.
And that quick clash of souls
Had struck a spark that set my soul on fire.

And I was happy, oh, so happy then!
It seemed as if this earth could never add
One little drop more to the joy I owned,
For all that passionate torrent pent within
My heart had found its utterance and response.

He was Venetian, and that radiant hair
We black-haired girls so covet haloed round
His sunny northern face and soft blue eyes.
I know not why he loved me--me, so black,
With this black skin that every Roman has,
With this black hair, black eyes, that I so hate.

Why loved he not Beata? she is fair,
But yet he often swore to me Beata's body
Was not worth one half my finger,
And then kissed me full upon the mouth as if to seal his oath;
Ah! glorious seal--I feel those lips there now!
And on my forehead, too, one kiss still glows
Like a great star.
Ah! well! those days are gone. No! no!
They are not gone; I love him madly now.
I love him madly as I loved him then.

Ah, God! how blissfully those days went by!
You could not fill a golden cup more full
Of rubied wine than was my heart with joy.
Long mornings in his studio, there I sat
And heard his voice; or, when he did not speak,
I felt his presence like a rich perfume,
Fill all my thoughts.
I was his model. Hours and hours I posed
For him to paint his Cleopatra, fierce,
With her squared brows, and full Egyptian lips;
A great gold serpent on her rounded arm,
And a broad band of gold around her head.

At last the autumn came, the stricken, bleeding autumn.
Something weighed upon his mind I could not understand.
I knew all was not right, yet dared not ask.
At last few words made all things plain;
"Love, I must go to Venice." "Must?" "Yes, must."
"Then I go, too." "No, no; ah, Nina, no.
Four weeks pass swiftly; one short month, and then
I shall return to Florence, and to you."

Vain were my words. He went, alas! he went
With all the sunshine, and I wore alone
The weary weeks out of that hateful month.
Another month I waited, nervous, fierce
With love's impatience. When that month was gone
My heart was all afire; I could not stay.
Consumed with jealous fears that wore me down
Into a fever, necklace, earrings--all
I sold, and on to Venice rushed. How long
That dreary, never-ending journey seemed!
I cursed the hills up which we slowly dragged,
The long, flat plains of Lombardy I cursed,
That kept me back from Venice.

But at last in a black gondola I swam along
The sea-built city, and my heart was big
With the glad thought that I was near to him.
Yes, gladness came upon me that soft night,
And jealousy was hushed, and hope led on
My dancing heart. In vain I strove to curb
My glad impatience--I must see him then,
At once, that very night; I could not wait
The tardy morning--'twas a year away.
I only gave the gondolier his name,
And said, "You know him?" "Yes."
"Then row me quick to where he is."

He bowed and on he went,
And as we swept along, I leaned me out
And dragged my burning fingers in the wave,
My hurried heart forecasting to itself our meeting,
What he'd say and think,
How I should hang upon his neck and say:
"I could not longer live without you, dear."

At last we paused. The gondolier said,
"This is the palace." I was struck aghast.
It flared with lights, that from the windows gleamed
And trickled down into the black canal.
"Stop! stop!" I cried; "'tis some mistake.
Why are these lights? This palace is not his.
He owns no palace." "Pardon," answered he,
"I fancied the signora wished to see
The marriage festa--and all Venice knows
The bride receives to-night." "What bride, whose bride?"
I asked, impatient. "Count Alberti's bride,
Whose else?" he answered, with a shrug. My heart,
From its glad, singing height, dropped like a lark
Shot dead, at these few words. The whole world reeled,
And for a moment I was crushed and stunned.
Then came the wild revulsion of despair;
Then, calm more dreadful than the fiercest pain.
"Row me to the steps," I said. I leaped
On their wet edge, and stared in at the door
Where all was hurry, rush, and flare of light.

My eyes ran, lightning, zigzag, through the crowd
In search of him--he was not there. Ah, God!
I breathed. He was not there! I inly cursed
My unbelief, and turned me round to go.
There was a sudden murmur near the door,
And I beheld him--walking at her side.
Oh! cursèd be the hour I saw that sight,
And cursèd be the place! I saw those eyes
That used to look such passion into mine
Turned with the selfsame look to other eyes,
Yes, light blue eyes, that upward gazed at him.
I could not bear their bliss.
I scarcely knew what happened then; I knew
I felt for the stiletto in my vest
With purpose that was half mechanical,
As if a demon used my hand for his.
I felt the red blood singing through my brain,
I struck--before me, at my feet, she fell.

Who was the queen then? Ah! your rank and wealth,
Your pearls and splendors--what did they avail
Against the sharp stiletto's little point?
You should have thought of that before you dared--
You had all the world beside--to steal
The only treasure that the Roman girl e'er had.
You will not smile again as then you smiled.
Thank God, you'll never smile again for him!
I was avenged, avenged, until I saw
The dreadful look he gave me as he turned
From her dead face and looked in mine. Ah, God!
It haunts me, scares me, will not let me sleep.