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 77Krs!j^warxl Collett 
 
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Class _PJj2jaiX- 
 
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 COPYRIGHT DEPOSm 
 
COPYRIGHT, 1917 
 MR8. HOWARD COLLETT 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 in 2011 with funding from 
 The Library of Congress 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/homepoemsOOcoll 
 
"They both went to church. 
 And both of them sang." 
 
 See Page 38 
 

 "^ ^^ '5^ ^®^ ^^^^?5«^-^$^S^ 
 k ^,^. r^j^. vr^fii -T^j^^/^^i^^^^^i^ 
 
 HOME POEMS 
 
 '^f^: »v«**( 'SJCAt^ n^^.-By 
 
 Mrs, Howard Collett 
 

 ^tjxitKixxtn 
 
 "To the Boys" 
 
 I know that you wonder 
 Just who are the boys. 
 
 So to tell you of them 
 Only adds to my joys, 
 
 For they are the ones 
 Who joined in my play 
 
 *Till childhood was gone, 
 And they all slipped away. 
 
 They first went to school. 
 And it hardly seemed home 
 
 Without the dear boys 
 To play with and roam. 
 
 And when into business 
 They finally went, 
 
 Home life with the boys 
 We knew had.bf^ep spent. 
 
 And the houSe which was once 
 Alive with their noise, 
 
 Was empty and big 
 Without the dear boys. 
 
 And the hearts left behind, 
 Which loved the boys so, 
 
 Were lonely and lost 
 When they all had to go. 
 
 Pa^e Four 
 
 DEC 13 I9t7 
 

 The years came and went, 
 And the fond parents knew 
 
 When Xmas came round, 
 The Doys would come too. 
 
 And little grandchildren 
 Would dance round the tree. 
 
 And the house would be filled 
 With glad Christmas glee. 
 
 And now though the boys 
 Have cares of their own; 
 
 The ones left behind 
 When they went from the home 
 
 Still know they are joined 
 In their cares and their joys. 
 
 By calling to mind 
 The dear precious boys. 
 
 And to feel that the hearts 
 Of four manly men. 
 
 Are beating for you 
 The same as for them. 
 
 Is to feel a support 
 And numberless joys 
 
 In having for brothers, 
 Four big manly boys. 
 
 Pagre Five 
 
PREFACE 
 
 The few poems recorded here were 
 written as a delig'htful pastime while 
 on a bed of sickness. 
 
 They were intended only for the eyes 
 of ''the boys" and for the recalling and 
 retaining of childhood's memories. 
 
 Should they fall into the hands of 
 friends I know they vvill be lenient in 
 their criticism, and so kind is the heart 
 of man I believe strangers will pardon 
 me for submitting to their eyes poems 
 of so personal a character. 
 
 Therefore gentle reader enjo^^ this 
 little book if you can and remember its 
 purpose ere you criticise. 
 
 Pa^e Six 
 
My Pencil and I 
 
 As I lie on my bed 
 By night and by day, 
 I oft take my pencil 
 To while ^te time away. 
 I ask it to speak 
 To those I would see, 
 Who live in a land 
 Far distant from me. 
 
 My pencil responds; 
 Little strength it requires, 
 As it tells them my pleasures 
 My hopes and desires. 
 And it seems I am talking 
 To those who are dear. 
 As it answers my bidding 
 I feel they are here. 
 
 As I lie on my bed 
 In sickness and pain. 
 It oft is my pencil 
 That helps me to gain. 
 For it carries my thoughts 
 From my aches to itself. 
 And bids me to watch it 
 The mischievous elf. 
 
 It says if I watch it 
 'Twill help to make rhyme, 
 And that is my pleasure 
 It whiles away time. 
 When I am tired and 
 Don't want to converse, 
 It comes to my aid 
 And we both make a verse. 
 
 And so 'tis my pencil 
 With whom I am chumming. 
 That joins me in sorrows 
 In jokes and in funning. 
 Although I am sick 
 I hope it and I 
 Can drive from some others 
 The tear and the sisrh. 
 
 Pag-e Seven 
 
We vowed for oar mission 
 To drive cares away, 
 To lighten the burden 
 And brighten the day; 
 And so both together 
 We'll bid them all fly, 
 We too, will be helped 
 My pencil and I. 
 
 A RAMBLE IN THE FALL 
 
 When the days are growing cooler, 
 And you think of frost at night. 
 
 When the leaves are gently falling 
 And the birds are taking flight. 
 
 Then it is I love to wander 
 O'er Ohio's fields and hills, 
 
 Breathe the crisp fresh air of Autumn 
 As my soul with rapture thrills. 
 
 For behold her gorgeous woodland. 
 Every shrub and every tree 
 
 Now is clothed in richest colors. 
 And they seem to talk to me. 
 
 Tell me how they caught the sunshine. 
 Stored away her every ray. 
 
 Then the frosts of autumn kissed them 
 And they turned to colors gay. 
 
 And the wild flowers of the season. 
 Tell me of the sunshine too. 
 
 Of the rains and dews of summer, 
 Of the frost and winds that blew. 
 
 And although my wandering takes me 
 To the solitary glen. 
 
 Or onto the public highway, 
 I am sure to meet with them. 
 
 Note that goldenrod how stately. 
 King of all, I think, is he, 
 
 And the white and purple asters, 
 His attendants seem to be. 
 
 And the iron weed is proving 
 She deserves a better name. 
 
 For her big and purple blossoms 
 Put some other flowers to shame. 
 
 v^^ ^M '€M^m^^M^^'€^ 
 
 Page Eisrht 
 
While the thistle, some will scoff it 
 But I beg" them, ere they're done 
 
 Just to note her myrid blossoms 
 Grouped together forming one. 
 
 ''Oh" you say "the thistle pricks me" 
 Best of friends oft nettle too, 
 
 And the finest of the roses 
 Have big thorns to bother you. 
 
 So I'll gather me the thistle 
 The iron weed and all 
 
 And fill my arms with beauties found 
 When rambling in the fall. 
 
 Look a yonder, see that valley 
 It appears to wear a cloak 
 
 For 'tis shining with the yellow 
 Of the brown-eyed artichoke. 
 
 In the glorious field of nature 
 Nothing can be common there 
 
 Ev^en old and broken fences 
 All her pretty colors wear 
 
 And the boquet whick I gather 
 Will not be half complete 
 
 'Till I add some bright red berries 
 Furnished by the bitter sweet. 
 
 My arms are overflowing 
 With the wild flowers of the fall 
 
 And I also carry homeward 
 Many scenes I'll oft recall. 
 
 And I'll tell them there of nature 
 What a hostess she can be 
 
 How her ways of entertaining 
 Have quite captivated me. 
 
 The Sleep of the Boy 
 
 While playing with toys 
 Alone on the floor 
 The little one entered 
 The sleepy-land door. 
 So gently it opened 
 He just tumbled in; 
 And untroubled sleep 
 Was given to him 
 
 Pagre Nine 
 
The dreams which he had 
 Were of play and of fun, 
 Of how he could skip, 
 Could jump and could run. 
 Of how he could grow 
 To be a big man; 
 And wondrous things do 
 Like his dear Papa can. 
 
 Oh: thanks for the sleep 
 God gives to the boy. 
 With never a nerve 
 Or care to annoy. 
 And thanks that his dreams 
 Are from trouble so free, 
 Oh, Lord for such sleep 
 We're grateful to thee. 
 
 The Moon Which Was ''Boke'' 
 
 The face of the child 
 Was happy and bright 
 Till he looked at the sky 
 One fine summer night. 
 
 The moon which before 
 Was his pretty bright ball, 
 Seemed now to the child 
 To have had a big fall. 
 
 With tears in his eyes 
 The little one spoke. 
 And said that the moon 
 Was "boke" auntie, ''boke" 
 
 When night after night 
 He looked at the skies, 
 The moon was still ''boke" 
 To his dear little eyes. 
 
 Rut when it came full 
 It smiled on him so. 
 He happily said 
 It was "boke", no, no. 
 
 Paee Ten 
 
 
^^^^^^^^m^mimimimm^mk 
 
 Sugar Making 
 
 The winter is breaking 
 A robin I heard 
 
 While out in the woods 
 Sing's the peek a boo bird. 
 
 The barn lot is noisy 
 The hens cackle so 
 
 Yet I hear Mama wonder 
 Where all the eggs go. 
 
 The sunshine and rain 
 Seem^ running a race 
 
 Yet I think that the rain 
 Has gained the first place. 
 
 The ground which was frozen 
 Is now thawing out 
 
 And most anywhere 
 Deep mud is about. 
 
 The men are so busy 
 Sugar making is here, 
 
 And their work in the camp 
 Seems to add to their cheer; 
 
 For with whistle and song 
 And hearts which are free 
 
 The sweet sugar water 
 They haul from each tree. 
 
 In the old sugar house 
 Papa labors and toils 
 
 And watches the pans 
 In which it all boils; 
 
 He carefully skims 
 And carefully tests 
 
 And when it is done 
 It is known as the best. 
 
 And we who have hurried 
 From school to the camp 
 
 Already are paid 
 For the long muddy tramp; 
 
 As down in the ashes 
 Potatoes are baked 
 
 And now to the surface 
 I see they are raked. 
 
 Page Eleven 
 
, i?<Ei -^^^ i?^ ••i:^*^^ •-'r^ -i^^Si. •^^^•■''^t^'-*^^ ^ 
 
 And if any potatoes 
 Are mealy and fine 
 
 'Tis those which are baked 
 At good sugar time. 
 
 And egg's boiled here 
 Are always so good 
 
 To hungr^^ school children 
 \^'hen down in the wood. 
 
 We sit on a log 
 In front of the fire 
 
 While the steam from the pans 
 Rises higher and higher. 
 
 We enjoy our good cooking 
 And eat till we hurt 
 
 While newly made syrup 
 We have for dessert. 
 
 Out here in the woods 
 It seems is the place 
 
 To play we belong 
 To the old Indian race. 
 
 And with whoop and with yell 
 We all act our parts 
 
 And enemies chase 
 With wild Indian darts. 
 
 It is now getting dusk 
 And our play is so real 
 
 I tremble and run 
 With fear which I feel. 
 
 And big Indian men 
 I seemly see 
 
 And I think every one 
 Is now after me 
 
 I breathk;ssly enter 
 The sugar camp door 
 
 And there with my Papa 
 Am saie as before. 
 
 He fixes the fire 
 And pans for the night 
 
 And as we go home 
 I hold to him tight. 
 
 He says that the sap 
 Is nov; dropping fast 
 
 mmm'^^m^^^m^^m.^siim 
 
 Page Twelve 
 
But leaves will come out, 
 Should warm weather last. 
 
 There's no school tomorrow, 
 It will be Saturday 
 
 And out in the woods, 
 We children can play. 
 
 So when morning comes. 
 We go with the men, 
 
 And ride on the sled 
 Which they use to haul in. 
 
 We cook dinner there 
 And 'bout dinner time. 
 
 Our Mama comes down 
 And says it is fine. 
 
 She laughs and she says 
 She thinks she can guess. 
 
 Where all the eggs go 
 From out the hen nests. 
 
 She brought the corn popper. 
 The coals are just right, 
 
 And big flaRy grains 
 Soon jump to our sight. 
 
 Some more maple syrup 
 Papa takes from the pans. 
 
 And carefully pours 
 In new syrup cans. 
 
 He boils all the day 
 And most of the night. 
 
 And we children play 
 As long as 'tis light. 
 
 And when Sunday comes 
 It is raining and damp. 
 
 And still there, is work 
 To do at the camp. 
 
 So we stay at the house, 
 I think you would too, 
 
 If you knew maple wax 
 Was waiting for 5'ou. 
 
 A big taffy pulling 
 Is now our delight. 
 
 And we steal from each other 
 And pull 'till its white. 
 
 Page Thirteen 
 
Some of us braid it 
 Some animals make 
 
 While some of it turns 
 To good sugar cake. 
 
 Now grown I look back 
 And think what was done 
 
 To brighten our childhood 
 And furnish our fun 
 
 And grateful I am 
 That fond memories twine 
 
 Round the home of our youth 
 And the old sugar time. 
 
 A Nice Little Girlie 
 
 I've a clean gingham dress 
 And a clean bonnet too 
 And the nicest errand 
 I am going to do. 
 A basketful of lunch 
 I've here on my arm 
 To take to my Papa 
 Way back on the farm. 
 
 And a jug of cold water - 
 I've here in my hand 
 When he sees me a coming 
 He'll well understand. 
 And in the fence corner 
 We'll both of us sit 
 And of the good lunch 
 We'll leave not a bit. 
 
 We'll drink from the jug 
 And Papa will say 
 I'm a nice little girlie 
 To come all the way. 
 Then homeward I'll go 
 My head all a whirl 
 Since Papa has called me 
 A nice little girl. 
 
 Page Fourteen 
 
God^s Plan 
 
 I was planning ahead 
 For all I should do, 
 
 And it seemed that my work 
 Was noble and true. 
 
 1 thought it essential 
 To do all I could 
 
 But now I can see 
 I misunderstood. 
 
 My Father said "wait" 
 I answered, ''Oh no. 
 
 The duties I see 
 I cannot let go. 
 
 My home and my babies 
 Are all needing me. 
 
 My hands from my work 
 Cannot idle be." 
 
 He whispered, "your babies 
 Are my babies too, 
 
 I'll care for them both 
 And too, care for you. 
 
 The work you have done 
 Has all worthy been; 
 
 New work I wish now 
 Your life to begin." 
 
 I was placed on a bed 
 Of sickness and pain. 
 
 And many long months 
 Was bid there remain. 
 ^^ ''O Father," I cried 
 ''I can't understand," 
 
 Then gently He whispered 
 "Child of mine, take my hand." 
 
 "Walk with me thru the shadows 
 Let me be your Light, 
 
 For I am your Father 
 And all will be right. 
 
 Put your trust in my guidance, 
 I know what is best. 
 
 You now are so weary. 
 Come, lean on my breast." 
 
 Page Fifteen 
 
Your loved ones are coming 
 And trusting in Me, 
 
 As they pray that your health 
 May soon better be. 
 
 The work planned for you 
 Is now being done, 
 
 As you and your loved ones 
 All unto Me come. 
 
 ^ '^Oh, Father," I cried. 
 *'I now understand 
 
 And gladly, so gladly, 
 Take Thee by the hand. 
 
 Since Thou art my light 
 And my guidance be, 
 
 All will be well 
 When walking with Thee." 
 
 A Day at Aunt Mary^s 
 
 We all are so happy, 
 And all are so gay. 
 
 We're asked to Aunt Mary's 
 To come spend the day. 
 
 The uncles and aunts 
 And cousins are many, 
 
 But all are invited, 
 She doesn't slight any. 
 
 Aunt Mary is one 
 Who lives on a farm, 
 
 There's abundance and plenty 
 In house and in barn. 
 
 And all of us know 
 Hospitality there. 
 
 Is as pure and as free 
 As the fresh country air. 
 
 They're a mile from the depot, 
 But what matters that? 
 
 Uncle takes his big horses. 
 So slick and so fat. 
 
 Hitches them to a wagon. 
 To a sled when there's snow. 
 
 And off to Aunt Mary's 
 We happily go. 
 
 Page Sixteen 
 
^^mmmmmmmm^^mm 
 
 We're a jolly big crowd 
 And the ride on the sled 
 
 Is just a beginning 
 Of the fun that's ahead. 
 
 As we drive up the lane 
 From the house, there's a shout 
 
 Aunt Mary and boys 
 Are all coming out. 
 
 The little white dog 
 Adds greeting and cheer 
 
 While the old turkey gobbler 
 Gobbles out, "Welcome here!" 
 
 When we enter the house 
 The table is set 
 
 And the whiffs from the kitchen 
 We'll never forget. 
 
 No great dietition 
 In life or in book 
 
 Ever equalled Aunt Mary 
 In trying to cook. 
 
 And a good country dinner 
 Just done to a ''T" 
 
 Is spread on the table 
 For you and for me. 
 
 She invites us all out 
 And there with our kin 
 
 We partake of the good things 
 Which keep coming in. 
 
 ''Aunt Mary, "/just/ we say 
 "Just when and mow 
 
 Did you get this good dinner 
 You're serving us now?" 
 
 There's joy in good eating 
 And the host is the best 
 
 W ho serves wdth his dinner 
 His jokes and his jest. 
 
 And here from our host 
 Jokes seem to flow out 
 
 As freely as sunshine 
 AVhich is scattered about. 
 
 At the table we linger 
 'Tis here face to face. 
 
 Pagre Seventeen 
 
V^e form our attachments 
 As at no other place. 
 
 Relationship ties 
 Are closer drawn here, 
 
 And the faces we love 
 Are even more dear. 
 
 The afternoon goes, 
 We hardly know how. 
 
 And in the big room 
 We're all gathered now. 
 
 Dear Uncles and Aunts, 
 The hours spent with you 
 
 Are rich golden hours. 
 But their numbers are few. 
 
 Two now have gone on. 
 We remember their love. 
 
 And think of their home 
 In the Heaven above. 
 
 And think of the hours 
 We spent with them here, 
 
 How they joined us in pleasure, 
 And added our cheer. 
 
 'Tis here at Aunt Mary's, 
 Where flowers seem to grow 
 
 As no other flowers 
 I ever did know. 
 
 And here in the fall, 
 Her yard is aglow 
 
 With bright blooming posies. 
 Anywhere that we go. 
 
 The cannas and dahlias 
 Grow high as the trees, 
 
 But the vines on the porch 
 Can out rival these. 
 
 They grow to the roof. 
 Then onward they go. 
 
 Exactly how high. 
 We none of us know. 
 
 Their leaves are as big 
 As the hat which you wear. 
 
 And the perfume from bloom 
 Seems to scent the whole air. 
 
 Pa^e Elg-hteen 
 
The foliage is dense, 
 I never saw such, 
 
 No calibre rifle 
 Could penetrate much. 
 
 But I am in danger, 
 And here I must wait, 
 
 As I speak of her flowers 
 I exaggerate. 
 
 Why look at the clock. 
 It soon will be dark, 
 
 And off to the train 
 We all of us start. 
 
 Aunt Mary and boys. 
 They all go along. 
 
 And the ride on the sled 
 Is like a glad song. 
 
 While the day we have had 
 Is dear beyond measure. 
 
 And excels all the others 
 In bliss and in pleasure. 
 
 H 
 
 Wish I Were A Baby 
 
 Wish I were a baby, 
 Roly poly and fat; 
 Want to snuggle to mother 
 And lie on her lap. 
 
 Want to get of her kisses, 
 Lie close to her breast; 
 For there, like a baby, 
 I know I could rest. 
 
 My pains would all vanish, 
 My sorrows would fly. 
 If I'd hear from my mother. 
 Her sweet luUabye. 
 
 And then from my mother, 
 I'd feel her soft pat. 
 If I were a baby, 
 Roly poly and fat. 
 
 ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ 
 
 Page Nineteen 
 
A Morning Walk 
 
 O, why in the house when the season is May, 
 Come with me awhile at the break of the day. 
 
 Let us walk in the yard, just wander around, 
 Drink the glories of morning in beauty and sound. 
 
 Oh hasten, and come with me out of door, 
 Were ever such beauties imagined before'? 
 
 Just look at the sky out tliere in the east, 
 'Tis almost ablaze with bright golden streaks. 
 
 And the orchard, just see with bloom 'tis aglow; 
 Some clusters are pink, and some white as snow. 
 
 While its pink and its white, its fragrance and all 
 Are crowned with the beauties and wonders of Sol. 
 
 Look there at the garden, how it grew in the night, 
 And each blade of grass bears a bright sparkling light. 
 
 The locusts are budding, while here, tliere and 
 Fruit trees of all kinds in bloom are now out. [about 
 
 See the lambs in the orchards, liow they frisk and 
 they play. 
 And the birds how they sing at the break of tlieday. 
 
 The cat bird so saucy, the pewee so dear; 
 The robin, song sparrow, and all do we hear. 
 
 "Dear birds, let me ask you, why such roundelay, 
 Though soon 'twill be June, and now it is May;" 
 
 My Friend to that bank over there, let us go. 
 For that is the place where the violets grow. 
 
 O flower of my heart, so modest and sweet, [sleet. 
 You've braved the cold blasts, the snow and the 
 
 You give to us here the beauties so rare; 
 We've given you never a thought or a care. 
 
 A lesson you've taught, O may my life be 
 Courageous, unselfish and modest like thee. 
 
 Now friend . come and look, this old yellow rose 
 Takes me back in my thoughts, far as memory goes. 
 
 Why that lilac bush there and the wild rose on 
 the tree 
 Each spring of my life, blossomed for me. 
 
 But round that catalpa from which liangs the 
 swing. 
 Is the place, wliere I think fondest memories cling. 
 
 Why there with the boys I've played by the day; 
 That tree fairly raised us, I always did say. 
 
 And now let me ask, ''Would you mind pushing me? 
 Once again I would swing to tiie limbs of that tree; 
 
 Once again 1 would grab its pretty bright flowers. 
 Then sit on the grass, play wilh them by the hours. 
 
 Paff* Twenty 
 
I'm apt to forget; are you tired of all this? 
 No longer, I vow, will I now reminisce. 
 
 So let me once swing, and then we will go 
 And see what the roses and peonies show. 
 
 The syringa and snowball are coming out soon; 
 Those holly-hocks and larkspur, 1 think bloom in 
 June. 
 
 But say, did you hear that breakfast bell ring? ;. 
 I forget, but time flies when walking in spring, j 
 
 What flowers for the table would they enjoy most? 
 Those roses, ah me! will give to the toast, 
 
 The eggs and the bacon, the coffee and all, 
 A flavor they always will wish to recall. 
 
 My lungs are just filled with sweet fragrant air, 
 And I haven't a burden, an ache or a care. 
 
 Of this I'm sure, we chose the right way, 
 To spend early morning when the season is May. 
 
 A Song and A Smile 
 
 With the freshness of morning", 
 
 A glow on her face, 
 A young lady's presence 
 
 Illumined the place. 
 With the voice of a bird 
 
 She rocked and she sang, 
 And the place that she brightened 
 
 With sweet music rang. 
 
 As she rocked and she sang, 
 
 A soul, tired and weary. 
 Forgot that the day 
 
 Was cloudy and dreary. 
 And as from her heart 
 
 The songs seemed 'to r^// 
 She wondrously blessed 
 
 The tired weary soul. 
 
 And her light hearted way, 
 
 And cheery sweet smile 
 Were lodged in the soul 
 
 Of the weary meanwhile. 
 And the heart which was heavy 
 
 Almost became light. 
 Because of the one 
 
 So happy and bright. 
 The gay blooming posies 
 
 Paere Twetrty-one 
 
She brought her that day 
 Were pretty and sweet, 
 
 Yet they withered away. 
 But the songs and the smiles 
 
 Of the kind hearted maid 
 In the heart of the weary 
 
 Can never there fade. 
 
 The Old Home 
 
 To the home of my youth 
 
 My thoughts carry me; 
 And there in my fancy 
 
 It seems I can see 
 The house built of brick, 
 
 With its porches and vines. 
 The yard with its flowers 
 
 And trees of all kinds, 
 The orchards and fields 
 
 W^here I once used to roam; 
 All sacred to me 
 
 Are these scenes of my home. 
 
 Each shrub and each tree 
 
 Holds a memory dear, 
 And fond recollections 
 
 For me linger here. 
 Where childhood's sweet days 
 
 In joy slipped away. 
 And life overflowed 
 
 With love and with play. 
 Now time casts a glamour 
 
 And beautifies truth, 
 'Till a little of Heaven 
 
 Seems this home of my youth, 
 
 A Day at the Fair 
 
 No school tomorrow, 
 And none the next day; 
 The Warren County Fair 
 Is now under way. 
 And mama is busy 
 Baking pies and a cake, 
 And frying the chicken 
 She's going to take. 
 
 ^^lamm ^ ^ mm: m m^^-^ 
 
 Pajfo Twenty-two 
 
tr 
 
 o 
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 w 
 
 CD 
 C 
 
 5^ 
 
Our grandma and grandpa 
 
 And kin will be there, 
 
 And we'll all eat together 
 
 When down at the fair. 
 
 The very best dinner 
 
 We'll spread on the ground, 
 
 And list while we eat 
 
 To the merry-go-round. 
 
 Our shoes are all polished. 
 
 On the bed and about 
 
 In stacks by themselves 
 
 Our clothes are laid out. 
 
 For early tomorrow 
 
 I heard mama say, 
 
 We all must be dressed 
 
 And off for the day. 
 
 And when in the morning 
 
 She calls up the stair. 
 
 And tells us to hasten 
 
 To go to the fair 
 
 We jump with a bound. 
 
 Excitment is high; 
 
 Already the buggies 
 
 We s«e passing by; 
 
 The morning is cold, 
 
 But cold frosty air 
 
 Seems to be just a part 
 
 Of the big county fair. 
 
 We hustle about, 
 
 And soon at the gate 
 
 The horses and wagon 
 
 For all of us wait. 
 
 We go 'bout a mile, 
 
 Then we children wonder 
 
 If that woods is the fair 
 
 We see over yonder. 
 
 And where is the house 
 
 Our grandma lives at? 
 
 And the barn with the rooster, 
 
 We ask, ''W^here is that?" 
 
 It takes a long time 
 
 To go to the fair. 
 
 But hip, hip, hurrah, 
 
 I guess we are there. 
 
 Just look at the people 
 
 Page Twenty-three 
 
And my! what a din, 
 
 And look at the buggies 
 
 Which keep pouring in. 
 
 We follow the crowd, 
 
 Unhitch in the shade, 
 
 And then on our papa 
 
 We all make a raid. 
 
 Some ask for a quarter, 
 
 Some ask for a dime, 
 
 And papa is good 
 
 He gives every time. 
 
 And now with our money 
 
 Oh, what will we do. 
 
 So many the places 
 
 For dimes to go to. 
 
 Look there at that show, 
 
 Inside, so they say 
 
 A six legged calf, 
 
 Walks round all the day. 
 
 And there in the other 
 
 A two-headed man 
 
 Winds serpents about 
 
 Anywhere that he can, 
 
 While out in the front, 
 
 In short ballet dress, 
 
 The woman who dances 
 
 Holds one to her breast. 
 
 Over there hear the darkies, 
 
 To that tent let us go; 
 
 For they sing and they dance 
 
 And they play the banjo. 
 
 And not far away 
 
 Is a cure for all pains, 
 
 And people near by 
 
 Are ringing for canes. 
 
 To the right, nigger babies 
 
 Stand up in a row. 
 
 Let us go over there 
 
 And watch the men throw. 
 
 Some good hoky-poky 
 
 I surely will try, 
 
 And the man with the whistle 
 
 I cannot pass by. 
 
 Let's go to the wagon 
 
 Maybe it is late. 
 
 And time for the dinner, 
 
 Paire Twenty-four 
 
^s 
 
 The pie and the cake. 
 
 Why, there they are now, 
 
 Out under a tree 
 
 Aunt Ada and girls 
 
 Are first to see me. 
 
 The cousins are there, 
 
 And so are the boys, 
 
 Who blow their new whistles, 
 
 And make such a noise. 
 
 While grandma and grandpa 
 
 And all of the rest 
 
 Are looking so nice, 
 
 Dressed out in their best. 
 
 The table is spread, 
 
 And it strings quite a ways. 
 
 With good things enough 
 
 To last many days. 
 
 And we pity the people, 
 
 We see over there 
 
 Who eat from a box. 
 
 When they come to the fair. 
 
 Down here where we eat 
 
 Machinery's noise, 
 
 And whirling of wheels 
 
 Attract men and boys. 
 
 And the girls and the boys. 
 
 Think now it is time 
 
 On the merry-go-round. 
 
 To each spend a dime. 
 
 The poultry and stock 
 
 They say is a show, 
 
 And so to see them 
 
 The most of us go. 
 
 Then we haste to the hall. 
 
 Where the county is showing 
 
 The best of her land. 
 
 The choice of her growing. 
 
 Look, the fruit and the squash. 
 
 The corn and the wheat. 
 
 With all other things. 
 
 Which m.an has to eat. 
 
 Are here quite immense, 
 
 Their flavor is rare. 
 
 It seems that they grew 
 
 Just to come to the fair. 
 
 Pag-e Twenty-flve 
 
'Tis in the round house 
 
 Where most women go, 
 
 For the work of their hands 
 
 Is what they there show. 
 
 In the center are flowers, 
 
 On the walls and around 
 
 Wondrous works of the needle 
 
 And pictures are found. 
 
 Outside the round house 
 
 In hopes for some dimes, 
 
 The man who is blind 
 
 On his hand-organ grinds. 
 
 Let's go to the races 
 
 Many others are there, 
 
 According to some 
 
 That's the best of the fair. 
 
 Oh! look at the horses, 
 
 They're now turning in, 
 
 I'll bet the white face 
 
 Is the one that will win. 
 
 Yes, he is the one, 
 
 Let's cheer with the rest. 
 
 And look how the horses 
 
 In blankets are dressed. 
 
 Now they come with more horses, 
 
 Wish I could drive one, 
 
 I'd race with the others 
 
 And my! I would hum. 
 
 Nov^ then, they are started, 
 
 Oh! look, how they fly. 
 
 That gray over there 
 
 They cannot pass by. 
 
 The races are over 
 
 But here is some fun, 
 
 Just look at that couple 
 
 They're both chewing gum. 
 
 She carries his whip. 
 
 And they go holding hands 
 
 AVhile the hair pinned to her 
 
 Is hanging in strands. 
 
 We go to the w^agon 
 
 And Papa is there. 
 
 And says it is time 
 
 To go from the fair. 
 
 But more ice cream, candy 
 
 Pare Twenty -six 
 
 S&, V?^ 'o^M. V?^^ iej'^&^S^'.'Sr^Vf'^^V: 
 
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1 ^^ 5i^^ 5^^5&^3fc?^lS^^ 
 
 We ask him to buy, 
 And the man with balloons 
 We see passing by. 
 We each ask for one, 
 Every color we try, 
 And as we go home 
 We all let them fly. 
 And Mama with baby 
 Asleep on her lap, 
 Says early tomorrow 
 We're all coming back. 
 
 The Old Spring House 
 
 Down the hill at my home 
 The old spring house stood, 
 With its clear running water 
 So cool and so good. 
 Its walls were of brick 
 White- washed in and out. 
 And then for its floor 
 Big stones were dug out. 
 
 Flowers guarded its entrance 
 Vines clung to its wall, 
 The sweet honeysuckle 
 Was sweetest of all. 
 It grew by the step 
 On which yjq would sit, 
 As we drank of good milk 
 We drank too of it. 
 
 To the north of the house 
 
 Was the old cedar tree. 
 
 To its west two large locusts 
 
 I think grew for me, 
 
 For my little play house 
 
 I always had there, 
 
 Down the bank was my cellar 
 
 Up the hill was my stair. 
 
 Large buckets of milk 
 Were hung in the spring. 
 And yet there was room 
 To fish with a string. 
 And when little children 
 
 ^m V^? ^ •^?NJg: ^^ -^-m. --ie^ --iir^ -Jf^^ V^i^ l-r-l^^i^ ^tf^ 
 
 Pag'e Twenty-seven 
 
Some fun must be had, 
 We fished in the spring, 
 And oft caught a crawdad. 
 
 In the little front room 
 The water ran through, 
 And big rolls of butter 
 And puddings and stew. 
 Along with all things 
 Either dainties or meat, 
 Were brought here to cool 
 Far away from the heat. 
 
 The men from the field 
 And the little bare feet. 
 Found here in this room 
 Their coolest retreat. 
 Some good bread and butter 
 With milk eaten here. 
 Sent them back to their work 
 With courage and cheer. 
 
 While the dear little stream 
 
 Which flowed from this spring, 
 
 Ran on out of doors. 
 
 And going did sing 
 
 Of the joy it would give 
 
 To beast, bird and bees. 
 
 By filling a trough. 
 
 Just on purpose for these. 
 
 The old spring house now 
 
 Is all torn away. 
 
 Not a stone can be found 
 
 To tell of its day. 
 
 Yet memory's walls 
 
 Hands of man cannot touch. 
 
 And the old spring house there 
 
 Will not suffer much. 
 
 And on memory's wall 
 
 More to me than all other. 
 
 Is the picture I see 
 
 Of my dear precious mother. 
 
 As she sits at the churn 
 
 In the old spring house door. 
 
 >HSS'>^?^ '*^S. >^*&. ^f^\ v?^' >?^ v?^^^^v?^v?vteL 
 
 Patre Twenty-ei^ht 
 

 The place seems to brighten 
 As never before. 
 
 And the butter she lifts 
 To the bio- butter bowl, 
 Is sweet and is good 
 Like her own precious soul. 
 Should Memory fail 
 One way or another, 
 I hope she will keep 
 This picture of mother. 
 
 The Old Swing 
 
 Eight children I see, and all in one swing. 
 All of them shout and all of them sing, 
 
 And all of them laugh and make a big noise, 
 For all are so happy, and most of them boys. 
 
 They robbed of the bridge to get a swing board; 
 None other so big, did they seem to afford. 
 
 And as they piled in, both the big and the little, 
 I lieard them all shout, "Me not sit in the middle." 
 
 They cling to the board and they hang to it too, 
 Those who stand by the rope, the pushing must do. 
 
 They make it go straight, then sidewise they go. 
 And bump the old tree with blow upon blow. 
 
 Then out on the porch there appears a sweet face. 
 To see if lier babies have yet lost their place. 
 
 She thinks they will fall, the jar is so great, 
 But she counts on the board and they still number 
 eight. 
 
 To Wallace 
 
 We are thinking today, 
 How our hearts beat with joy. 
 When we heard of the coming 
 Of a dear baby boy. 
 
 We remember the grandpa, 
 HasciB^made believe he was old: 
 And hobbled on crutches, 
 When the good news was told. 
 
 To this dear baby l)oy. 
 They had given his name; 
 And no other bat»y, 
 Was just quite the same. 
 
 
 I'ajre Twenty-nine 
 
Like all other children, 
 He grew and he cried; 
 And soon his Ions' clothes 
 Were all laid aside. 
 
 And before we quite knew 
 He was using a spoon, 
 And when we went driving- 
 He cried for the moon. 
 
 The cure for each sorrow. 
 Each bump, and each fall. 
 Was to kiss Daddie's picture 
 Which hung on the wall. 
 
 He had light golden curls, 
 Ways winning and sweet. 
 And won the attention 
 Of all he did meet. 
 
 We remember quite well, 
 Wheo he first learned to walk. 
 And recall the days 
 Of beginning to talk. 
 
 And now as I listen 
 I think I can hear, 
 A sweet little voice 
 Calling out ^'Mother dear.". 
 
 Can it be I am dreaming. 
 Or is it all true, 
 Eleven years have now passed 
 Since this baby was new. 
 
 As this is his birthday. 
 It gives me much joy. 
 To wish many returns. 
 To this dear darling boy. 
 
 When My Love Came To Me 
 
 When my love came to me the earth was so bright, 
 And the birds it seemed sang from morn until night; 
 
 The season was fall, but to me it was June, 
 For 1 thought that the world was then all atune. 
 
 But when in my dreams my love went away, 
 The earth had no light by night or by day. 
 
 Pasr* Thirty 
 
lag^. "^i^. 'S^. '.-<»*>;---. 
 
 And the notes of the birds were plaintive and sad, 
 While it seemed that tlie earth in winter was clad. 
 
 But now wide awake, I'm thankful that dreams 
 Are not the real things, but only what seems. 
 
 For my love which came once has ne'er gone away; 
 And the birds are still singing for me all the day, 
 
 While tlie earth seems to me to still be atune; 
 And down in my heart I feel it is June. 
 
 In This Land Far Away'^ 
 
 In this land far away, the sweet zephyrs play; 
 And Nature just smiles it seems, all the day. 
 
 The sunshine is bright, the clouds are so few; 
 But all is so strange, and all is so new, 
 
 And I long for the place where I once used to roam: 
 And I long for the place which to me is my home. 
 
 In this land far away ttie people are kind, 
 None others so thoughtful did I yet ever find; [good; 
 
 They plan for one's pleasure, they hope for one's 
 Yet I would go home if I thought that I could. 
 
 For I long for the faces I once used to see. 
 And I long for the one who is dearest to me. 
 
 In this land far away, my babies are near; 
 And otliers I love are too, with me here. 
 
 Yet 1 think of the one who at home had to stay; 
 And misses the children, their romp and their play; 
 
 And I pray that the Father in the heaven above, 
 Will send me in health back home to my love. 
 
 Send me back with my cliildren, from this land 
 far away. 
 To the land where their father is lonely today. 
 
 Let us stay all together in our own little home; 
 O Lord, may we never again have to roam; 
 
 For I long for my love, think of him all the day, 
 In this land wliich from home is far, far away. 
 
 *New Mexico 
 
 Ye Christmas Bells 
 
 Ring out, ye merry Christmas bells, 
 The Christ child born your ringing tells, 
 Ring load, and long, and far and near. 
 Proclaim to all glad Christmas cheer. 
 
 The song, once sung by angel band, 
 Resound throughout our native land. 
 To rich and poor, to yoang and old, 
 Peal forth the story, shepherds told. 
 
 
 Pag-e Thirty -one 
 
In foreign lands, and war swept zones, 
 Send forth your healing peaceful tones. 
 Mid battle's fierce and awful din, 
 Ring-, ''Peace on earth, Good will to men." 
 
 / Can See Him Now 
 
 I can see him now, when his step was light, 
 Health surged in his veins, and in manhood's might, 
 
 He busied himself tlie whole da^' tli rough. 
 Attaining the purpose he held in view. 
 
 I can see him now, as his horse he did ride, 
 And viewed liis farm lands, for crops were his pride. 
 
 How stately lie sat, and with dignity rare, 
 He busied himself in the free country* air. 
 
 I can see him now, his wife by his side, 
 His face all aglow, his heart filled witli pride. 
 
 As they journeyed together, riglit well did he 
 None ever more fair witli man did ere go. [know, 
 
 I can see him now, when liis boys would come 
 home. 
 And tell of their work and where they did roam. 
 
 His face, how it brightened, his step, it grew light, 
 Whenever his boys came liome for the night. 
 
 I can see him now, when on miscliief bent, 
 He entered into some merrimeiit. 
 
 And told a good story or played a g<»od joke, 
 And lightened the burden for some other folk. 
 
 I can see him now, deliberate and calm, 
 Naught seemed to worry, naught seemed to harm. 
 
 He talked with mucli wit, he read all lie could, 
 Few others in converse were ever so good. 
 
 I can see him now, wlien his step was slow, 
 Wlien shattered in health, with cane he did go. 
 
 I wish that my mind of tliat picture would free. 
 And bring back my father as he first seemed to me. 
 
 Cherry Picking 
 
 I am going back now 
 
 To those days on the farm, 
 
 When cherries were ripe; 
 
 And, bucket on arm, 
 
 Some barefooted children 
 
 To the trees picked their way, 
 
 And filled their tin buckets 
 
 With cherries called May. 
 
 Paee Thirty -tvfo 
 
Their hearts were as light 
 As the cherries were red; 
 For well they remembered. 
 Their mother had said, 
 A big cherry cobbler, 
 Or a pie she would make, 
 If they'd bring her the cherries 
 On time for the bake. 
 
 As their buckets they filled, 
 Their hearts were atune. 
 For Nature was with them, 
 The season was June. 
 The birds in the tree-tops, 
 Robin, redhead and flicker. 
 Seemed to challenge their rights 
 And with them to dicker. 
 
 From the old ''skatin" hole 
 
 Frogs joined the refrain, 
 
 When they picked the ripe cherries 
 
 From the trees in the lane. 
 
 And the old cider house. 
 
 Even that had a tune, 
 
 As the wood-pecker pecked 
 
 From morn until noon. 
 
 But speaking of cherries. 
 On the farm you could flnd 
 Trees of every description. 
 And most every kind. 
 TLie big white in the yard. 
 You'd think were the best. 
 Till you'd gone to the others, 
 And sampled the rest. 
 
 For up in the orchard 
 
 The tartarian stood; 
 
 Big, fat and black cherries, 
 
 So luscious and good. 
 
 "Go away, Mr. Robin, 
 
 You can't have of these. 
 
 If you want some ripe cherries. 
 
 Go hunt other trees." 
 
 The barefooted children 
 Of whom I once spoke. 
 
 Page Thirty-three 
 
Ju8t feasted on cherries; 
 As did older folk. 
 They gathered all kinds, 
 And straddle bugs made, 
 As they ate of the fruit, 
 Under trees in the shade. 
 
 Now they are grown. 
 And backward they look, 
 And think of the cherries 
 Of which they partook. 
 And think of the freedom 
 Dished out to them then. 
 Before they were women, 
 Before they were men. 
 
 A Bumble-Bee Fight 
 
 O come, brother come, I heard the men say, [hay. 
 
 There's a bumble-bee nest down where they make 
 We had best wear our shoes, we can't whi a round. 
 
 If we fight them bare-footed on new stubble ground. 
 
 The wagon goes back, both of us can ride; 
 
 But bumble-bee paddles we first must provide. 
 Those four which you have will serve us the best; 
 
 Now^ here comes the wagon, let's ride to the nest. 
 
 I'll tie my sunbonnet tight under my chin, 
 The bumble-bees then can scarcely get in; ffoe, 
 
 Now they're stopping the horses, over there is our 
 Let's play we are soldiers, and march as we go. 
 
 Here's the nest now, I'll stir it for fun. 
 Oh my! they are mad, just hear how they hum. 
 
 And look, who would think it, they're all coming out, 
 And humming and buzzing and flying about. 
 
 O run, brother run, they fly after you. 
 
 Oh my, I am scared, after me there are two. 
 Ah there, I hit one, now he i? done for, 
 
 But look, look a coming, after me there are more. 
 
 Oh now, 'tis my paddles my life depends on. 
 And I stand and I fight, till J tliink all are gone. 
 
 But no, there's another, oh, where can he be? 
 I declare, in my bonnet is that big bumble bee. 
 
 Off it comes with a jerk, and now he is dead, 
 I am thankful, so thankful I still have my head. 
 
 And the ones after you, you say you killed themV 
 So far in the fight we show we can win. 
 
 7:/ff /r.ifi vO/Sf /Tiifii vO/^f vd/J* v»^^ v*^/« >^/f? v 
 
 Paere Thirty-four 
 
Now again they are settled let's sneak to the nest, 
 And fig^ht with our paddles till we've conquered 
 
 O they are so saucy and try to fly out; [the rest. 
 But bumble bee paddles are whizzing about. 
 
 We fight with our might, not one must get by. 
 
 Ver}^ soon we discover there's none left to fly. 
 So we look for the booty, 'tis lioney we find. [kind. 
 
 While it doesn't lookclean, it's the best of it's 
 
 And to the cliild's palate, this honey is grand, 
 
 Tliough flavored a little witli dirt and witli sand. 
 We leel we are lieroes, and tell of the fray 
 As we ride to our iiome on a big load of hay. 
 
 We Went Fishing 
 
 Remember that day, 
 
 Oh, brother Ben, 
 
 When town seemed a nuisance. 
 
 And the house seemed a pen'^ 
 
 I said, "Let's go fishing," 
 
 You answered 'Sve'll go. 
 
 And into the river 
 
 Our cares we will throw." 
 
 I managed the lunch. 
 You dug for the bait; 
 And then for the car 
 We scarcely could wait. 
 And when it did come, 
 It seemed to be slow; 
 \Vc were off for the river. 
 In a hui'ry you know. 
 
 From car line to river. 
 
 The walk it was long, 
 
 But vf hat did that matter. 
 
 In our hearts was a song; 
 
 A song of the water, of birds, and of trees 
 
 A song of the fishes, of sunshine and bees 
 
 For down by the river. 
 
 God seemed to just spill 
 
 An abundance of nature, 
 
 Of love and good will. 
 
 W' e fished all the day. 
 And scarcely took time 
 To eat of our lunch, 
 
 Paso Thirty-five 
 
For each cork and each line 
 Showed signs of a nibble, 
 And then of a bite. 
 Now, we'd sure have a fish. 
 If we'd just work it right. 
 
 But when with a jerk 
 Our hooks came to air, 
 We were always convinced 
 Our fish weren't there. 
 For out in the river, 
 They'd teasingly dash. 
 Then jump to the surface 
 And down, with a splash. 
 
 ''Mr. Fish, how you fooled me,' 
 My brother would say. 
 ''But that's no good reason 
 You'll fool me all day. 
 I'll wade in the river, 
 My line I'll throw out; 
 And then I will catch you, 
 Mr. Fish, I've no doubt." 
 
 So into the water 
 
 My dear brother waded 
 
 But never a fish 
 
 Took the hook which he baited. 
 
 I sat on the bank 
 
 And fished with much pluck. 
 
 And shared with my brother 
 
 His very same luck. 
 
 When off to our home 
 We finally went, 
 We said that that day 
 Was a day well spent. 
 We'd caught from old Nature 
 The breeze through the trees. 
 The gurgle of water, 
 The hum of the bees. 
 
 We'd left by the river 
 Our worries and fears, 
 And caught of her freedom 
 A lesson for years. 
 
 Pagre Thirty-six 
 
Then flow, river flov, 
 Your rhythm and song 
 Will lighten the burden 
 For many a throng. 
 And as for me, 
 As long as I've days, 
 I'll love you, dear riv^er. 
 And sing of your praise. 
 
 The Boys of Our Country 
 
 The boys of our country, are going- away. 
 
 And thtj heart of our nation is saddened today. 
 But she trustingly prays tliat the Father above, 
 
 Will give to her boys his guidance and love. 
 
 The boys of our country, on them we depend. 
 As they're going away our rights to defend. 
 
 For the freedom of men like their fathers before, 
 The boys of our country, are going to war. 
 
 They're going to war that autocracy end, [friend, 
 The oppressed and down-trodden they hope to be- 
 
 Tlie rights of the world they're now lighting for, 
 The boys of our country, who've gone to the war. 
 
 Boys of our country, our hearts are with you, 
 As you carry to battle the red, white and blue 
 
 We trust to your care her stars and her bars, 
 And know you'll protect the flag which is ours. 
 
 We know that her colors wil) thrill your hearts thru. 
 
 For the glory of her you'll die if need to, 
 We ask that you hold her as high as you can. 
 
 For she is the symbol of justice to man. 
 
 As she floats for a purpose so noble and true, 
 Our God will be with you in all that you do. 
 
 And when victor's crown our nation shall wear. 
 We'll shout for her bovs, so brave and so fair. 
 
 A Dear Little Lady and A Dear 
 Little Man 
 
 A dear little lady, 
 A dear little man, 
 Have won my affections, 
 As few others can. 
 They're the joy of my life, 
 To my heart hold the key; 
 
 Paere Thirty-seven 
 
And in its best chambers, 
 They know they are free. 
 
 And there with their father 
 I hope they will stay; 
 For life would be lonely, 
 With them g-one away. 
 And life would be useless. 
 To me it would seem, 
 If I hadn't them ever 
 To think oi and dream. 
 
 They're the spice of my life. 
 Their mischief and play 
 ?»lake me wonder each night 
 What they'll think of next day. 
 And, though they are children. 
 She's five and he's two. 
 The nonsense they think of 
 Would quite baffle you. 
 
 And when at their play 
 Their laugh gurgles out, 
 And I hear from their voices 
 Their noise and their shout. 
 I call it sweet music, 
 To me it is that. 
 Though they haven't yet heard 
 Of sharp or of flat. 
 
 All day I enjoy them 
 And play with them too; 
 '''Tis always more fun. 
 Dear Mama, with you." 
 And when in the night 
 They're both sound asleep, 
 I turn on the light. 
 And go take a peep. 
 
 I think of their day 
 
 How their babies were cross. 
 
 How the chairs which they drove, 
 
 Were galloping horse. 
 
 How they both went to church 
 
 And both of them sang. 
 
 And beat on their pans 
 
 With rattlety, bang, bang. 
 
 Pasre Thirty-elprht 
 
Then they played they were sol- 
 
 And both went to war, [diers 
 
 And then went to school, 
 
 And oh, a lot more. 
 
 Now tired irom their play. 
 
 They seem to enjoy 
 
 The sound blessed sleep 
 
 Of the girl and the boy. 
 
 These dear little children, 
 
 As every one knows. 
 
 Are bright as the noon-day, 
 
 As sweet as the rose. 
 
 They're my life's greatest blessing. 
 
 And thankful I am, 
 
 I have this dear little lady 
 
 And this dear little man. 
 
 Apple Butter 
 
 I don't care much for pickles, 
 But it gives me joy to hear, 
 
 Of the ''picklin" in the kitchen 
 In the fall time of the year. 
 
 For I've often taken notice 
 When the "picklin" work in done, 
 
 Then the talk of apple butter 
 Is most sure to always come. 
 
 And they do not talk it only. 
 For before we are aware. 
 
 We're a set of busy people 
 As the apples we prepare. 
 
 And it seems a family business. 
 For the men and women too 
 
 Sit at night and peel together 
 For the apple butter stew. 
 
 And next day all interests center 
 Out around the open fire. 
 
 Over which the apples "cookin," 
 Give the promise, all desire. 
 
 And we take our turn at '^stirrin," 
 *''Tellin" jokes and stories round; 
 
 Pag-e Thirty-nin* 
 
And we seem most gypsy folks 
 **Cookin" yonder on the ground. 
 
 And when apples, cider, spices, 
 All are blended into one. 
 
 And when sugar too is added. 
 Mother says 'tis nearly done. 
 
 What's the matter with my nostrils, 
 Scents so good I never knew. 
 
 Why those odors from the kettle 
 Fill my soul and body through. 
 
 And that sample from the saucer, 
 Goodness gracious! none but mother 
 
 Could concoct and get together 
 Such good "tastin" apple butter. 
 
 The Twins 
 
 A very proud father, 
 I've heard others sa3% 
 To the home of a grandma 
 Was hurried one day; 
 To tell her, *'get ready, 
 A dear baoy boj^ 
 Had come to their home 
 To add to their joy," 
 
 As they drove to the bouse. 
 She noticed a smile 
 Kept playing about 
 His face all the while. 
 And when she went in 
 To take her first peep, 
 Two babies there lay, 
 And both fast asleep. 
 
 She threw up her hands. 
 Was greatly surprised. 
 Two little babies 
 She never surmised. 
 The dear little boy 
 Journeyed there not alone, 
 A girl baby came 
 With him to the home. 
 
 Paere Forty 
 
i^5§J 
 
 They grew and they cried, 
 And together they played; 
 And no end of work 
 Their dear mother made. 
 Yet she was so proud, 
 And loved them both so, 
 And happily watched them 
 Develop and grow. 
 
 They were always together, 
 
 Were never content 
 
 If one from the other, 
 
 So very far went. 
 
 He called her Pet, 
 
 And one day on the stair, 
 
 A can of molasses 
 
 The babies spilt there. 
 
 They were found licking it 
 As well as they could; 
 And brother kept saying 
 '''Tis dood. Pet, dood." 
 When next the twin babies 
 I see on the floor. 
 They laugh at the books 
 They've laughed at before. 
 
 As to pranks of their childhood, 
 I'll try not commence, 
 But I seemingly see them 
 As they walk the board fence. 
 And when on the twins. 
 Again do I look. 
 They're going to school 
 With pencil and book. 
 
 And the house of red brick 
 With its steeple and bell. 
 Seemed a wonderful place 
 In which to go spell. 
 And the teacher to them 
 Was a person so wise, 
 And the board of directors 
 Were kings in their eyes. 
 
 Year after year 
 
 To this school did they go. 
 
 l*as:e Forty-one 
 
And mastered together 
 
 The things they should know. 
 
 Two little playmates 
 
 They had with them here, 
 
 For Nellie and Carl 
 
 Were to them ever dear. 
 
 The good game of Fox, 
 Was played time and again, 
 And they rushed with the others 
 To beat to the den. 
 The apples, which puffed 
 Their pockets out so. 
 Were shown, and then placed 
 On their desks in a row. 
 
 They dranK from a bucket 
 
 On a seat in the rear. 
 
 For never of germs 
 
 Did they then ever hear. 
 
 And when it came night 
 
 Oft they rushed from the school. 
 
 To fill the wood box 
 
 Their brother to fool. 
 
 1 am sure I can say 
 
 That never a lover 
 
 Thought more of her sweetheart. 
 
 Than sister of brother. 
 
 And in the White House 
 
 She dreamed he would sit, 
 
 And she would live with him. 
 
 Be mistress of it. 
 
 'Twas almost her wish 
 He were not her brother, 
 For fear he would go 
 And marry another; 
 For then in his heart 
 She second would be, 
 And she hoped that his girl 
 She never would see. 
 
 Three happy years 
 In high-school they spent. 
 And weather permitting 
 Each day came and went. 
 
 Pasre Forty-two 
 
The drive of four miJes 
 Was a most pleasant ride. 
 They enjoyed it together, 
 And both, side by side. 
 
 He joyed in her pleasures, 
 She reveled in his; 
 And they hoped for each other 
 In the once a month quiz. 
 Geometry tried her, 
 He helped demonstrate, 
 And probably saved her 
 A terrible fate. 
 
 The latin they mastered 
 
 With equal delight, 
 
 And together translated 
 
 By day and b^^ night. 
 
 And when with great splendor, 
 
 They both graduated. 
 
 Ah, then the sad story, 
 
 The two separated. 
 
 And it seemed a bad fate 
 Which made them to part. 
 And caused the big ache 
 Way down in each heart. 
 Yet, I know very well. 
 That strong is the tie; 
 And together they'll dwell 
 In the sweet bye and bye. 
 
 My Caller 
 
 Of all good people 
 
 I like to write; 
 
 So I'll tell you now 
 
 Of one last night. 
 
 Who came to my sick room. 
 
 And cheerily said, 
 
 ''I've brought you some roses, 
 
 Some white, and some red." 
 
 Yes, roses she gave. 
 But that was not all, 
 She brought me of sunshine 
 When she came to call. 
 
 Paff© Forty-three 
 
^/»r v5^/sr vs^>f -T^A y^i«f 
 
 She brought me of cheer. 
 And hoped I felt good. 
 If I didn't now, 
 She was sure I soon would. 
 
 She is not an old friend, 
 Comparatively new 
 But the love in her heart 
 Just fairly shines through. 
 And happy the da^^s, 
 I remember them all, 
 And sing of their praise, 
 When she came to call. 
 
 Sugar-kisses 
 
 Down at the Ridgeville store, I 
 
 know. 
 Were the very best things 
 Man ever did show. 
 Wrapped all in paper of every hue. 
 With a verse tucked in 
 For me and for you. 
 Whoever would enter 
 Child, mister or misses. 
 They always would ask 
 For some good sugar kisses. 
 
 Those kisses so sweet. 
 
 Those verses still sweeter, 
 
 Were the lovers delight. 
 
 As he hastened to greet her. 
 
 And many's the one 
 
 Who'd gone out of the business. 
 
 Had it not been 
 
 For those good sugar kisses. 
 
 Then off with my hat. 
 And down on my knees. 
 To that jar on the shelf. 
 In which he keot these. 
 And thanks that mj^ palate 
 As a child, didn't miss, 
 The wonderful flavor 
 Of the sweet sugar kiss. 
 
 Pa«re Forty-four 
 
Alfred's Dog 
 
 Heigh, oh; What's that I see? 
 
 A dog to a wagon, 
 
 Well, that bp-ats me. 
 
 And there on the seat 
 
 Is a driver too, 
 
 A nice little man 
 
 I know. Don't youl 
 
 And look at that dog. 
 How fast he can go. 
 He would do for a circus. 
 Would do for a show. 
 And look at that driver. 
 Wish he were my beau. 
 I'd ride in the wagon. 
 And off we would go. 
 
 Dear Little Book 
 
 Dear little book, 
 All mildewed and worn, 
 
 Every leaf in you. 
 Is tattered and torn. 
 
 Wee finger prints 
 You have on each page. 
 
 You are all soiled 
 And yellowed with age. 
 
 Yet, dear little book. 
 Tucked away in your folds 
 
 Is hidden a value 
 Which no other holds. 
 
 Bright happy faces 
 Oft over you bent. 
 
 While sweet little voices 
 Rang glad merriment. 
 
 A most loving mother. 
 Your dear pages read, 
 
 To children in nighties 
 All ready for bed. 
 
 Pagre Forty -five 
 
Then she heard baby lisp 
 '*Me ont it to teep" 
 
 And chubby hands held you 
 While going to sleep. 
 
 First thing in the morning, 
 For you did they look. 
 
 Oh, you are so precious, 
 Dear little book. 
 
 Page Forty-six 
 
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 ROSWELL. N. M.