THANKSGIVING (AND UTHIR) RHYMES E'JGEJVE *P ^VN '^$ 9S~$% Class Book Copyright N° COFYKIGHT DEPOSIT. THANKSGIVING (AND OTHER) RHYMES EUGENE BROWN COP'S RIG [I'll : 1 1 190 EUSKSE UK (J W -\ I'l- OKIA, 1 1.1 . LIBRARY of CONGRESS Two C spies Received JAN 2 1904 Copyright Entry 0~cJc i-i- i i r CLASS 0- XXc. No. 7 ' cfopv s ■i ■ o3 *0» \ learn to sing. Hardly clothes enough to hide me, she a clingin' to my wing. --- ' I } « ^ ■ • » n Wit t p ^ " The big, long rows of jelly." 5 Care a dura about the weather, er the work we had to do; It was love that we was thinkin', love that's old an' tried and true. That's what makes me think 'twas finer, when of course it wasn't, though, An' I kind o' like to tell about the "used to be" ye know. Neighbors! Neighbors then, I tell ye, everybody in the set. I remember how we borried from each other, even yet. How we traded, one with t'other, wa'n't no mone}' question then; It was brother, friend an' brother, an' it never'll be again. But we still kin love the harder, if we only jest will try, As we sit around the table, eatin' Mother's home made pie, An' ferget about th' neighbors, an' th' feller that was mean, Jest by keepin' close together, with a conscience good an' clean. Jest a peggin' on ferever, with the love an' with the sweat, If we jest kin pull t'gether, why, we'll git there, maybe, vet. 31 n ®o §>taij. As I sit bj' the grate, and I muse along, While the wet log seems to be hummin' a song, And the blazes flicker and die away — My feet up high, 'cause I'm "in to stay"; As the light goes out an' I'm there alone — That is, save the cat on the white hearth stone- There's a feelin' comes that I can't control, And it seems to capture my very soul. Outside the house the stars are bright, And 'spite of the cold, it's an elegant night. Jest such a sort of a night you'd like Made for a sleighride over the pike. But here I am, an' I can't be there, So I settle further into my chair, An' my gaze moves 'round to familiar traps; The old cat stretches herself an' gapes. Why, you couldn't buy my seat b' that grate. Not if you'd give me the whole durned state. I'm in this evenin', and in to stay, An' a team of mules couldn't get me away. I chuck on another good stick o' wood — The tire brightens an' feels so good, Then dies again to that ruddy glow That looks so cheerful like, don't ye know. Why, you couldn't pull me away, I say, Not with your team, the grey an' th' bay. An' I doubt if addin' the other two You could pull my frame from the dear old flue, 'Cause I'm feelin' sort o' jest this way: I'm fixed jest right, an' I'm "in to stay". " Our own good eatin'." in rnrr ani» ullim. (These verses were written for my father's 62nd birthday celebration, and I sat still with them in my pocket until the celebration was over, because of my modesty. I have since become more careless, and they are now printed in all their sublimity.) At three score years and two, and yet so spry. Would think 'twere only thirty, maybe less: And having- still the keenest ear and eye, Would seem to me a tub of happiness. These things alone, I think, without the rest, Would quite suffice to make him feel quite gay, But when with two good legs and arms he's blest, Most any man would welcome this great day. " The Turk." In checking up life's book, he turns along Until the new page numbers "Sixty-two It seems to me with mind and body strong The fun of life is just begun anew. No record now to make, or path to choose, No wish, except to have a right good time; No fear of putting in to win or lose, Like man will do when onl}' in his prime. It seems that Sixty-two is just the place When one who reaches there as well as he Can safely rest and saj-, "I've won the race; I'll sit me down 'neath life's big shady tree. "And when I see a chance to make a stake. Without the chance of loss, or fear or care, I'll take it, with my right hand on the brake. And give my orders from an easy chair." A time like this I'd call the cake of life, And naught but fun, as mentioned heretofore. To visit with a loving help-mate wife, Where business cannot find him any more. •Pirturrr. nf .llllittnir.. Carry me back to the good old home, Back where the plow turns the rich black loam: < >ver the bridge at th' turn o' th' road, CJp on th' hill where th' Sumach growed. Back where the leaves are all aglow, Just as th' Autumn sun is low. Back where the Wahoo grows so high, There in the vale, where th' crick runs dry. There where th' first mud pies were made, Back where we little ones always played. Back to the hills and th' dales so grand, Back to th' dear old "Sucker" land. Over th' wheat fields, up an' down, Out o' th' noise and dust in town. Thro' th' big woods to th' Walnut trees, Swaying up high in th' Autumn breeze. There you can find me in heart, sir, still. Just as I love them, I always will. Wljrrr atrt HBliat 3J'br 'Ei. (For a Thanksgiving- toast at the Brown House, 1902 ) I have et in lofty gables Ami I've et beneath the trees. From the humblest veg-e-tables To the swell imported cheese. I have et in SanFrancisco And I've et in New Orleans, I have et the famed Nabisco And the Heinz's Pork & Beans. I have et from cut glass dishes, And from wooden plates as well. I have et the ocean fishes, Which were surely mighty swell. I have eaten clammy chowder. And the oyster from the shell. I have et complexion powder, Which I hadn't better tell. I have skimmed the skum of juices From the California fruit. I have et in train cabooses And the dining car to boot. I have et in three-cent flunkies, Where the cook is never in. I have even et with monkeys, Or they might as well have been. I have et of biscuits shredded And of some just made to keep. I have et veal cutlets, breaded, That would grace the garbage heap. I have et bologna ringers And the famous wiener wurst; They were surely old hum-dingers. And you had to see them first. I have even et in gutters, With the table on a box. I have et all sorts of butters. Some as strong as Streator's ox. I have et the Macaroni And the milk that's made of chalk. I have tasted codfish bony That was loud enough to talk. I have et the perfumed onions In a greasy little fry: They will penetrate your bunions And the taste will never die. But my heart is kind o' swellin' And I guess I might as well Settle down and get to tellin' What I started out to tell. So there aint no need to worry. Just keep sittin' on your chair, 'Cause I'll tell it in a hurry, And I'll tell it on the square. It will only take a minute, And I'll tell it good and loud. I am not ashamed what's in it, So I'll tell the whole durned crowd. Now get ready, folks, to hear it, Bend your ears out toward your nose- Now I think I feel the spirit — Yes, I know it— here she goes: When it comes right down to cookin'. Mother Brown does touch the spot; She is mighty blamed good lookin', And she skins the whole durned lot. An 31 litmus JgUttn-&torm. It was jest along towards evenin', an' the day'd been hot an' dry; Not a rain since Decoration— not a ripple in th' sky. Till this day in airly August, looked an awful lot like rain, An' th' breeze struck up that evenin' waved the corn stalks an' th' grain. All along the broad horizon thunder heads begun to show, An' th' clouds all looked like funnels, an' th' wind begun to blow. Looked a good deal like a cyclone. It was rain we all could tell, 'Cause the air was so refreshin', an' it had that rainy smell. Then we heered th' distant thunder, comin' louder every time; Hadn't heered that fer a quarter — sounded sweet as any chime. Then agin th' Western sunlight you could see the rain beat down, An' th' neighbors said they heered it when it crossed th' nearest town. All th' time it thundered louder, gettin' blacker all around. What a blessin' was a comin'; it would moisten up th' ground. Lay th' dust an' help th' farmers, fill th' cisterns, all gone dry. So we all sat out to watch it, as the clouds was rush- in' by. Then we thought we felt a sprinkle. If it rained we wouldn't run, 'Cause we wanted rain so badly, gettin' wet would jest be fun. Then the ducks begun to chuckle an' we knew th' rain was near, An' the thunder, like a battle, seemed to pierce from ear to ear. But the storm kept on a comin', we a settin' out there still 'Till the West begun to brighten where the storm had seemed to spill; Then th' thunder ceased to rattle — an' th' night be- gun to fall — All our own imagination — 'cause it didn't rain, at all. 3ttn Sajjlar's uiliankruuiuuri. Jimmie Taylor — just an orphan, left to go the world alone, Just a reckless sort o' stroller, not a soul to call his own; But they took him in at Taylor's, 'cause he didn't seem so bad. An' they brush'd him up an' kept him, an' it made his heart feel grlad. All the summer long he labored with the others 'round the place; When they went to look the cows up he was always in the chase. He was just a buxum hunter, never failed to find the game, And no matter how they scolded, Jim was always just the same. Always stirrin' at the daybreak, always last to bed at night; When the boys would get in trouble, he was always there to fight. Didn't care a cent fer money — hardly ever left the place, An' no matter when you went there, you would see his pleasant face, Makin' friends with all the strangers, like the ones he knew the best, Sittin' on the kitchen door-sill, just as happ}' lis the rest. 'Twas the mornin' of Thanksgivin', an' it happened I was there; Mrs. Taylor cookin' turkey, good things steamin' everywhere. Jim was sittin' there a thinkin', savin' not a single word ; He had never seen Thanksgivin', but from what he seen and heard He could tell that some uncommon thing was hap- penin' that da3% But poor Jim, somehow or other, didn't have a word to say. Not a soul had thought to tell him anything about the fun, Or the turkey he'd be eatin', just as soon as it was done ; So he just was sittin' thinkin' as the folks went to an' fro, May be he was losin' favor, sort o' out o' place, you know. So he moped around until he couldn't stand it any more ; Then he stole in by the fire-place, an' laid down on the floor. All the time the folks was busy g-ettin' dinner fer the crowd, An' the young folks seemed so happy, an' the\ r laughed an' joked so loud; Not a soul had missed poor Jimmie, an' he soon dropped off to sleep By the big- red open fire, in a cozy little heap. An' at last we sat at Dinner, an' the glee was at its height, But they'd left out orphan Jimmie, an' I didn't feel just right; But I thought of course they knew it, an' it wa'n't m}' place to sa}\ But I thought of Jim, so faithful, now to miss Thanks- givin' Day — 'Cause the dinner was the makin' of Thanksgivin' Day to me — An' to think of Jim a sleepin', kind o' spoilt the thing', you see. Didn't seem to me like human, yet I kept the secret still 'Till they all had finished eatin', an' I, too, had got my fill; Then I mustered up the courage 'nough to mention Orphan Jim, An' they all with meri-3' laughter, said, "We hadn't thought of him". But we went an' found poor Jimmie, an' we gave him what was left, An' he ate it with a relish, not like one of friends be- reft, An' he didn't seem to think we'd slighted him a single bit, But he just kept on a eatin', like he wouldn't ever quit, An' it did more good fer me to see him stow the grub away Than I ever had in eatin' any old Thanksgivin' Day. So the story now is ended, Jim got all that he could eat Of the good Thanksgivin' gravy an' the splendid tur- key meat, But I couldn't quite get over thinkin' how they slight- ed him. It was Taylor's big pet Bull-dog. There's the secret, that was Jim. 32 ^\9 34 iflil "Hurkrijr" Tiinmr. (These verses were written to be published in the form of ;i popular song, about the time of the "Stale song-" craze. The actual time consumed in writing and correcting was fourteen minutes.) There's a treasure in my mem'ry that will always have a place In recollections of the days gone by; 'Tis my home in broad Ohio, as it stood in stately grace, And a thought of home and Mother brings a sigh. The pictures of my boyhood stand before me bright as day — Methinks I see my Father as of yore. And my boyish friends and playmates, in the games we used to play, As we gathered 'round the little cottage door. "As it stood in stately grace." Just a passing mem'ry of the dear old "Buckeye" land, Just a mental picture of the hills and dales so grand, 'Tis a grand companion, as in sadness now I roam. Just to see Ohio, and my dear old "Buckeye" home. There's another fond remembrance of the place I long to see, 'Tis a girl I met and learned to love so well; 'Twas a pretty mi id of just eighteen, and true as she she could be, And I long to see her now, my love to tell. The sun shines bright for me at home, a welcome al- ways there; Perhaps some day I'll wander as before, In the pathways of my childhood, with my sweet- heart, fond and fair, For I love the dear old "Buckeye" more and more. Just a passing mem'ry of the dear old "Buckeye" land, Just a mental picture of the hills and dales so grand, 'Tis a grand companion, as in sadness now I roam. Just to see Ohio, and 013' dear old "Buckeye" home. 2-190#