THE EVENING COMPANY
Within the sitting-room, the company
Had been increased in number. Two or three
Young couples had been added: Emma King,
Ella and Mary Mathers—all could sing
Like veritable angels—Lydia Martin, too,
And Nelly Millikan.—What songs they knew!—
"'Ever of Thee—wherever I may be,
Fondly I'm drea-m-ing ever of thee!'"
And with their gracious voices blend the grace
Of Warsaw Barnett's tenor; and the bass
Unfathomed of Wick Chapman—Fancy still
Can feel, as well as hear it, thrill on thrill,
Vibrating plainly down the backs of chairs
And through the wall and up the old hall-stairs.—
Indeed young Chapman's voice especially
Attracted Mr. Hammond—For, said he,
Waiving the most Elysian sweetness of
The ladies' voices—altitudes above
The man's for sweetness;—but—as contrast, would
Not Mr. Chapman be so very good
As, just now, to oblige all with—in fact,
Some sort of jolly song,—to counteract
In part, at least, the sad, pathetic trend
Of music generally. Which wish our friend
"The Noted Traveler" made second to
With heartiness—and so each, in review,
Joined in—until the radiant basso cleared
His wholly unobstructed throat and peered
Intently at the ceiling—voice and eye
As opposite indeed as earth and sky.—
Thus he uplifted his vast bass and let
It roam at large the memories booming yet:
"'Old Simon the Cellarer keeps a rare store
Of Malmsey and Malvoi-sie,
Of Cyprus, and who can say how many more?—
But a chary old so-u-l is he-e-ee—
A chary old so-u-l is he!
Of hock and Canary he never doth fail;
And all the year 'round, there is brewing of ale;—
Yet he never aileth, he quaintly doth say,
While he keeps to his sober six flagons a day.'"
... And then the chorus—the men's voices all
Warred in it—like a German Carnival.—
Even Mrs. Hammond smiled, as in her youth,
Hearing her husband—And in veriest truth
"The Noted Traveler's" ever-present hat
Seemed just relaxed a little, after that,
As at conclusion of the Bacchic song
He stirred his "float" vehemently and long.
Then Cousin Rufus with his flute, and art
Blown blithely through it from both soul and heart—
Inspired to heights of mastery by the glad,
Enthusiastic audience he had
In the young ladies of a town that knew
No other flutist,—nay, nor wanted to,
Since they had heard his "Polly Hopkin's Waltz,"
Or "Rickett's Hornpipe," with its faultless faults,
As rendered solely, he explained, "by ear,"
Having but heard it once, Commencement Year,
At "Old Ann Arbor."
Little Maymie now
Seemed "friends" with Mr. Hammond—anyhow,
Was lifted to his lap—where settled, she—
Enthroned thus, in her dainty majesty,
Gained universal audience—although
Addressing him alone:—"I'm come to show
You my new Red-blue pencil; and she says"—
(Pointing to Mrs. Hammond)—"that she guess'
You'll make a picture fer me."
"And what kind Of picture?" Mr. Hammond asked, inclined
To serve the child as bidden, folding square
The piece of paper she had brought him there.—
"I don't know," Maymie said—"only ist make
A little dirl, like me!"
He paused to take
A sharp view of the child, and then he drew—
Awhile with red, and then awhile with blue—
The outline of a little girl that stood
In converse with a wolf in a great wood;
And she had on a hood and cloak of red—
As Maymie watched—"Red Riding Hood!" she said.
"And who's 'Red Riding Hood'?"
"W'y, don't you know?"
Asked little Maymie—
But the man looked so
All uninformed, that little Maymie could
But tell him all about Red Riding Hood.
MAYMIE'S STORY OF RED RIDING HOOD
W'y, one time wuz a little-weenty dirl,
An' she wuz named Red Riding Hood, 'cause her—
Her Ma she maked a little red cloak fer her
'At turnt up over her head—An' it 'uz all
Ist one piece o' red cardinal 'at 's like
The drate-long stockin's the store-keepers has.—
O! it 'uz purtiest cloak in all the world
An' all this town er anywheres they is!
An' so, one day, her Ma she put it on
Red Riding Hood, she did—one day, she did—
An' it 'uz Sund'y—'cause the little cloak
It 'uz too nice to wear ist ever' day
An' all the time!—An' so her Ma, she put
It on Red Riding Hood—an' telled her not
To dit no dirt on it ner dit it mussed
Ner nothin'! An'—an'—nen her Ma she dot
Her little basket out, 'at Old Kriss bringed
Her wunst—one time, he did. And nen she fill'
It full o' whole lots an' 'bundance o' good things t' eat
(Allus my Dran'ma she says ''bundance,' too.)
An' so her Ma fill' little Red Riding Hood's
Nice basket all ist full o' dood things t' eat,
An' tell her take 'em to her old Dran'ma—
An' not to spill 'em, neever—'cause ef she
'Ud stump her toe an' spill 'em, her Dran'ma
She'll haf to punish her!
An' nen—An' so
Little Red Riding Hood she p'omised she
'Ud be all careful nen an' cross' her heart
'At she wont run an' spill 'em all fer six—
Five—ten—two-hundred-bushel-dollars-gold!
An' nen she kiss her Ma doo'-bye an' went
A-skippin' off—away fur off frough the
Big woods, where her Dran'ma she live at.—No!—
She didn't do a-skippin', like I said:—
She ist went walkin'—careful-like an' slow—
Ist like a little lady—walkin' 'long
As all polite an' nice—an' slow—an' straight—
An' turn her toes—ist like she's marchin' in
The Sund'y-School k-session!
An'—an'—so
She 'uz a-doin' along—an' doin' along—
On frough the drate big woods—'cause her Dran'ma
She live 'way, 'way fur off frough the big woods
From her Ma's house. So when Red Riding Hood
She dit to do there, allus have most fun—
When she do frough the drate big woods, you know.—
'Cause she ain't feared a bit o' anything!
An' so she sees the little hoppty-birds
'At's in the trees, an' flyin' all around,
An' singin' dlad as ef their parunts said
They'll take 'em to the magic-lantern show!
An' she 'ud pull the purty flowers an' things
A-growin' round the stumps—An' she 'ud ketch
The purty butterflies, an' drasshoppers,
An' stick pins frough 'em—No!—I ist said that!—
'Cause she's too dood an' kind an' 'bedient
To hurt things thataway.—She'd ketch 'em, though,
An' ist play wiv 'em ist a little while,
An' nen she'd let 'em fly away, she would,
An' ist skip on adin to her Dran'ma's.
An' so, while she uz doin' 'long an' 'long,
First thing you know they 'uz a drate big old
Mean wicked Wolf jumped out 'at wanted t' eat
Her up, but dassent to—'cause wite clos't there
They wuz a Man a-choppin' wood, an' you
Could hear him.—So the old Wolf he 'uz 'feared Only to ist be kind to her.—So he
Ist 'tended like he wuz dood friends to her
An' says "Dood-morning, little Red Riding Hood!"—
All ist as kind!
An' nen Riding Hood
She say "Dood-morning," too—all kind an' nice—
Ist like her Ma she learn'—No!—mustn't say
"Learn," cause "Learn" it's unproper.—So she say
It like her Ma she "teached" her.—An'—so she
Ist says "Dood-morning" to the Wolf—'cause she
Don't know ut-tall 'at he's a wicked Wolf
An' want to eat her up!
Nen old Wolf smile
An' say, so kind: "Where air you doin' at?"
Nen little Red Riding Hood she says: "I'm doin'
To my Dran'ma's, 'cause my Ma say I might."
Nen, when she tell him that, the old Wolf he
Ist turn an' light out frough the big thick woods,
Where she can't see him any more. An so
She think he's went to his house—but he haint,—
He's went to her Dran'ma's, to be there first—
An' ketch her, ef she don't watch mighty sharp
What she's about!
An' nen when the old Wolf
Dit to her Dran'ma's house, he's purty smart,—
An' so he 'tend-like he's Red Riding Hood,
An' knock at th' door. An' Riding Hood's Dran'ma
She's sick in bed an' can't come to the door
An' open it. So th' old Wolf knock two times.
An' nen Red Riding Hood's Dran'ma she says
"Who's there?" she says. An' old Wolf 'tends-like he's
Little Red Riding Hood, you know, an' make'
His voice soun' ist like hers, an' says: "It's me,
Dran'ma—an' I'm Red Riding Hood an' I'm
Ist come to see you."
Nen her old Dran'ma
She think it is little Red Riding Hood,
An' so she say: "Well, come in nen an' make
You'se'f at home," she says, "'cause I'm down sick
In bed, and got the 'ralgia, so's I can't
Dit up an' let ye in."
An' so th' old Wolf
Ist march' in nen an' shet the door adin,
An' drowl, he did, an' splunge up on the bed
An' et up old Miz Riding Hood 'fore she
Could put her specs on an' see who it wuz.—
An' so she never knowed who et her up!
An' nen the wicked Wolf he ist put on
Her nightcap, an' all covered up in bed—
Like he wuz her, you know.
Nen, purty soon
Here come along little Red Riding Hood,
An' she knock' at the door. An' old Wolf 'tend
Like he's her Dran'ma; an' he say, "Who's there?"
Ist like her Dran'ma say, you know. An' so
Little Red Riding Hood she say "It's me,
Dran'ma—an' I'm Red Riding Hood and I'm
Ist come to see you."
An' nen old Wolf nen
He cough an' say: "Well, come in nen an' make
You'se'f at home," he says, "'cause I'm down sick
In bed, an' got the 'ralgia, so's I can't
Dit up an' let ye in."
An' so she think
It's her Dran'ma a-talkin'.—So she ist
Open' the door an' come in, an' set down
Her basket, an' taked off her things, an' bringed
A chair an' clumbed up on the bed, wite by
The old big Wolf she thinks is her Dran'ma.—
Only she thinks the old Wolf's dot whole lots
More bigger ears, an' lots more whiskers, too,
Than her Dran'ma; an' so Red Riding Hood
She's kindo' skeered a little. So she says
"Oh, Dran'ma, what big eyes you dot!" An' nen
The old Wolf says: "They're ist big thataway
'Cause I'm so dlad to see you!"
Nen she says,—
"Oh, Dran'ma, what a drate big nose you dot!"
Nen th' old Wolf says: "It's ist big thataway
Ist 'cause I smell the dood things 'at you bringed
Me in the basket!"
An' nen Riding Hood
She say "Oh-me-oh-my! Dran'ma! what big
White long sharp teeth you dot!"
Nen old Wolf says:
"Yes—an' they're thataway," he says—an' drowled—
"They're thataway," he says, "to eat you wiv!"
An' nen he ist jump' at her.—
But she scream'—
An' scream', she did—So's 'at the Man
'At wuz a-choppin' wood, you know,—he hear,
An' come a-runnin' in there wiv his ax;
An', 'fore the old Wolf know' what he's about,
He split his old brains out an' killed him s'quick
It make' his head swim!—An' Red Riding Hood
She wuzn't hurt at all!
An' the big Man
He tooked her all safe home, he did, an' tell
Her Ma she's all right an' ain't hurt at all
An' old Wolf's dead an' killed—an' ever'thing!—
So her Ma wuz so tickled an' so proud,
She divved him all the dood things t' eat they wuz
'At's in the basket, an' she tell him 'at
She's much oblige', an' say to "call adin."
An' story's honest truth—an' all so, too!