PS 
 

 CORNELL 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
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 3 1924 021 979 228 
 
The original of tinis book is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924021979228 
 
PENN-YAN BILL'S WOOING 
 
PENN-YAN BILL'S WOOING 
 
 Poem Bv 
 Eugene Field 
 
 ( NEVER BEFORE HAVING APPEARED IN TYPE ) 
 
 PRIVATELY PRINTED 
 
 NOT OFFERED FOR SALE 
 
 MCMXIV 
 
Copyright. 1914, by 
 
 HENRY H. HARPER 
 
 Ail vighis reserved 
 
 834^SB 
 
St. Louis, Mo., February 9, 1904. 
 
 Mr. W. K. Bixby, 
 St. Louis, Mo. 
 
 My Dear Mr. Bixby: 
 
 In disposing to you of the book of poems 
 of the late Eugene Field entitled "My 
 Book," I have parted with a most rare 
 treasure, but I know that in passing into 
 your hands, it finds an owner appreciative 
 of its value and of the author, and worthy 
 of its proprietorship. During our long 
 friendship and association, which began in 
 1873, we had exchanged many courtesies, 
 and wanting to do something for me, he con- 
 ceived the idea of dedicating to me this 
 book. He began it in 1887, and worked in 
 it from time to time until 1888. During 
 that year while on a visit from my home in 
 Montana, I visited him in Chicago, at 
 which time he showed me the book. I 
 begged him to let me take it with me, for 
 
 [ 5 ] 
 
the purpose of showing it to my friends in 
 Missouri and Kentucky. He consented, but 
 said he had not quite finished it, and wanted 
 to make several additions. So I promised 
 to bring it back to him, but when I arrived 
 in St. Louis I received a telegram from 
 Montana, announcing the death of my busi- 
 ness partner, which necessitated my imme- 
 diate return home, so I had not the time to 
 stop in Chicago, and hurried home, taking 
 the book with me. 
 
 I had intended going east from time to 
 time after that, when I expected to take the 
 book with me for him to finish, but circum- 
 stances prevented, and I never saw him 
 alive after that visit. 
 
 You will find in the book, among other 
 poems unpublished, the one entitled "Penn- 
 Yan Bill," which delighted him so ; and in 
 which he figures me as the hero. He wrote 
 that poem in my room in the Grand Pacific 
 Hotel in Chicago one evening that he spent 
 with me, and did it while I wrote three let- 
 ters ; the time occupied being only about an 
 hour and a quarter, and his only cue being 
 the fact that I was on my way to Kentucky 
 
 [6] 
 
to visit a young lady in whom I was inter- 
 ested, and whose name was Susie. 
 
 I have given you this little data, thinking 
 it might be of interest to you in having the 
 book. I sincerely trust it may bring you 
 unbounded pleasure ; and thanking you for 
 your courtesy, and with the hope that it may 
 cement a most pleasant and lasting friend- 
 ship between us, I beg to remain, 
 
 Cordially and sincerely yours, 
 
 William C. Buskett 
 
 [7] 
 
PENN-YAN BILL'S WOOING 
 
 In gallus old Kentucky where the grass is 
 
 very blue, 
 Where the liquor is the smoothest and the 
 
 girls are fair and true; 
 Where the crop of by-God gentlemen is full 
 
 of heart and sand 
 And the stock of four time winners is the 
 
 finest in the land; 
 Where the democratic party in bourbon 
 
 hardihood 
 For more than half a century unterrified 
 
 has stood ; 
 Where nod the black-eyed-Susans to the 
 
 prattle of the rill — 
 There — there befell the wooing of Penn- 
 
 Yan Bill. 
 
 Down yonder in the cottage that is nestling 
 in the shade 
 
 [ 9 ] 
 
Of the walnut trees that seem to love that 
 
 quiet little glade, 
 Abides a pretty maiden of the bonny name 
 
 of Sue — 
 As pretty as the black-eyed flow'rs, and 
 
 quite as modest, too ; 
 And lovers came there by the score — of 
 
 every age and kind, 
 But not a one (the story goes) was quite to 
 
 Susie's mind; 
 Their sighs, their protestations and their 
 
 pleadings made her ill — 
 When, all at once, upon the scene hove 
 
 Penn-Yan Bill! 
 
 He came from old Montana, and he rode a 
 broncho mare — 
 
 He had a rather how-dy-do and rough-and- 
 tumble air; 
 
 His trousers were of buckskin, and his coat 
 of furry stufif, 
 
 His hat was drab of color and its brim was 
 wide enough; 
 
 Upon each leg a stalwart boot reached just 
 above the knee, 
 
 [ lo] 
 
And in the belt about his waist his weepons 
 
 carried he; 
 A rather strapping lover for our little Susie, 
 
 still 
 She was his choice, and he was hers — was 
 
 Penn-Yan Bill. 
 
 We wonder that the ivy seeks out the oaken 
 
 tree 
 And twines her tendrils round him, tho' 
 
 scarred and gnarled he be; 
 We wonder that a gentle girl, unused to 
 
 worldly cares. 
 Should choose a mate whose life has been a 
 
 constant scrap with bears; 
 Ah, 'tis the nature of the vine — and of the 
 
 maiden, too. 
 So, when the bold Montana boy came from 
 
 his lair to woo, 
 The fair Kentucky blossom felt all her 
 
 heartstrings thrill 
 Responsive to the purring of Penn-Yan 
 
 Bill. 
 
 He told her of his cabin in the mountains 
 far away — 
 
 [ II ] 
 
Of the catamount that howls by night, the 
 wolf that yawps by day ; 
 
 He told her of the grizzly with the auto- 
 matic jaw, 
 
 He told her of the Injun who devours his 
 victims raw! 
 
 Of the jayhawk with the tawdry crest and 
 whiskers in his throat— 
 
 Of the great gosh-awful sarpint and the 
 Rocky Mountain goat; 
 
 A book as big as Shakespeare's or as Web- 
 ster's you could fill 
 
 With the yarns that emanated from Penn- 
 Yan Bill. 
 
 Lo, as these mighty prodigies the moun- 
 taineer relates, 
 
 Her pretty mouth falls wide agape — her 
 eyes get big as plates I 
 
 And when he speaks of varmints that in the 
 Rockies grow, 
 
 She shudders and she clings to him and tim- 
 idly cries "Oh!" 
 
 And then says he: "Dear Susie, I'll tell 
 you what to do : 
 
 [ 12 ] 
 
You be my wife, and none of these 'ere 
 
 things shall pester you!" 
 And she? She answers, clinging close and 
 
 trembling yet: "I will" — 
 And then he gives her one big buss — does 
 
 Penn-Yan Bill. 
 
 Avaunt, ye poet lovers, with your wishy- 
 washy lays! 
 
 Avaunt, ye solemn pedants, with your musty, 
 bookish ways! 
 
 Avaunt, ye smirking dandies, who air your 
 etiquette 
 
 Upon the gold your fathers worked so long 
 and hard to get! 
 
 How empty is your nothingness beside the 
 sturdy tales 
 
 Which mountaineers delight to tell of bor- 
 der hills and vales — ' 
 
 Of snaix that crawl, of beasts that yowl, of 
 birds that flap and trill 
 
 In the wild egregious altitude of Penn-Yan 
 Bill! 
 
 Why, over all those mountain peaks his 
 honest feet have trod — 
 
 [ 13 ] 
 
So high above the rest of us he seemed to 
 
 walk with God ; 
 He's breathed the breath of heaven as it 
 
 floated pure and free 
 From the everlasting snowcaps to the mighty 
 
 western sea ; 
 He's heard the awful silence that thunders 
 
 in the ear: 
 "There is a great Jehovah, and His biding 
 
 place is here!" 
 These — these the solemn voices and these 
 
 the sights that thrill 
 In the far-away Montana of Penn-Yan Bill ! 
 
 Of course she had to love him, for it was 
 
 her nature to — 
 And she'll wed him in the summer, if what 
 
 we hear is true ; 
 The blue-grass will be waving in that cool 
 
 Kentucky glade 
 Where the black-eyed-Susans cluster in the 
 
 pleasant walnut shade — 
 Where the doves make mournful music and 
 
 the locust trills a song 
 To the brook that through the pasture 
 
 scampers merrily along; 
 
 [ 14] 
 
And speechless pride and rapture ineffable 
 
 shall fill 
 The beatific bosom of Penn-Yan Bill. 
 
 Oct. 15th, 1887 
 
 [ 15]