Book. .yjo GopghtF- cseaaam deposit GOOD-HUMOR FOR Reading and Recitation Compiled by HENRY FIRTH WOOD /c Philadelphia ^lth''lj The Penn Publishing Company 1893 w '^ Copyright 1893 by The Penn Publishing Company PREFACE The title of this volume accurately and faithfully describes the character of its contents. It is believed to be " good humor," and the rendition of the selec- tions is calculated to put the audience in an equally " good-humor." The compiler has had many years of practical ex- perience as a talker and reciter, and feels that this, the latest collection of the kind, will be welcomed by readers and its contents enjoyed by all who appre- ciate the lighter vein of literature. Most of the material finds its first appearance in this volume, while several of the selections are origi- nal with the compiler. Grateful acknowledgment is here made to the numerous publishers, authors, and friends who have kindly contributed to its contents, and thus greatly facilitated the work. Henry Firth Wood. July, 1893. CONTENTS PAGE Aboriginal Chant, An 129 About Our Folks Henry Firth Wood 169 All Sorts 167 Biddy's Troubles 13 Bill Max Adeler 95 Billy's Santa Claus Experience Cornelia Redmond 123 Billy the Bilk : or, The Bandits of the Bowery Capt. Maine Read, Jr 42 Bitter Cry of the Outcast Choir Boy, The . JLonrfon FMnc/i 12 Bob Johnston's Visit to the Circus .... Andrew Stewart 150 Bridge, The (Brooklyn) Henry Firth Wood 126 Butcher's Boy and the Baker's Girl, The 162 Cake Walk, The 63 Casey at the Bat 10 Cash 28 Christopher Columbus 37 Coming from the Picnic Brandon Banner 79 Counting Eggs Texas Si/tings ...... . . 145 Crushed Tragedian, The Ed. L. McDowell 164 Cushions 137 "Dairy" Maid, A . . . 46 *' Danny Deever" up to Date 98 Delsartean Plea, A Boston Courier 9 Demray Jake Peleg Arhwright 29 Dem Old Dimes Habbiness und Dem New. iV^icA:S^aeK ! >}^ ^ ^ — ! ! ! ! ! WHEN THE SUNFLOWERS BLOOM. I'VE been off, on a journey, I jes' got home to-day; I've traveled east an' north an' south an' every other way ; I've seen a heap of country, an' cities on the boom Bvit I want to be in Kansas when the Bun- Flowers Bloom. Oh ! it's nice among the mount'ins, but I sorter felt shet in ; 'Twould be nice on the seashore ef it wasn't fur the din ; WHAT HE CALLED IT 121 While the prairie's air so quiet, an' there's always lots o' room ; Oh ! it's nicer still in Kansas when the Sun- Flowers Bloom. You may talk about yer lilies, yer vi'let, an' yer roses, Yer asters an' yer jassimens, an' all the other pos'es ; I'll allow they all air beauties an' full er sweet per- fume, But there's none of 'em a patchin' to the Sun- Flower's Bloom. AVhen all the sky above is jest as blue as blue kin be An' the prairies air a-wavin' like a yaller driftin' sea, Oh ! 'tis here my soul goes sailin' an' my heart is on the boom. In the golden fields of Kansas when the Sun- Flowers Bloom. Albert Bigelow Paine. WHAT HE CALLED IT. SHE was a Boston lady, and she'd scarcely passed eighteen. And as lovely as a houri, but of grave and sober mien ; 122 WHAT HE CALLED IT * A sweet encyclopaedia of every kind of lore, Though love looked coyly from behind the glasses that she wore. She sat beside her lover, with her elbow on his knee, And dreamily she gazed upon the slumb'ring sum- mer sea; Until he broke the silence saying, " Pray, Minerva, dear. Inform me of the meaning of the Thingness of the Here. I know you- re just from Concord, where the lights of wisdom be. Your head crammed full to bursting, love, with their philosophy— Those hoary-headed sages and maids of hosiery blue. Then solve me the conundrum, love, that I have put to you. ^' She smiled a dreamy smile and said : '' The Thing- ness of the Here Is that which is not passed and hasn't yet arrived, my dear. Indeed," the maid continued, with a calm, ufiruffled brow, " The Thingness of the Here is just the Thisness of the Now." A smile illumed the lover's face, then without any naste He slid a manly arm around the maiden's slender waist. billy's SANTA CLAUS EXPERIENCE 123 And on her cherry lips impressed a warm and loving kiss, And said : " Love, this is what I call the Nowness of the This." SOMERVILLE JoURNAL. BILLY'S SANTA CLAUS EXPERIENCE. OF course I don't believe in any such person as Santa Claus, but Tommy does. Tommy is my little brother, aged six. Last Christmas I thought I'd make some fun for the young one by playing Santa Claus, but as always happens when I try to amuse anybody I jes' got myself into trouble. I went to bed pretty early on Christmas Eve so as to give my parents a chance to get the presents out of the closet in mamma's room, where they had been locked up since they were bought. I kep' my close on except my shoes, and put my nightgown over them so as I'd look white if any of them came near me. Then I waited, pinchin' myself to keep awake. After awhile papa came into the room with a lot of things that he dumped on Tommy's bed. Then mamma came in and put some things on mine and in our two stockings that were hung up by the chim- ney. Then they both went out very quiet, and soon all the lights went out too. I kep' on pinchin' myself and waitin' for a time, and then when I was sure that everybody was asleep I got up. The first thing I went into was my sister's 12 i billy's SANTA CLAUS EXPERIENCE room and got her white fur rug that mamma gave her on her birthday, and her sealskin cape that was hanging on the closet door. I tied the cape on my head with shoestrings and it made a good big cap. Then I put the fur rug around me and pinned it with big safety-pins what I found on Tommy's garters. Then I got mamma's new scrap-basket, trimmed with roses, what Mrs. Simmons 'broidered for the church fair and piled all of the kid's toys into it. I fastened it to my back with papa's suspenders, and then I started for the roof. I hurt my fingers some opening the scuttle, but kept right on. It was snowing hard and I stood and let myself get pretty well covered with flakes. Then I crawled over to the chimney that went down into our room and climbed up on top of it. I had brought my bicycle lantern with me and I lighted it so as Tommy could see me when I came down the chim- ney into the room. There did not seem to be any places inside the chimney where I could hold on by my feet, but the ceiling in our room was not very high and I had often jumped most as far, so I jes' let her go, and I suppose I went down. Anyway, I did not know about anything for a long time. Then I woke up all in the dark with my head feeling queer, and when I tried to turn over in bed I found I wasn't in bed at all, and then my arms and legs began to hurt ter- rible, mostly one arm that was doubled up. I tried to get up but I couldn't because my bones hurt so and I was terrible cold and there was nothing to billy's SANTA CLAUS EXPERIEXCE 125 stand on. I was jes' stuck. Then I began to cry, and pretty soon I heard mamma's voice saying to pa.pa : " Those must be sparrers that are making that noise in the chimney. Jes' touch a match to the wood in the boys' fireplace." I heard papa strike a light and then the wood began to crackle. Then, by jinks ! it began to get hot and smoky and I screamed: " Help ! Murder ! Put out that fire lest you want to burn me up !" Then I heard papa stamping on the wood and mamma calling out : " Where's Billy ? Where is my chile ?" Next Tommy woke up and began to cry and every- thing was terrible, specially the pains all over me. Then papa called out very stern : '^ William, if you are in that chimney come down at once !" and I answered, cryin', that I would if I could, but I was stuck and couldn't. Then I heard papa gettin' dressed, and pretty soon he and John from the stable went up on the roof and let down ropes what I put around me and they hauled me up. It was jes' daylight and I was all black and sooty and scratched and my arm was broken. Everybody scolded me excep' mamma. I had spoiled my sister's white rug and broken all of Tommy's toys, and the snow what went in through the scuttle melted and marked the parlor ceiling, besides I guess it cost papa a good deal to get my 126 THE (BROOKLYN) BRIDGE arm mended. Nobody would believe that I had jes' meant to make some fun for Tommy, and my arm and all my bruised places hurt me awful for a long time. If I live to be a million I am never goiti' to play Santa Claus ag'in. Cornelia Redmond. THE (BROOKLYN) BRIDGE. • After Longfellow (a long time). ISHTOOD on der pridge py Brooklyn, Katrina vas py my side, I shpend two cends vor to pring her Far over der shweebin' tide. Ve didn't go py der rope-cars, She salt she vould rather valk, Unt dake der monies vor gruUers, To ead vile ve valk und talk. Dey dold us der cars vas beddher, It vos sooch a bleasant drip ; I sait I never gould drusd dem, Because dey mighd loose dheir grip Und so ve ead dem gruUers, Vile der ropes goes vhizzitig py, Unt den I ask uf Katrina, " Say ! how vas dis vor high ?" THE (BROOKLYN) BRIDGE 127 Unt den ve keeb on valkin' Till ve gets ub past der tow Ven all ad vonce my shtomach Id gots peyond mine power. Unt far pelow dem gruUers Vent floatin' mit der tide, Do feed der leetle fishes On der ocean vild mid vide. Oh ! den I feels mooch beddher, Katrina she vas all righd ; She salt id vas awful jolly, Unt sooch a shplendid sighd. Ve shtoocl ub py der cables, Unt I poind oudt von py von Der shibs oup py der navy yard, Vay down py der sunsed gun. Unt den I poinds by Jersey, Unt den der oddher vay, Vhere looms der tower ad Coney, ^' Coney Island down der pay." I dold Katrina of droubles Der man hadt mit der grip, Der Paines he dook do fix id. So dot id vouldn't shlip. Ve shtood unt vatched der peebles, Der Brooklyn dude vent by, 128 THE (BROOKLYN) BRIDGE He had hees goUer mit him, Von foot four mches high. His banderloons dey fidded So tight like sausage meat, Katrina laffed unt dold me He had Chicago feet. Bud all ad vonce pid-padder, Dhere coomes some raindrobs down. Id shtruck both me unt Katrina Dot ve vos oudt of town. Unt var avay vrom shelder, Ub close py a clunder shower, Der bleeceman salt to hurry, Unt got in under der tower. Der dude he tried to bead us, He shtarded two laps ahead, But Chicago feet vos heavy, Hees vace it got much red. Dot rain id got vet und vetter. Id dook der shtarch all oudt, Ve looked like a tub of linen Lefd oudt beneath der shpoud. Dot dude got thinner und thinner, Hees gollar shlipped oudt of sighd, Hees braceleds shlipped py hees knuckles, Hees pands dey vos tighter dan tight. AX ABOKIGIXAL CHANT 129 You haf seen vay oudt in der coundry, Der shickens all oudt in der rain, Mit dails unt heads a hangin' down, Under dhere vhere dev keebs der grain. Shust so ve looked py der pridge dhere, Enjoyin' der rain dot day, Enjoyin' der view midoudt limid O'er rifer unt landshcape unt pay. Unt vorefer, unt vorefer, So long as dose rifers got froze, So long as dose ferries got vorser. So long as dose fogs arose, Der pridge unt its towers unt cables, Unt der grib — dey vil alvays shtay, Vile der peebles.got shmothered together, Ven dhey all drafel vone vay. Henry Firth Wood. AN ABORIGINAL CHANT. TTTHAT time the glittering rays of morn V V O'er hill and valley steal, Chief Joseph's squaw, with dog and corn, Prepares the Indian meal. And if, with wild, rebellious shout. The papoose shall appear. The chieftain leads the bad child out. Clutched by the Injine-ear. 9 130 AN ABORIGINAL CHANT The breakfast o'er, the daughter strolls Down glen and shady dell, While gay young braves from wooded knolls '' Look out for the Injine belle." Each stricken brave she turns and leaves, Her coyness to bewail ; Her dragging blanket stirs the leaves, The well-known Indian trail. A Black Hills miner, scalped and dead. Upon the ground is found ; Grim speaks the chief: " There's been, I'm 'fraid An Indian summer's around." What time he rideth forth to shoot. His favorite horse, the dapple is, And when he wants a little fruit, Goes where the Indianapolis. When finished are his warlike tasks, W^ith brazen incongruity For overcoats and food he asks With charming Indianuity. At night, before his bed he'll seek, With countenance forlorn, He takes his scalping-knife, and eke, He trims the Indian corn. EDUCATING TO A PURPOSE 131 EDUCATING TO A PURPOSE. From '* Harper's Bazar." Copyright, 1893, by Harper & Brothers. *' T OOK here," said the teacher of the Possum JLj Ridge school to a twelve-year-old boy who came the first day armed with a volum.e of govern- ment agricultural reports, '' what are you going to do with that book ?" " 'Lowed I'd steady hit," the lad replied. " But it is not a school-book, and you cannot study it here." " It's got readin' in it, 'aint hit ?" " Yes, it has reading in it." " Haint other books got readin' in 'em ?" " Yes, generally." " Then why kaint I steady this 'un ?" " Because it is not a school-book." " School-books has got readin' in 'em, haint they?" ^' Yes." '^ This 'un's got readin' in it, haint hit ?" "Yes." " Then why kaint I steady hit?" " Because it is not the right kind of book." " Pap 'lowed it wuz." "Why did he 'low that?" " 'Cause it tells 'bout farmin', an' I'm goin' to be a farmer. Pap said wa'n't no use goin' to school 'less a feller larnt somethin' what 'ud be o' use to him, 132 EDUCATING TO A PURPOSE an' he 'lowed if I wuz goin' to be a farmer, I got to larn 'bout hit." " Can you read ?" "' Guess I can't none to hurt " Can you spell ?" " Reckon not." " Do you know the letters?" " Yes, I know them." " Do you know them all?" " Yes, I know 'em when I see 'em, an' I know thar names, but I don't know one from t'other." '' Then what do you expect to do with that book?" " 'Lowed to steady hit." " But you can't unless you learn the letters." " Kaint I larn 'em in hit?" "No." "Haintthey inhit?" " Yes, but they are not arranged so you can learn them conveniently." " Pap 'lowed they wuz sorter flung in together an' mixed up, but he said he reckoned you could holp me pick 'em out, 'cause you wouldn't have nothin' o' no 'count to do." " Your father is slightly mistaken. Is this little fellow your brother?" " Yes." " What kind of a book has he ?" " A hoss-doctor book." " Is he expecting to study it ?" " He 'lowed he'd steady hit a few jerks." " Does he know his letters ?" EDUCATING TO A PURPOSE 133 " Not enough to hurt." " He'll have to get another book." " Pap 'lowed he ort to steady this 'un, 'cause he's goin' to be a doctor." " A horse-doctor, eh ?" " No ; a shore 'nough doctor to tend on sick folks. Pap 'lowed that 'ud pay, 'cause doctors gits all-fired big prices. You don't ketch them workin' like dogs for six bits a day." " No ; but if your brother is going to be a doctor, why does your father want him to study a horse- doctor's book ?" " 'Cause he 'lowed what wuz good for bosses wuz good for folks. I reckon it is, too, 'cause once when mam wuz sick, pap dosed her with hoss-medicine, an' she got well. She come mouty nigh not makin' the riffle, though." " Indeed !" " Yes-sir-ee. Pap said he never see nobody come so nigh flummixin' as she did, an' that if he hadn't a' dosed her with hoss-medicine, she'd a' kicked out o' the traces, shore." " That's too bad, too bad." " Bet your hide. It 'ud 'a' been a powerful slam on pap if mam had kicked the bucket, 'cause the corn-gatherin' an' winter-wood-gittin' hadn't been tended to yit. But say, I've got another brother what'U come to school to-morry." '^ Yes ?" " He's goin' to fetch a Bible along, 'cause he's laid off to be a preacher." 134 DOT LOJSG-HANDLED DIPPER "How old is he?" " 'Most tive, I reckon." " He doesn't know the letters, either, I presume?" " No." " Does he want to be a preacher?" " Reckon he aint keerin' much, but pap 'lows he ort to be. He said he reckoned thar wuz a right smart o' money in it, countin' in the marryin' o' folks, an' all sich." " Well, well. You are all starting in early to study for your professions." "What's them?" " Professions ? Oh ! your callings in life." " Yes, we 'lowed we mout as well. Pap says if a feller is goin' to be a thing, he mout jist as well lam to be hit. Haint no use monkeyin' with doctor or lawyer book if a feller's goin' to be a farmer, is thar?" " I presume not." "That's whut pap says, an' he's powerful long- headed." Thomas P. Montfort. DOT LONG-HANDLED DIPPER. Permission of the Author. DER boet may sing off " Der Oldt Oaken Bookit," Und in shchveetest langvitch its virtues may tell ; Und how, ven a poy, he mid eggsdasy dook it, Vhen dripping mit coolness it rose vrom der veil. DOT LONG-HANDLED DIPPER 135 I don'd take some schtock in dot manner off trink- ing; It vas too mooch like horses und cattle, I dink. Dhere vas more sadisfactions, in my vay of dinking, Mit dot long-handled dipper dot hangs py der sink. " How schveet vrom der green mossy brim to receive it"— Dot vould soundt pooty goot — eef it only vas true — Der vater schbills ofer, you petter pelieve it ! Und runs down your schleeve und schlops indo your shoe. Dhen down on your nose comes dot oldt iron handle, Und makes your eyes vater so gvick as a vink, I dells you dot bookit it don'd hold a candle To dot long-handled dipper dot hangs py der sink. How nice it musd been in der rough vinter veddher, Vhen it settles righdt down to a cold, freezing rain, To haf dot rope coom oup so light as a feddher, Und findt dot der bookit vas proke off der chain. Dhen down in der veil mit a pole you go fishing, Vhile indo your back cooms an oldt-fashioned kink ; I pet you mine life all der time you vas vishing For dot long-handled dipper dot hangs py der sink. How handy it vas schust to turn on der faucet, Vhere der vater flows down vrom der schpring on der hill ! 13G THE poet's morn I schust vas der schap dot vill alvays indorse it, Oxsbecially nighdts vhen der veddher vas chill. Vhen PfeifFer's oldt veil mit der schnow vas all cof- ered, Und he vades droo der schnow-drift to get him a trink, I schlips vrom der hearth vhere der schiltren vas hofered, To dot long-handled dipper dot hangs py der sink. Dhen gife onp der bookits und pails to der horses ; Off mikerobes und tadpoles schust gife dhem dheir fill! Gife me dot pure vater dot all der time courses Droo dhose pipes dot run down vrom der schpring on der hill. Und eef der goot dings of dis vorld I gets rich in, Und friendts all aroundt me dheir glasses schall clink, I schtill vill rememper dot oldt coundtry kitchen, Und dot long-handled dipper dot hangs py der sink. Charles Follen Adams. THE POET'S MORN. THE sun in martial splendor rose. And put the shades of night to rout ; I lightly leaped from my repose. To let the chickens out. DE GONENESS OB DE PAST 137 The glorious day moves on apace, The latest lingering stars expire ; I turn from gazing into space, And light the kitchen fire. Ah, how Aurora's coursers speed ! Roll on, triumphant chariot, roll ! I'll follow on my winged steed, When I've put on the coal. Walter Storks Bigelow. CUSHIONS. CUSHIONS gay on every chair. But never a place lo sit ; Cushions, cushions everywhere, Till I nearly take a fit ; Cushions strewn upon the floor On every side I see — My wife has taken a cushion craze, And there is no room for me. DE GONENESS OB DE PAST. " TTTHAT I was gwine to remark," said Bro. Gar- ▼ V dener, as the rattling of hoofs died away on the calm evening air, " was to de effeck dat Professor January Sunbeam, of Mississippi, am waitin' in de ante-room to address de meetin' on de subjeck of 138 DE GONENESS OB DE PAST ^ De Goneness ob de Past.' De Professor am not only known all ober de kentry fur his theories on astronomy, but am de only man in de kentry who kin skin a woodchuck in seben minits by de w^atch. Sir Isaac Walpole, you and Giveacam Jones will put on yer yaller kid gloves an' long-tail coats an' escort de Professor into de hall." In about five minutes the stranger made his ap- pearance and was greeted with a burst of applause which upset the water-pail and filled the shoes of eight or ten of the nearest members. On taking the platform he was introduced by the President, handed a piece of slippery elm to keep his throat moist dur- ing his oratory, and he then bowed and began : " My dear fren's, whar am de past ? Look fur it under de bed, dow^n cellar, up sta'rs, in de wood-box, or whar you will, an' you cannot find it. Why? Kase it am gone. It has slipped away like a streak o' grease runnin' across de kitchen floo', an' it will nebber, nebber return. (Sighs from all over the hall.) Do you meet Plato as you go up de street ? Do you fin' Cicero waitin' at de ferry-dock ? Do you hear of Giogenes hangin' 'round de Union Depot to work de string game on some greenhorn ? Not any ! Dey belongs to de past an' gone. Dey sleep in de dim- ness of odder centuries. Whar am de glory ob de Roman empire ? Whar am Csesar and Brutus and Cassius ? Let de dust ob de past answer. (Much blowing of noses.) " My fren's, de past am not de fucher, any more dan day after to-morrow am day befo' yesterday. As DE GONENESS OB DE PAST 139 time fades so does glory fade. To-day you may march at the head of de purceshum, yer hat on yer ear an' a red sash tied around yer body — to-morrer ye may be in jail for borrowin' somebody's wood-pile to keep yer feet warm. (Sly and suspicious winks all over the room.) Do not prize de present too highly — do not forget de warning of de past. We cannot recall de past, but we can look back an' see whar de grocer gin us short weight on codfish, an' Avhar we took advantage of a cloudy day to pass a twenty-cent piece off fur a quarter. (Cheers and applause.) " My hearers, we should not lib fur de past, but fur de fucher. What am it to us as we riz up in de mawnin' wheder Csesar met his mother-in-law at the depot or forbid her his house ? What am it to us as we retire to our humble couches fur de night whether de orators of Athens greased their butes wid lard or went bar'foot ? As we sit on a box in de alley to consume our noonday lunch we car' not whether Brutus dyed his goatee or was clean shaved. (Cries of ' No ! No ! ') But de fucher am big wid events. To-day we may be full of sorrow. If so w^e hope dat de morrow will bring clam chowder. (Great smack- ing of lips.) If de present am full of biles and chil- blains an' heart aches, de fucher may be as bright as a cat's eye shinin' out of a bar'l on a dark night. Nebber look back on de past. It am as much gone as a three-cent piece paid out fur Fourth of July lemonade. Nebber despair of de fucher. When de heart is heaviest, fire lowest, an' work skeercest you may find a los' wallet, or strike some butcher willin' 140 THE MAN IN THE MOON AND I to give credit. (Whoops of applause.) My fren's, I am dun. Thanking you severely for your infectious distraction, I 'rambulate to my seat wid odiferous feelings of concentration toward each and ebery one of you." THE MAN IN THE MOON AND I. THERE was plenty of gold in his coffer last week, And plenty of silver in mine ; High living had colored and rounded his cheek, And my own wasn't in this line. Oh! he winked and looked knowing if nothing w^orse, For he has his own joke in the sky ; And we hadn't a care in the whole universe, The Man in the Moon and I. To-night he's as ragged and careworn and lank As I have been looking all day, And whether he's sunk all his gold in some bank Or put it on pool I can't say ; And if he has had something stronger than water, What odds when the world's all awry ? For the month isn't up, and we're on our last quarter. The Man in the Moon and I. Jacqes Esprit. THE emigrant's RETURN 141 THE EMIGRANT'S RETURN. IN ONE ACT. QCENE. — A cottage in Ireland. Enter Emigrant, O who surveys the room with emotion, and knocks for inmate. Door opens. Inmate enters. Emigrant — Is my father alive ? Inmate — He is not. Emigrant — Is my mother living ? Inmate — She is not. Emigrant — Is there any whisky in this house ? Inmate — There is not. Emigrant (sighs heavily) — This is indeed a woeful day. [Dies. Slow music. Curtain. WHY JIM FORSOOK THE MINISTRY. OF jes' no 'count an' mebbe wuss, A long, slab-sided, shuckless cuss, Was Jim McPhee, of Tennessee. All winter long he'd squat aroun' The grocery down at Possum Town An' toast his shins an' chaw an' chaw, An' spit upon the stove an' jaw 'Bout this an' that an' t'other thing Till 'long nigh plantin' time in spring, When suddint like he'd limber up 142 WHY JIM FORSOOK THE MINISTRY Ez peart an' frisky ez a pup, An' low ez how he'd got a call Ter preach, and then light out till fall. Year in, year out, 'twas jes' the same. Ag'in' the plan tin' season came He'd leave his kids without their pap, An' leave his wife to make the crap. An' make a sneak, an' many a week Would pass afore his folks would see A hide or hair of Jim McPhee. An' all the while he'd be away His wife was slavin' night an' day, A-plantin' corn, a-rakin' hay, A-diggin' taters, totein' wood An' doin' work no woman should, Ter keep a raft of children fed An' clothed an' shelter overhead. But when the harvestin' was through Jim — he'd turn up as good as new, An' hang aroun' the store again, An' tell the souls he'd saved from sin, An' how the houses all was crammed. An' how the mourners' bench was jammed. An' how they'd shout, an' this an' that, At towns whar he'd been preachin' at. Now Huldy Jane war big an' strong An' patient as the days were long — One of yer easy goin' kind That never growled nor jawed nor whined. WHY JIM FORSOOK THE MINISTRY 143 Thar never was no one ez thunk That Huldy had a bit of spunk. But things went on from bad ter wuss And got so durned monotinuss I swar 'twould drive an angel wild, An' even Huldy Jane got riled. Says Jim McPhee, one bright spring day, Ter Huldy, '• I must go away An' leave you all a little spell An' save poor errin' souls from hell ; I've got a call, my duty's plain, An' so good-bye." But Huldy Jane In ca'm, firm, ernest tones, says she, ^' I kinder reckon, Jim McPhee, That you've mistook 'bout this yer call, An' you won't git ter go at all." An' when he stomped aroun' an' shook His fist, then Huldy gently took A reef in James' sorrel hair. And slammed him down acrost a chair. An' banged his head ag'in' the floor. Then rested up an' banged some more ; An' when the lout began ter squall, She axed him, " How about yer call?" Right thar the Reverend James McPhee, He done forsook the ministry. " Huldy Jane," he meekly whined, " I've got no call of nary kind." " Now thar you lied," says Huldy Jane, 144 LATEST FORM OF LITERARY HYSTERICS " Ye've got a call — yer duty's plain " — And here she guv his hair a jerk — " Ye've got a call ter go ter work." An' Jim he melted jes' like wax An' says, " I reckon them's the facks." An' then she holps him ter his feet, An' says in accents soft an' sweet, A-givin' him a cheerful smile, " It's peared ter me a right smart while Ez how 'twas time the gardin's made," An' showed him whar ter find the spade Now you may travel far an' near. An' s'arch the hull blamed hemisphere From north ter south if you're inclined, An' nary busier man you'll find Than Jim McPhee of Tennessee. Clarence H. Pierson. LATEST FORM OF LITERARY HYSTERICS. ^PHE little bird stood on the roof of the cowshed A- and scratched its neck. Afar down the valley a lone ragman drove his chariot slowly along and chanted his plaintive lay. The wind moaned through the chimney-pots, the red sun looked dimly down through the smoke, and the little bird stood on the roof of the cowshed and scratched its neck. The little bird stood on the roof of the cowshed and scratched its neck. Sadly the stray policeman in the gray distance swiped a banana from the cart COUNTING EGGS 145 of a passing Italian and peeled it with a grimy hand. He was thinking, thinking. And the dead leaves still choked the tin spout above the rain-water barrel in the back yard. The little bird stood on the roof of the cowshed and scratched its neck. Adown the gutters in the lonely street ran murky puddles on their long, long journey toward the distant sea. Borne on the wings of the sluggish breeze came a far-off murmur of vag- rant dogs in fierce contention, and life w^as a hollow mockery to the homeless cat. The little bird stood on the roof of the cowshed and scratched its neck. And it softly said : " I scratch because it itches !" Chicago Tribune. COUNTING EGGS. OLD Moses, who sells eggs and chickens on the streets of Austin for a living, is as honest an old negro as ever lived; but he has the habit of chat- ting familiarly with his customers, hence he fre- quently makes mistakes in counting out the eggs they buy. He carries his wares around in a small cart drawn by a diminutive donkey. He stopped in front of the residence of Mrs. Samuel Burton. The old lady herself came out to the gate to make the purchase. '^ Have you any eggs this morning, Uncle Moses ?" she asked. 10 146 COUNTING FGGS '' Yes, indeed I has. Jess got in ten dosen from de * kentry." "Are they fresh?" ''Fresh? Yas, indeed! I guantees 'em, an' — an' — de hen guantees 'em." " I'll take nine dozen. You can just count them into this basket." " All right, mum ;" he counts, " One, two, free, foah, five, six, seben, eight, nine, ten. You can rely on dem bein' fresh. How's your son comin' on de school? He must be mos' grown." "Yes, Uncle Moses; he is a clerk in a bank in Galveston." " Why, how ole am de boy ?" " He is eighteen." " You don't tole me so ! Eighteen, and getting a salary already! Eighteen (counting), nineteen, twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three, twen- ty-foah, twenty-five. And how's your gal comin' on ? She was most growed up de last time I seed her." " She is married and living in Dallas." " Wall, I declar' ; how time scoots away ! And you say she has childruns? Why how ole am de gal? She must be jest about — " "Thirty-three." " Am dat so ?" (Counting.) " Firty-free, firty-foah, firt3^-five, firty-six, firty-seven, firty-eight, firty-nine, forty, forty-one, forty-two, forty-free. Hit am singu- lar dat you has sich ole childruns. You don't look more den forty years old yersefil" COUNTING EGGS 147 " Nonsense, old man ; I see you want to flatter me. When a person gets to be fifty-three years old — " " Fifty-free ! I jess dun gwinter bleeve hit ; fifty- free, fifty -foah, fifty-five, fifty-six — I want you to pay 'tenshun when I count de eggs, so dar'U be no mis- take — fifty-nine, sixty, sixty-one, sixty-two, sixty- free, sixty-foah. Whew ! Dis am a warm day. Dis am de time ob year when I feels I'se gettin' ole my- self; I aint long fur dis world. You comes from an ole family. When your fadder died he was sebenty years ole." ^' Seventy-two." " Dat's old, suah. Sebenty-two, sebenty-free, seb- enty-foah, sebenty-five, sebenty-six, sebenty-seben, sebenty-eight, sebenty-nine. And your mudder? she was one ob de noblest-lookin' ladies I ebber see. You remind me ob her so much ! Shelibed tomos' a hundred. I bleeves she was done past a centurion when she died." '' No, Uncle Moses ; she was only ninety-six when she died." " Den she wan't no chicken when she died, I know dat. Ninety-six, ninety-seben, ninety-eight, ninety- nine, one hundred, one, two, free, foah, five, six, seben, eight — dar, one hundred and eight nice fresh eggs — ^jess nine dozen, and here am one moah egg in case I have discounted myself." Old Mose went on his way rejoicing. A few days afterward Mrs. Burton said to her husband : " I am afraid we will have to discharge Matilda. I am satisfied that she steals the milk and eggs. I 148 THE FOUR FLIES am positive about the eggs, for I bought them day before yesterday, and now about half of them are gone. I stood right there, and heard Moses count them myself, and there were nine dozen." Texas Siftings. THE FOUR FLIES. A BOARDING-HOUSE EPISODE. ON a window-sill one morning still, In golden summer weather. Four weary flies with blinking eyes Buzzed hungrily together. Before them lay a table, spread With desolate-looking fare ; They knew they were in a boarding-house By the chipped stone-chinaware. Said the oldest fly, with a tear-dimmed eye : "All this I have been through. And if you eat of this doubtful treat. That hour you will surely rue. I lost my ma, and I lost my pa, And I lost my children three ; They were snared by such delusive joys As the ones to-day we see." But though kindly warned her advice was scorned, And straight the trio flew To the table head, whereon was spread The frugal dishes few. THE FOUR FLIES 149 And left the patriarch fly alone A-weeping on the sill ; And set to work without ado To eat and drink their fill. The first young fly resolved to try The milk cerulean blue, For his head was sore from the night before When he stayed a party through. But, alas ! the chalk that filled his cup Brought cramps that laici him low ; " Ha, ha !" buzzed the fly from his window-pane ; " Now didn't I tell you so ?" The second fly had set his eye On the ponderous sugar bowl. And made a jump for the biggest lump His hunger to console. But the marble dust soon stretched him out A corpse on the cloth below. While the old fly sang as a requiem : " Now didn't I tell you so ?" And now the third adventurous bird Attacked a dish of peas. Which a year or more before the war Had been brought across the seas. When the verdigris got in its work His joy was turned to woe, While the old fly hummed to a dismal tune, " Now didn't I tell you so ?" 150 BOB Johnston's visit to the circus The aged fly of the tear-dimmed eye, Who sat on the window-sill, Was filled with woe as she saw them go To meet a fate so ill. " Why should I care to live," she said, " When death lurks everywhere ? In every toothsome dish, I w^een, Is hidden some despair." So forth she stole to the poisonous bowl Which the name " Fly Poison " bore, And with maniac laugh began to quaff The deadly drink galore. It did not kill — it made her stout; She aldermanic grew. Because, you see, the poison was Adulterated, too ! E. D. PlERSON. BOB JOHNSTON'S VISIT TO THE CIRCUS. WEEL, ye maun understan', said Bob, that nae- thing in the worl' wid ser' the guidwife but a veesit to the circus. She had set her heart on that. The bairns, too, had been deavin' me aboot clowns an' tum'lers an' horses, sae, for peacesake, an' to sort o' oil the family machenery, I set a nicht, an' agreed to take the hale rick-ma-tick in to see the show. I canna say I'm ony great admirer o' circuses — I never was in ane afore — but this I maun admit, that BOB Johnston's visit to the circus 151 the performance, so far as I saw't, was really baith divertin' an' wonnerfu'. There was a'e man in par- ticular that stuicl up on the very top o' a horse fleein' roun' the ring like a comet, an' the claes that man took aff him was a caution. Losh, he seemed to be able to peel himsel' like an ingan, till the rascal at last slipped off his vera trousers an' stuid in his nicht shirt afore a' the folk. Even this was at last whupt aff, an' there he was a' shinin' in spangles, like a harlequin ! Aifter that a drunk chiel' staggered into the ring, an' the daft gowk insisted on ha'ein' a ride on ane o' the horses, in spite o' a' the man wi' the big whup in the middle o' the ring could sae or dae. I saw for mysel' that the creature was nae mair fit to ride on a horse than he wis to flee in the air, but willy-nilly he wid get up on the horse's back till the clown an' the man wi' the big whup in his han' were perfectly tired wi' his thrawness, an' they gied him a leg up to please him an' keep him Cjuate. It wis jist as I expected. The minute he wis heised up owre he went, richt ower the animal's back, an' doon he cam' wi' a clash on the ither side. Lo'd, I thocht he wid ha'e broken his neck wi' the fa', but no, up he got mair thrawn than ever, an' naething wid pit him aff the notion o' gettin' up on that horse's back an' ridin', richt reason or nane. The ringmaister was fairly daft to ken what to dae wi' him, an' as I saw a bobby stannin' up on the tajj seat o' the gallery, I got up on the selva^^e o' the rin^', an' wavin' my han' to the policeman, I cried : 152 BOB Johnston's visit to the circus " Hey ! policeman, come doon to the daft eediot. It's as muckle's his life's worth to lippen a man sae far gane in drink on the back o' a horse like that. He'll be kilt, an' that'll be seen." These sentiments o' mine seemed to find an echo in every breast, for the cheerin' an' lauchin' that set in was something tremendous. But it was nae use speakin' ; the policeman widna stir a'e fit, but stuid up an' lauched wi' the lave, an' the man wid be up on the horse's back, dae all they could too keep him doon. They gied him a heise up again, an' awa' he went plaistered up wi' his legs striddled owre the horse's head. Of coorse he tum- bled aff aince mair, an' the next time the daft fule stuck himsel' wi' his face to the -tail, as if he didna ken a'e end o' the animal frae the ither. Then the horse set aff, an' my vera hair was stannin' on en' at the rascal, wha was hingin' on by the horse's tail. But naething wid ser' the madman but he'd stan' up on the horse's back like he'd seen the ithers dae, an' to my great astonishment, he actually managed this, an' gaed through some of the comicallest caipers ever you saw. It's weel seen there's a special providence for bairns an' drunk folk. Aifter this, a maist amusin' wee brat o' a clown made his appearance in the ring, dressed in a suit o' calico o' the maist ridiculous description. Hooever, I maun say this, that I enjoyed the caipers o' the wee mannie jist as weel's ony o' the bairns, wha were nearly gaun into fits wi' lauchin' at him. But jist at this time ane o' the horses sent a BOB Johnston's visit to the circus 153 lump o' sawdust an' dirt afF its hoofs into oor Willie's e'e, sae I took him on my knee to try an' get the stuff oot, an' no haud him cryin'. While I was busy workin' awa' wi' my hankie, a' at aince I hears the awfuUest roar o' lauchter, an' lookin' up what did I see but the wee clown mannie busy kissin' my wife. Dod, flesh an' bluid couldna stan' impidence like that. I like fun just as weel's onybody, but that was raither much o' a good thing for me. " Get oot o' there, ye pentit wee monkey that ye are !" I cried, makin' glaum at the nochty bit creature. " Wid ye daur to spiel owre the seats an' kiss my wife before my very lookin' face ?" But, lod ! he was like a needle, for before I could lay my fingers on him he tumbled like a wuUcat back into the ring, an' awa' he went birlin' roun' like a cart wheel, while the folk on every side were screechin' oot at what they doot- less took to be gran' fun. Maybe it wis, only I couldna see it in that licht. Ance rouse the slumberin' lion in Bob Johnston, an' I can tell ye he's a very deevil to deal wi'. Mag- gie threw her airms roun' me to keep me doon, but I was neither to haud nor to bind. " Let go, ye shameless woman !" I cried. " Wid ye hae me condone an offense against common de- cency like that?" Wi' these words I sprang into the ring, an' aifther the impertinent vagabond as hard as my legs could carry me, amid the cheerin' o' the hale circus. Roun' aboot an' roun' aboot the ring we gaud, the wee clown lookin' the very pictur' o' fear, an' I com- 154 BOB Johnston's visit to the circus in' thunderin' aifter him like that Greek chiel' Nem- esiSj I think he's ca'd. The excitement was tremen- dous. I felt my puff fast leavin' me, but I was jist within airm's length o' the creatur', an' sometimes nearly had him in my grip, but aye as I passed the side o' the ring next the wife, she oot wi' her hands an' tried to grup me by the coat tails an' haud me back. I was jist in the very act o' layin' my han' o' aim on the scruff o' the creatur's neck, when he dookit his held like a deuk in a pond, an' awa' I went fleein' owre his heid, sprauchled oot as flet's a flounder, wi' my nose buried aboot a fit an' a hauf amang dirty sawdust, that smelt horribly o' the stable. The folk a' seemed to think that this was a pairt o' the regular performance by the way they cheered, an' Avhen the cause o' a' the uproar cam' OAvre an' lifted me up, lettin' at the same time a neifu' o' saw- dust trickle through his fingers as if it had come pourin' oot o' my nose, the lauchter was something tremendous. I was that way used up for want o' wdn' at the time that I couldna resent his caipers, an' when the wee creature popped doon on his knees in the middle o' the ring an' begged my pardon for kissin' my wife, lod, I hadna the heart to feel angry, sae I shuik him by the han', an' said, " A' richt, my chappie, I'll forgi'e ye this time, but juist dinna dae't again, or there'll be the deil to pay." But, lod, it's ill to ken wha's yer frien' in this worl', for, pretendin' the greatest regaird for my feel- BOB Johnston's visit to the circus 155 in s, he began to brush the sawdust afF my coat wi' his han', an' then to tak' my airm an' mairch me roun' aboot the ring, an' every time I turned my back the folk seemed to split their very sides wi' lauchin'. I could see naething to lauch at, but next moment I sees the wife, wi' the family umbrella in her han', jump into the ring, an' afore the clown kent whaur he was stannin', losh, she hit him a crack on the held that sent him spinnin' owre the ring like a peerie. ^'Ye nesty, impident mountebank that ye are!" she cried, shakin' her umbrella at the mannie, wha was sittin' rubbin' his croon in the funniest manner ever ye saw ; " I'll learn ye to chalk up yer insultin' figures on my man's back. Come awa' hame, Bob, oot o' this. It wisna to gi'e fun to a wheen haiverin' fules we cam' here." So sayin', Maggie pu'd me by the airm across the ring oot by the big door whaur the performers cam' in by, an', followed by the bairns, wha by this time had jumped into the ring aifter their respected par- ents, we mairched oot ^Tandly, wi' the band playin', an' the folk cheerin' an' lauchin' an' ruflfin' like to bring doon the hoose. It wisna till aifter I got oot that I discovered the trick played on me, for the clown, while he was pre- tendin' to be dowcin' the dust afF my back, was chalkin' up at the same time a cuddy's held wi' lang lugs on the back-breadth o' my guid black coat 156 THE UNDER-TOW The circus man cam' up to the hoose next day, an' offered me five pounds a week if I'd come doon every nicht for a month an' gang through the same performance. He said the Bob Johnston episode was the best thing in the programme, an' he slippit a half-croon into each o' the bairn's ban's. But na, na, I'm for nae mair circus performances. Andrew Stewart. THE UNDER-TOW. "A FATHER," shouted Johnny Leach, Vy As down at Coney Isle They wandered up and down the beach, " May I go in awhile ?" " You may, my son," he said to liim ; " But hear me, ere you go : 'Tis not enough that you can swim, — Beware the under-tow." Then Johnny donned a bathing-suit, And quickly waded in The foaming sea, with yell and hoot, Until it reached his chin. He swam around and splashed about With boisterous delight. When suddenly he gave a shout, And disappeared from sight. PARODY ON " BARBARA FRIETCHIE " 157 He rose, he sank, then rose again. And struck out for the shore ; His face was writhing, as in pain ; One foot was red with gore. His father gazed, and then said he, " My son, I told you so." " Nay, father, 'twas a crab, not me, That caught the under-toe." His father clasped, in silent joy, That wet lad to his heart. And said, " You'll not live long, my boy, Because you are too smart." PARODY ON " BARBARA FRIETCHIE.'^ Drough der streeds of Frederickdown, Wid der red-hot sun shining down. Past der saloons filled mit beer, Dem repel fellers valked on der ear. All day drough Frederickdown so fasd, Hosses foot und sojers past, Und der repel flag skimming oud so pright, You vould dink py jiminy id had a ridght. OS* der mony flags dot flapped in der morning vind, Nary a vone could enypody find. Ub shumbed old Miss Frietchie den, Who vas pent down py nine score years und den. 158 PARODY ON "BARBARA FRIETCHIE " She took der Aug the men hauled down, Und stuck it fasd on her nighd-gown, Und pud id in der vinder vere all could see Dot dere vas vone who did lofe dot good old jBlag so free. Yust then ub come Stonewall Jack, Riden on his hosses' pack, Under his prows he squinted his eyes, By golly de olt flag make him much surprise. " Halt!" veil, efery man he stood him sdill, a Fire !" vas echoed from hill do hill ; Id broke her strings of dot nighd-gown. Put olt Babra she vas round. She freezed on dot olt flag right quick, Und oud of der vindow her head did stick: " Schoot, of you must, dis old cray head. Put spare dot country's flag !" she said. A look of shameness soon came o'er Der face of Jack, und der tears did pour ; ' " Who pulls oud a hair of dot paid head Dies like a donkey ! — skip along," he said. All dot day und all dot night, Undil efery rebel vas knocked oud of sight, Und vay pehind from Frederickdown, Dot flag stuck fasd to dot olt nighd-gown. Babra Frietchie's vork vas done. She don'd eny more kin hafe some fun; Pully for her ! und drop a dear For dot olt gal midoud some fear. DEM OLE DIMES HABBINESS AND DEM NEW 159 DEM OLE DIMES HABBINESS AND DEM NEW. "f\ilj my, my !" says a leetle feller, '' but voont I bin VJ awful habby vtien I'm a big man ! Voont dhem bin awful habby times vhen I kin bin your own boss, und kin shtay out early nights ! Vhen I voont have to vent to shleeb on der bedclothes right avay be- hindt subber ! Vhen I kin needent shtudy big books not no more, und inshtead kin read der bic- ture pabers und der 'dim novels!' Vhen I kin vear big boots und paber gollars, und kin shmoke pibes und shpit on der shtofe ! Oh ! my ! but dhen vill bin habbiness !" Und der boor leetle fellers turns ofer und vents to schleeb, treamin' 'bout der goot times comin' ! Veil, dis leetle rooster grows ub to bin vat he vants to be — a '' big man." He's now got blenty richfulness und so fourd ; but hear him talk : '' Oh ! my, my ! but vasn't dem habby times in der poyhoodt days of shilthood. Vhen I didn't had nod- ding to do but to eat pread und molasses, und git my face dirty ; vhen I didn't had nodding heafier dan a leetle shtudy to bodder my head loose, instead of dis neferlasting fighting mit der vorldt, vich has vorryed me my prains gray all my life ; vich has shticked my head full vit wrinkles, und my forehead full mit gray hairs ; vich has made my heart cold und soury like I can't talk a bleasant vorvlt to not nobody ; und vich has cofered my old face mit mudgutters instead of dimbles ! Oh ! dem was der habby times, vhen my 160 DEM OLE DIMES HABBINESS AND DEM NEW heart vas full mit shinyness und my head was filled mit nodding. Now, my head vas full up mit shmart- ness and big knowledges, my heart vas filled mit plackness und plack memories, und my old legs vas filled mit der slowness und der roomatickers ! Oh ! yes, dose boyhoodt days vas my habbiness !" " Oh ! my," says a leetle girl softly to herself, " voont dhem bin habby times vhen I git a leetle older sized, und vas a young lady ! Vhen I dress ub so nice mit vite clothes und curly hair und pink ribbons, und all der young fellers dhem will say : ' My ! but aint she sveet ?' Oh ! my, but dhem vill bin habbiness !" Veil, she builds up into a sveet leetle young lady. " Oh ! my !" she plushes to herself, " voont dot bin habby times vhen me und Sharlie vas got married togedder, nefer to part for efer und nefer und efer ! Vhen ve hafe our nice leetle home, so bright und clean ; mit nice red carpets und vite vinder-shades, und a kitten-cat singing near der shtofe ! Und a nice leetle subber-table mit proiled coff'ee und shtrong shicken, und me a bourin' out der tea, und Sharlie a hidin' avay der pancakes, und shvearin' dot I vas der only one in der vorldt, py gracious, vot could cook bancakes for him ; und leetle Sharlie sittin' on der oder side, in der high-ub shair, py der side of his leetle sister, und der baby fast ashleeb in der next room, und — Oh ! my, but voont dot bin habbi- ness ?" Der years bass on, as dey vill, und dis young lady vas older — und viser. " Oh, my ! but dhem vas I DEM OLD DIMES HABBIXESS AND DEM NEW 161 habby times vlien I was a young girl py my mad- der's arms ! Sure vas trubble come py me now. It abbears to me dot since I'm bin got married I'm doin' nodding but vork, vork, vork, from daylight till nightliglit! Alvays scrubbin' der carpet, or foolin' mit greasy dishes, buildin' big loafs of home- made preadt, half sole und heelin' stockins, or in- wentin' patches on der wrong end of leetle Sharley's bandyloons ! Always a-doing someding ! Uf I aint gleanin' der house, I'm a-fixin' ub somedin' to eat, und dot keeps me alvays busy ; und I got me nefer not no time to fix myself ub pooty like vhen I vas a habby young girl, und vasn't doin' der cookin' und repairin' for not no man ! Und dhen my Sharlie — vonce so awful schveet py me — vas shanged, und now don't notice me werry heafy except vhen der subber-table he vasn't ready ! Und he vas uckly like two sticks was cross. Veil, berhabs he aint to blame aldogedder. He vorked hard und faithful, but der bizness didn't vent goot, und so he got kinder careless und reckless, und vent und buyed a glass of beer ! Dis shdarted him, und now he dooks his bidders, oh ! awful regular ! But dhen he says he's goin' to begin a new leaf ofer mit der new year, und vork hard to got rich, und dhen I needn't vash vinders no more, und oh ! voont dot bin habbi- ness ?" Veil, Sharlie shut down on his " bidders," vorked hard, und got rich. Sharlie's leetle vife she's now^ a old lady mit quiet face und silfrey hair, fast '' ventin' home." Hear her vat she moans : 11 162 THE butcher's boy and the baker's girl " Oh ! my ! but vasn't dot too bad. Yoost after my Sharlie vorked so veil, und succeeded so nice, und vas beginning to dook dings easy, he vas tookened avay from me. Und here I vas alone, mit blenty gold und dot kind of comfort, but mit blenty veak- ness in my boor old heart — mit some of my shilders gone to meet dhere fader, und der rest scattered far, far avay from dhere old mudder. Oh, my, my ! but dhere is a habbiness vat I'm a-lookin' out for, vich I kinder dink pooty sure von't fail me, und dot's a habbiness not of dis vorldt von bit, but of a blace vhere habbiness lasts forefer und efer, und plack disabbointments vas nefer not known !" Nick Slaeter. THE BUTCHER'S BOY AND THE BAKER'S GIRL. IT was down in the yeast part of the city. He was a bully butcher boy — she was the pie-ous daughter of the German baker next door, with eyes like currants, and her yellow hair twisted on the back of her head like a huge cruller. They leaned toward each other over the backbone of the separat- ing rail. He was casting sheep's eyes at her, while hers turned on him with a provocating roll. ^' Meat me to-night beef-fore quarter to ten," said he. " Oh ! dough-nut ask it," said she. THE butcher's BOY AND THE BAKER's GIRL 163 " I make no bones about it," said he. " You're not well-bread," said she. " Only sweet-bread," said he. " Don't egg me on," said she. " I never sausage a girl. Don't keep me on tender hooks," said he, quite chop-fallen. " Why don't you wear the dear flour I gave you ?" asked she. " Pork-quoi ?" asked he. " Oh ! knead I say ?" asked she. " That don't suet me," said he. " You're crusty. I only wanted to cracker joke," said she. " You gave me a cut — the cold shoulder," said he. " Ah, you don't loaf me," sighed she. " Veal see. I'll cleave to you, and no mis-steak — if you have money," said he. " I can make a-bun-dance," said she. '' Then no more lamb-entations," said he. " You shall be my rib." " Well done," said she. And their arms embraced like a pretzel. So his cake was not all dough ; she liked a man of his kid- ney ; and, being good livers, they will no doubt live on the fat of the land, raisin' lots of children. This world is a queer jumble, but 'love seems "bread in the bones." 164 THE CRUSHED TRAGEDIAN THE CRUSHED TRAGEDIAN. OH ! why do the critics insist That I am not an actor born ? Why do the gallery gods, forsooth, Turn all me powers to scorn? I feel great fires within me frame Which high should mount From me souPs deep fount And set the world aflame : Then why am I here in this No Man's Land, So far from the marts of trade ? Collect thyself, mind — ah, yes — last Week I enacted the great Jack Cade. I lived Cade's life through every scene, And showed Jack's hopes and fears. But the New York critics all proved that I Had played (he haw, he haw) a Jack with ears. The theatre was crowded, and every one paid To see me enact the great Jack Cade. Forth I rushed on the stage 'midst a storm of huzzas, And me very first speech won ten rounds of ap- plause. Too much so, methought, Yet it flattered me pride and resolved me the more. So, with grand tragic stride And Delsartean sweep of me eloquent arais, I proceeded to paralyze the house with me charms, THE CRUSHED TRAGEDIAN 165 When something hit me in the neck, Which aroused me dramatic ire ; " The man who threw that egg," says I, '^ Is a diabolical, paradoxical liar." He apologized, and said that, far from Theatrical infracting. That he had paid his money to see me act, And only intended to be eggzacting. Oh ! then awoke the hope that slept Within me manly breast. An exacting audience now must needs Exact of me me best. But oh ! the perfume of that chestnutty egg Had me memory so unfixed. That the lines of every play I knew Got most — confoundedly — mixed. " To be or not to be," I cried ; The audience said I had better not, And advised me to go and soak me head, Or seek some quiet, breezy spot. Where the wind might through me whiskers blow, Ere I turned up my toes to the daisies. " Oh ! cruel critics," I cried, " Ye shall hear me yet. " ' Richard's himself again,' " you bet They applauded, then hooted, then crushed me hopes With bouquets tied to the ends of ropes. They guyed me, yes, and they bouquets plied Of a vegetable kind, till I could have died. Yet on with the play, tho' it rain cats and dogs, 166 THE CRUSHED TRAGEDIAN I cried, while showers of eggs Bespattered me togs. Still fiercely I acted till a big potato caught me Here, near me fifth rib, and suddenly brought me^ Well, nearer to death than I care to be brought. Then me second wind came, I called for me cue. But the prompter had skipped with me cue and watch, too. Yes ; manager, scene-shifters, dizzy actors, all gone, And left me to play out Jack Cade all alone. Yet me soul was resolved that me genius should win. So grandly I in monologue again did begin. When — whizz — biff — bang — a twenty-pound cab- bage Found its way to me head. And all me ambition immediately fled. That's why I am here in this No Man's Land, So far from the marts of trade, And here I'll abide, for I understand Me return to the stage would occasion a raid. Thank Heaven, I still live. Alack, me poor poll Thou hast brought naught but shame to me ambi- tious soul. Great crout ! when that huge cabbage fell, Methought 'twere a summons to Heaven or to . No more will the hair on me dizzy skull grow, 'Twas cabbaged for good — well, well, heigho ! No more on the stage as a target I'll stand. Henceforth I'll scratch gravel in No Man's Land. Perhaps as a farmer kind nature may find ALL SORTS 167 Some chance for the genius which cankers me mind. So farewell to tragedy, welcome, thrice welcome the plow; Come farm fruit, come hen fruit, I'll cabbage you now ; Yet Vd let a wilderness of monkeys all my farm prospects ravage, Just to meet the propeller of that twenty-pound cabbage. Ed. L. McDowell. ALL SORTS. Unpublished Poems of Susan B. Anthony. I REMEMBER Meeting you In September, Twenty-two. We were eating, Both of us ; And the meeting Happened thus : Accidental On the road (Sentimental Episode). I was gushing, You were shy ; You were blushing — So was I ; 168 ALL SORTS I was smitten, So were you (All that's written Here is true) ; Any money? Not a bit. Rather funny, Wasn't it? Vows we plighted— Happy pair ! How delighted People were ! But your father — To be sure — Thought it rather Premature. And your mother- Strange to say — Was another In the way. What a heaven Vanished then (You were seven, I was ten) ! That was many Years ago — Don't let any Body know. ABOUT OUR FOLKS 169 ABOUT OUR FOLKS. OUR name is Perkins. I alius thought that was a nice name, and I think so yet — 'deed I do. Sal never liked that name, but then Sal may git a chance to change some o' these days. There wus six of us altogether, countin' the bosses, or wot sum folks call '' the old blocks." Dad sed I wusn't a chip off the old block 'cause I couldn't farm. Dad didn't like the way I dug 'taters. He sed wen I got throo' with a 'tater patch, they wus all ready for the pot, 'cause I hed a way uf peelin' 'em and slicin' 'em all up with the spade. So wen I wus fourteen year old, that was two year ago — to-day is my birthday — I'm big fur my size — they sent me to the city to live with Uncle Bob and Aunt Maria. Uncle Bob and Aunt Maria say I'd better stayed to hum in the country, 'cause I talk jest like a farmer, and I eat too much. I'm pretty good on the eat. I'm jest like a big holler punkin all the time. Wall, as I sed afore, there wus six of us. We lived up here in Orange County right near the Jersey State line, in a place called Jackey Holler. Our farm wus about two rod from the old turnpike, and Widder Jenkins lived right over the way by the big willers. As I sed afore, there wus six of us all told, not countin' the critters. I sed six. Let's see — almost forgot in two year. You know your mem'ry don't get good till you git to be about eighteen. Anyhow that's wat Sal sed, and I bet on Sal every 170 ABOUT OUR FOLKS time — 'deed I do. Let's see — there wus six of us. Fust cum Dad Perkins. Now Dad wus kinder queer. Why at the table to hum Dad used ter dip inter everything within reach —apple sass and pre- sarves, pie and pickles all ter once. Eat his puddin' aforehand, and then wunt ter knoAV wot we wus goin' to hev for finishin' up — for desert. But how Dad could talk. Why he never got tired talkin', and wen he wusn't talkin', he'd sing. Hardly ever got the right tune, but that didn't make much difF'rence with Dad ; but he wus down to town, Dad wus, one winter arter we hed done our huskin' and thrashin', and he heerd them darks sing — them ere Jubilee singers — and one song must a jest struck his tunin'- fork — 'cause he got the tune — 'deed he did, and we used to hev that tune daj^in and day out for months. I got so used to it thet I could sing it myself. Let's see — maybe I can sing it now : " Swing low, sweet chariot, Comin' for to carry me home ; Swing low, sweet chariot, Comin' for to carry me home." Dad wus a specimen — 'deed he wus. But I'm talkin' too much about Dad. Next cum Mam. Mam didn't sing much, but we used to ketch her hummin' in the closet round the dishes wen she didn't know we wus listenin'. But how she could milk and cook and bake — 'deed she could. Her pies w^us 'bout a foot thick, I reckon —she got the prize at the county fair once. Let's see— there wus six of us. Next cum Josh. ABOUT OUR FOLKS 171 Josh was the oldest. Josh didn't hev very much to say. Not too much to say, but I guess he thought quite much. At the table he jest sot and eat and didn't say much — -jest helped himself, and he wusn't the fust one throo' neither. Josh could get away with three good square meals a day — 'deed he could — besides all the apples and sech things thrown in 'tween meals. Josh was always pooty sweet on the gals, and we could alwa3''s tell wen he wus a-goin' out sparkin', 'cause he'd shave up clean, and put on his store clothes, and in warm weather his low-neck shoes and boughten stockin's, with stripes in, and stand-up collar, and wen he'd come hum with his hair mussed and ruther flurried like, he'd try to pass it off by sayin' thet Squire Runsby's bull hed been givin' him a chase cross lots. Josh wus alius settin' down where he hadn't oughter, never lookin' where he wus agoin'. Two or three times he sot right down on a dish of eggs, and one night, wen Sal gin a taffy pull, and Josh wus a-gittin' a little sweet on Mirandy Jones, he settled right down in a dish uf boilin' hot taffy she hed jest took down off the stove. Talk about bein' active and lively ! Why Josh bounced up like he'd been shot from a cannon, and the taffy a-hangin' on fur dear life. I thought the folks would break sumthin' a-laffin', and Josh hed ter be ex- cused fur the night to cool off. But even that didn't cure him and make him look where he wus a-goin'. You know he wus a little gone on Mirandy Jones— I think one reason bein' 'cause she built such good do'nuts, and Josh jest reveled in do'nuts. So goin' 172 ABOUT OUR FOLKS to the mill one day, Josh dropped in ter hev a chat with Mirandy, to ask her how the folks wus, &c., &c. Well, Mirandy wus a-workin' on a batch of her do'nuts, and hed 'em all ready ter drop inter the hot bilin' grease which wus a-settin' on a stove near the table, kivered over with a towel, all ready to go right back on the stove ag'in with the do'nuts, you know — when Josh cum stroUin' in and sed : " Mornin', Miry. Thought I'de cum in while the grain wus grindin', and watch yer fuss round a little — and bein' yer don't invite me to make myself to hum, guess I'll take a seat near yer here." An' afore Mirandy could stop him, he slid down right inter that bilin' hot grease. Well — the folks sed 'twus wuth a quar- ter to hear Mirandy tell about how the sudden change cum over Josh. You know Mirandy couldn't keep nothin' like that to herself, and from her account Josh must hev made the best " go-as-you- please " time on record, the way he run around that kitchen, and Mirandy laffin' fit to kill all the time. Law, she couldn't help it. Well, Josh didn't stop till he got in the mill-pond — and he had to stand up in the wagon all the way hum. Uf course it's a standin' joke on Josh — but I don't believe Mirandy likes Josh eny the less fur all that. Well, after Josh cum Sal, and Sal wus jest nice — Sal wus — but Sal was afflicted — 'deed she wus. Sal hed corns — corns — no end to 'em. Sal had 'em bad — 'deed she did. I used to tell her I'd bring in the scythe and pare 'em off, and Dad sed ef they got much worse, he'd hev to hitch up the mowin' ma- ABOUT OUR FOLKS 173 chine. But Sal managed to fix 'em up so she didn't limp much, and wore just as tight shoes as ever. I s'pose if anything will presarve corns, tight shoes will. But I always bet on Sal, corns or no corns. Wall, I cum next. I guess I won't say nothin' 'bout myself, 'cause you'de say I wus tellin' fibs, but all the gals used to make a big fuss over me, all the time sayin' they wished they had such nice dimple^ in their cheeks, like mine. The last of us wus Hez. Hez wus the baby, but he wus full uf the old feller himself. The best way to describe Hez is to say he wus Sal's little brother, and you gals here jest know what little brothers is. Anyhow they always hang round the parlor wen fellers come, don't they? Sometimes wen Sal hed company, Hez used to crawl in under the sofa, and then jest as they wus havin' a good time, talkin' sweet, and settin' up close to one 'nother, Hez would . cetch hold Sal's foot, and strike one o' them corns ; and how she would jump and git mad and try to put Hez out. Then Hez would flare up and holler : " You think you're smart, don't yer ; puttin' on airs and makin' b'lieve yer think a heap of Bill Jones here, wen yer let ev'ry feller in the place kiss yer — don't yer? Yes, sir!!" And there they'de go on at each other till Dad heard the racket, and Hez hed to go to bed. Now there's one more thin,g: I want to tell yer 'bout Dad, and then as our dominie used to say 'bout one o'clock, " I shall hev to come to a stop." Now, Josh and me and Dad one day hed jest got thro' dig- 174 ABOUT OUR FOLKS gin' taters, and wus takin' the last load of 'em to the barn. Josh wus a-drivin' old Dexter and our young colt, with the colt on the nigh side. I wus squatted on top right on the taters, and Dad wus a settin' on the bottom boards that run out further than the back- board. Well, we wus a-gittin' pretty well nigh on to the fence, and I wus 'jest goin' to git off to let down the bars, when all uf a sudden — Josh must a' been a-thinkin' 'bout his dinner and furgot himself — fur all uf a sudden we struck a big rock wot wus there, and we cum to a full stop. Josh he pitched for'ard and then back, and landed in 'mongst the taters with his hed in the basket. I hed to laugh, for jest then I wus holdin' on down to the side-board for to keep myself in. But where do you think Dad wus ? I thought I'd die ! You know there wus a big hook right in under where Dad wus a-settin', that we used ter sumtimes hang the big baskets on. Well, when we brought up. Dad kinder bunked agin the back- board and then slid oif. This ere hook wus jest in persition and hooked Dad's pantaloons jest by the buckle and held him there, and he hung there kinder whirlin' round, back and to, like a compass. Me and Josh couldn't do nothin' but jest yell. I never laffed so much in all my born days, and Dad hangin' there, red in the face, a-hollerin' to us fur to take him down. Well, we hed to lift him up bodily, and laughin' all the wile fit to break our sides, and Dad a-growlin', and put him on his feet onct more. Dad walked the rest uf the way, and kept talkin' about his pantaloons, and there bein' no more pieces uf the THE GIGGLETY GIRL 175 same color to patch ' em up with. Mam hed to laf a little, and then Dad got mad, and after that we hed to keep mum, when he was round, about that 'tater ride. Dad didn't seem to see where the laugh cum in. Henry Firth Wood. THE GIGGLETY GIRL. 0' ^H ! the gigglety girl- Gee w^hiz ! From her toe to her curl What a bother she is ! For whatever you do and whatever you say. She is laughing away through the whole of the day, And sometimes her noisy, unwearying zeal Will make a man feel So all-fired Excessively tired That far into space he'd be willing to hurl The gigglety, gigglety, gigglety girl. Oh ! the gigglety girl — Great Scott ! What a scurry and whirl She can bring to the spot ! And yet, when her light-hearted freedom from care Kind of gets in the air — well, you can't be a bear — And you feel that your blood wouldn't stand it to see A man who could be So downright Ill-bred as to slight Or in any way hurt, with the mood of a churl, This gigglety, gigglety, gigglety girl. Judge. 176 TUCKED OUP IN PED TUCKED OUP IN PED. DER schiltren dhey was poot in ped, All tucked oup for der night ; I dakes my pipe der mantel off, Und py der fireside priglit I dinks aboudt vhen I vas young — Off moder, who vas tead, Und how at nighdt — like I do Hans — She tucked me oup in ped. I mindt me off my fader, too, Und how he yoost to say, " Poor poy, you haf a hardt oldt row To hoe, und leedle play !" I find me oudt dot id vas drue Vot mine oldt fader said, Vhile smoodhing down mine flaxen hair, Und tucking me in ped. Der oldt folks ! Id vas like a dhream To speak off* dhem like dot. Gretchen und I vas " oldt folks " now, Und haf two schiltren got. Ve loves dem more as nefer vas, Each little curly head, Und efry nighdt ve dakes dhem oup Und tucks dem in dheir ped. Budt dhen sometimes vhen I feels plue, Und all dings lonesome seem, JUSTICE IN A QUANDARY I vish I vas dot poy again, Und dis vas all a dhream. I vant to kiss mine inoder vonce, Und vhen mine brayer vas said, To haf mine fader dake me oiip Und tuck me in mine ped. 177 JUSTICE IN A QUANDARY. How the changes on ** slang " puzzled the Jefferson Market Magistrate. THE envoy that come from Patsy Burns' yesterday to get a warrant for its proprietor was hoarse, squat, and bull-necked. He leaned across the bar of the court, and whispered confidently : " Say, Jedge, Patsy P>urns w^ants to shut down on a kid that's bin skinnin' him." "A kid! Skinning him? Impossible," said his Honor. " Where is the animal ?" " He's a young rooster what dishes out the stuff in Patsy's drum." His Honor looked perplexed. " Oh ! it's poultry you're complaining about. I thought you said it was a kid just now. Well, what of the rooster?" " Say, Jedge, don't you play me. I'm giving it to you straight ; honor bright. Patsy feels dead sore over the thing, and wants the young terrier hauled up before you." " Look here, my friend, if you come here to com- plain about a whole menagerie, say so; but this 12 178 JUSTICE IN A QUANDARY parade of flesh and fowl is distracting. Let us understand each other — kid, rooster, or dog — Is Patsy's trouble with one or all ?" " Jedge, this looks like a dead open and shut. You don't seem to tumble to me at all. Here's the scheme. There's a jigger behind Patsy's counter that's crooked, and he wants him taken in, see ?" ^' Oh ! Patsy has a saloon. It is the person who dispenses the beverages he has trouble with." " That's the racket, Jedge. You've got it dead to rights. You see. Patsy sets this bloke in his shebang a sending along the old stuff, and everything goes hunkeedoree tills he sees his nibs sporting a super, and togged out to the queen's taste. Well, Patsy's pooty fly, he is, and he dropped to the' caper — so he spotted the felleh, and to-day he catched him work- ing the damper." "Working the damper?" " Yes ; collaring the boodle." " Collaring the — my friend, for goodness sake, be explicit. What do you mean ?" " Hang it, Jedge, it's clear enough — he was tapping the till." " Tapping the till ? Ah, I see, he was appropri- ating the receipts to his own use in the proprietor's absence." " That's the talk — appropriatin' the receipts is the go. You've got it down fine, Jedge. That's what the codger did — appropriated Patsy Burns' receipts. So Patsy sent me round to see as if you wouldn't give him the collar, and make him produce. He's HIS SUNDAY CLOTHES 179 a bad lot, he is and you ought to give him a stretch." " What ? Would you be so barbarous as to have me hang the man ?" '^ Who's talkin' of hangin'? What I said is he ought to get a nip." "Get a nip?" " Yes, go up the river." " I see, I see. Go to Sing Sing. My friend, we will try to accommodate you. But this conversation is trying to a man of my constitution. Go to Patsy Burns, I beg you. Tell him to bring his grievance here in person, and let him bring a little of the ver- nacular along." " Maybe you're right, Jedge, an' maybe you aint, but it does seem rough on a citizen and taxpayer if he can't get justice unless he's swallowed a lone dic- tionary, and crammed down jawbreakers fit to bust him. So long." HIS SUNDAY CLOTHES. S.OMETHIN' cur'ous in his air, Sheepy look about his eyes ; Gone and pompadoured his hair, Got on one of dad's best ties. Wonder if he's goin' to town ? Prinked enough, the goodness knows I Somethin's brewin', I'll be bound — John's got on his Sunday clo'es. 180 HIS SUNDAY CLOTHES Washed his hands with extry care, Shaved himself from ears to throat, Curled his mustache, I declare ! Pinned a rosebud on his coat. Face shines like the harvest moon, Puttin' powder on his nose. Somethin's boun' to happen soon — John's got on his Sunday clo'es. Usual clo'es a suit of jean, Hat a broad-brimmed wideawake. Biggest boots was ever seen, Hands worn hard by hoe and rake ; Now his shoes are shinin' black, Small an' narrer at the toes, An' on Wednesday, cur'ous fac' ! John got on his Sunday clo'es. Pretty girl at Turtle Brook, Daughter of Selectman Smith, With a mild, angelic look Fit to enter Heaven with. Yellow hair and hazel eye. Cheeks as red as any rose — Guess she knows the reason why John's got on his Sunday clo'es. THIRTY YEAS8 WITH A aHREW 181 THIRTY YEARS WITH A SHREW. ST. PETER stood guard at the golden gate With a solemn mien and an air sedate, When up at the top of the golden stair A man and woman, ascending there, Applied for admission. They came and stoong, For my lungs are good and my voice is strong* So good St. Peter, you'll clearly see The gate of Heaven is open for me ; But my old man, I regret to say, Hasn't walked exactly the narrow way. He smokes and chews and grave faults he's got^ And I don't know whether he'll pass or not, " He never would pray with an earnest vim, Or go to revival or join in a hynm ; So I had to leave him in sorrow there While I in my purity said my prayer, He ate what the pantry chose to afford, While I sang at church in sweet accord ; And if cucumbers were all he got, It's a chance if he merited them or not -But O, St Peter, I love him so, To the pleasures of Heaven please let him go I've done enough — a saint I've been. Won't that atone ? Can't you let him in ? But in my grim gospel I know 'tis so, That the unrepentant must fry below: fHIRTY YEAM WITH A SHREW 181 But isn't there some way you can see That he may enter, who's dear to me? * It's a narrow gospel by which I pray, But the chosen expect to find the way Of coaxing or fooling or bribing you So that their relations can amble through. And say, St Peter, it seems to me This gate isn't kept as it ought to be. You ought to stand right by the opening there, And never sit down in that eaay chair. ** And say, St Peter, my sight is dimmed, But I don't like the way your whiskers are trimmed; They're cut too wide and outward toss ; They'd look better narrow, cut straight across. Well, we must be going, our crowns to win, So open, St Peter, and we'll pass in." ♦ ♦**♦♦ St Peter sat quiet, he stroked his staff, But spite of his office he had to laugh ; Then he said, with a fiery gleam in his eye, •* Who's tending this gate, you or I ?" And then he rose in his stature tall, And pressed the button upon the wall, And said to the imp who answered the bell,- * Escort this lacfy around to — Hades." The man stood still as a piece of stone- Stood sadly, gloomily there alone ; A lifelong settled idea he had, That his wife was good and he was bad; 184 THIRTY YEARS WITH A 8HRSW He thought if the woman went down below, That he would certainly have to go • That if she went to the regions dim There wasn't a ghost of a chance for hhn. Slowly he turned, by habit beit, To follow wherever the woman went St. Peter standing on duty there Observed that the top of his head was bare. He called the gentleman back and said " Friend, how long have you been wed ?" « Thirty years " (with a weary sigh), And then he thoughtfully added, " Why ?" St Peter was silent With eye cast down. He raised his head and scratched his crown • Then seeming a different thought to take. Slowly, half to himself, he spake : "Thirty years with that woman there? No wonder the man hasn't any hair ; Chewing is nasty ; smoke's not good ; He smoked and chewed ; I should think he would " Thirty years with a tongue so sharp ? Ho ! Angel Gabriel, give him a harp ; A jeweled harp with a golden striftg ; Good sir, pass in where the angels sing ; Gabriel, give him a seat alone — One with a cushion — up near the throne ; Call up some angels to play their best • Let him enjoy the music and rest I paddy's reflections on cleopathera's needle 186 See that on the finest ambrosia he feeds ; He's had about all the Hades he ne^. It isn't just hardly the thing to do, To roast hun on eartli and the future, too." ****** They gave him a harp with golden strings, A glittering robe and a pair of wings ; And he said as he entered the realms of day^ " Well, this beats cucumbers any way." And so the Scriptures had come to i>ass, That " The last shall be firet, and the first shaB ba last" Brooklyn Eagle. PADDY'S REFLECTIONS ON CLEOPATHERA'S NEEDLE. O O that's Cleopathera's Needle, bedad, ^ An' a quare lookin' needle it is, I'll be bound ; What a powerful muscle the queen must have had That could grasp such a weapon an' wind it around I Imagine her sittin' there stitchin' like mad With a needle like that in her hand ! I declare It's as big as the Round Tower of Slane, an', bedad, It would paas for a round tower, only its square 1 The taste of her, ordherin' a needle of granite } Begorra, the sight of it shtrikes me quite dumb I And look at the quare sort of figures upon it ; I wondher can these be the thracks of her thimib ? 186 paddy's reflections on CLEOPATHERaV^ NEEDLl I once was astonished to hear of the faste Cleopathera made upon pearls ; but now I declare, I would riot be surprised in the laste If ye told nie the woman had swiillowed a cowl It's easy to see why bould Ca^ar should quail In her presence an' meekly submit to her rule; Wid a weapon like that in her fist I'll go bail She could frighten the soul out of big Finn MacCooH But, Lord, what poor pigmies the women are now, Compared with the monsthers they must have been then ! Whin the darlin's in those days would kick up a row, Holy smoke, but it must have been hot for the men. Just think how a chap that goes courtin' would start If his girl was to {)riKl him with that in the shins I I have often seen needles, but bouldly assart That the needle in front of me there takes the pins/ O sweet Cleopathera ! I'm sorry you're dead ; An' whin lavin' this wonderful needle behind, Had ye thought of bequathin' a spool of your thread And yer thimble an' scissors, it would have been kind. But pace to your ashes, ye plague o' great men, Yer strenth is de[)arted, yer glory is past ; Veil never wield sceptre nor needle again, And a poor little asp did yer bizness at last CORMAC O'LkARY, WHO SAXTY CLAUS WUZ 187 WHO SANTY CLAUS WUZ. From Rhymes of Childhood. Permission of the Boweu-Merrill Company, Publishers. JES' a little bit o' feller — I remember still — Ust to almost cry fer Christmas, like a youngster will. Fourth o' July's nothin' to it ! — New Year's aint a smell ; Easter Sunday — Circus-day — jes' all dead in the shell ! Lordy, though ! at night, you know, to set around and hear The old folks work the story oft' about the sledge and deer, And '' Santy " skootin' round the roof, all wrapped in fur and fuzz Long afore I knowed who " Santy Claus " wuz ! Ust ter wait, and set up late, a week er two ahead ; Couldn't hardly keep awake, ner wouldn't go to bed ; Kittle stewin' on the fire, and mother settin'here Darnin' socks, and rockin'in the skreeky rockin'-cheer ; Pap gap', and wunder where it wuz the money went, And quar'l with his frosty heels, and spill his liniment ; And me a-dreamin' sleigh-bells when the clock 'ud whir and buzz Long afore I knowed who " Santv Claus " wuz ! 188 WHO SANTY GLAUS WUZ Size the fireplace up, and figure how ^^ Old Santy " could Manage to come down the chimney, like they said he would ; Wisht that I could hide and see him — wundered what he'd say Ef he ketched a feller layin' fer him thataway ! But I bet on him, and liked him, same as if he had Turned to pat me on the back and say, " Look here, my lad, Here's my pack, jes' he'p yourse'f, like all good boys does !" Long afore I knowed who " Santy Glaus " wuz ! Wisht that yarn was true about him, as it 'peared to be— Truth made out o' lies like that-un's good enough fer me ! — Wisht I still wus so confidin' I could jes' go wild Over hangin' up my stockin's, like the little child Climbin' in my lap to-night, and beggin' me to tell 'Bout them reindeers and " Old Santy " that she loves so well ; I'm half sorry fer this little-girl sweetheart of his — Long afore She knows who " Santy Glaus " is ! James Whitcomb Riley. ENCOURAGING SELF-MURDER 189 ENCOURAGING SELF-MURDER. " T HAVE determined to die," he said, as he en- X tered the drug-store, and brought his fist down on the counter with force enough to make the candy- bottles dance. '' I have resolved to make away with myself. Apothecary, mix me a powerful potion, which will finish my earthly career. Give nie some- thing against which antidotes are of no avail, and which the stomach-pump is powerless to withdraw. Do you understand ?" '^ Yes, sir,'' replied the druggist, as he took dowm a bottle containing some whitish powder. " This is the strongest poison known. I'll give you ten grains of it, which will be quite enough for your purpose." The druggist proceeded to weigh the powder and wrap it up, saying as he did so : " I would advise you to take this poAvder to your room, first being careful to make your will, and do such other matters as you deem necessary, for after you have swallowed the potion you will not be able to do anything before it begins to take effect. Imme- diately on swallowing it, first dissolving the contents of the paper in a spoonful of water, you will feel a sort of cold chill run up your spine. Then your arms will begin to shake, and your knees will knock together. Presently you will be unable to stand, and you will sink into a chair. Your eyes will then pain you. Sharp twinges will run through the eyeballs, and in about half a minute total blindness will follow. 190 ENCOURAGI^iG SELF-MURDER Presently gripes will seize the stomach, and you will bend forward in agony. Racking headaches will be added to your other sensations, followed by intense pains in the ears, like ordinary earache intensified a thousand times. Twinges like those of gout seize the extremities, the chills of the spinal cord become unbearable, the tongue protrudes, and the patient falls from the chair on his face, and unconsciousness follows, which last a few minutes, until death super- venes. Twenty-five cents, please." The package was ready, but the customer did not take it. For Reading and Recitation By CHARLES C. SHOEMAKER Adapted for Use in Public and Private Paper Binding, 30 cts. Cloth, SO cts /^S its name implies, the selections are chosen with ^ the greatest care, avoiding the coarse and vulgar on the one hand, and the flat and insipid on the other. The Publishers possess unequaled facilities for secur- ing the best readings of every character, and the present volume may be considered without a rival. The pieces are new, but few of them having previ* ously appeared in any similar publication, and the range of subjects is unusually wide. The repertoires of many of the best amateur and pro* iessional readers have been examined, and the choicest bits of humor have been carefully culled and bound up in this rich, golden sheaf, and are here offered to the public for the first time in book form. The book contains eighty-five pieces, is clearly printed on good, strong paper, and is bound in a handsome and appropriately engraved cover. Sold by all booksellers, or mailed upon receint 0* price. X020 Arch Street ^tiila Choice Dialect FOR Reading and Recitation By CHARLES C. SHOEMAKER 200 Pages Handsomely Engraved Cover Paper, 30 cents; Cloth, 50 cents * 'T^HIS volume contains a rare collection of Choice J^ Dialect of every variety, covering a broad range of sentiment, and suited to almost every occa- sion. The transitions from grave to gay, from humor- out to pathetic, and from the simply descriptive to the highly dramatic, will be found unusually wide. Many of the selections have never before appeared in print, and none of them are repetitions of those con- tained in any of our other publications. It is believed that the book will meet the wants of those who are partial to selections in dialect, but whose good taste and good sense are often shocked by the coarsenesf that too frequently prevails in books of this character. Sold by all Booksellers and Newsdealers, or mailed ipon receipt of price. XMIG PC^X PUBI^ISHIXG C09IPA1KY X020 Arcli Street Pliiladelplila •^•'U