"I've waited twenty year—let's see— Yes, twenty-four, an' never struck, Altho, I've sot roun' patiently, The fust tarnation streak er luck. O, no," said Joe, "Hain't hed no show," Then stuck like mucilage to the spot, An' sot, an' sot, an' sot, an' sot.
"I've come down regerlar every day For twenty years to Piper's store. I've sot here in a patient way, Say, hain't I, Piper?" Piper swore. "I tell ye, Joe, Yer hain't no show; Yer too dern patient"—ther hull raft Jest laffed, an' laffed, an' laffed, an' laffed.
SAM WALTER FOSS.
THE MYSTIFIED QUAKER IN NEW YORK.
Respected Wife: By these few lines my whereabouts thee'll learn: Moreover, I impart to thee my serious concern. The language of this people is a riddle unto me; For words with them are figments of a reckless mockery. For instance, as I left the cars, a youth with smutty face Said, "Shine?" "Nay I'll not shine," I said, "except with inward grace." "What's inward grace?" said this young Turk; "A liquid or a paste? Hi, daddy, how does the old thing work?" I then said to a jehu, whose breath suggested gin, "Friend, can thee take me to a reputable inn?" But this man's gross irrelevance I shall not soon forget; Instead of simply Yea or Nay, he gruffly said, "You bet!" "Nay, nay, I will not bet," I said, "for that would be a sin. Why dost not answer plainly? can thee take me to an inn? Thy vehicle is doubtless made to carry folks about in; Why then prevaricate?" Said he, "Aha! well now, you're shoutin'!" "I did not shout," I said, "my friend; surely my speech is mild: But thine (I grieve to say it) with falsehood is defiled. Thee ought to be admonished to rid thy heart of guile." "Look here, my lovely moke," said he, "you sling on too much style." "I've had these plain drab garments twenty years or more," said I; "And when thee says I 'sling on style' thee tells a wilful lie." With that he pranced about as tho' a bee were in his bonnet, And with hostile demonstrations inquired if I was "on it." "On what? Till thee explain, I cannot tell," I said; But he swore that something was "too thin," moreover it was "played." But all his antics were surpassed in wild absurdity By threats, profanely emphasized, to "put a head" on me. "No son of Belial," I said, "that miracle can do." With that he fell upon me with blows and curses too; But failed to work that miracle, if such was his design; Instead of putting on a head, he strove to smite off mine. Thee knows that I profess the peaceful precepts of our sect, But this man's acts worked on me to a curious effect; And when he knocked my broad-brim off, and said, "How's that for high!" It roused the Adam in me, and I smote him hip and thigh. This was a signal for the crowd, for calumny broke loose; They said I'd "snatched him bald-headed," and likewise "cooked his goose." But yet I do affirm, that I had not pulled his hair; Nor had I cooked his poultry, for he had no poultry there. They called me "bully boy," though I have seen full three-score year; And they said that I was "lightning when I got upon my ear." And when I asked if lightning climbed its ear, and dressed in drab, "You know how 'tis yourself," said one insolent young blab. So I left them in disgust: plain-spoken men like me With such perverters of our tongue can have no unity.
ANONYMOUS.
TO THE "SEXTANT".
O Sextant of the meetin house, wich sweeps And dusts, or is supposed to! and makes fires, And lites the gass, and sumtimes leaves a screw loose, in wich case it smells orful, worse than lamp ile; And wrings the Bel and toles it when men dyes, to the grief of survivin pardners, and sweeps paths And for the servusses gets $100 per annum, Wich them that thinks deer, let 'em try it; Gettin up before starlite in all wethers and Kindlin fires when the wether is as cold As zero, and like as not green wood for kindlin, i wouldn't be hired to do it for no sum. But O Sextant! there are 1 kermoddity Wich's more than gold, wich doant cost nothin, Worth more than anything except the sole of man! i mean pewer Are, Sextant, i mean pewer are! O it is plenty out of doors, so plenty it doant no What on airth to dew with itself, but flys about Scatterin leaves and bloin off men's hatts! in short, it's jest as "fre as are" out dores, But O Sextant, in our church its scarce as buty, Scarce as bank bills, when agints begs for mischuns, Wich some say is purty offten (taint nothin to me, wat I give aint nothin to nobody) but O Sextant U shet 500 men, wimmin, and children, Speshally the latter, up in a tite place, And every 1 on em brethes in and out, and out and in, Say 50 times a minnit, or 1 million and a half breths an our. Now how long will a church ful of are last at that rate, I ask you—say 15 minits—and then wats to be did? Why then they must brethe it all over agin, And then agin, and so on till each has took it down At least 10 times, and let it up agin, and wats more The same individoal don't have the priviledge of brethin his own are, and no ones else, Each one must take whatever comes to him. O Sextant, doant you no our lungs is bellusses, To blo the fier of life, and keep it from goin out; and how can bellusses blo without wind And aint wind are? i put it to your conschens. Are is the same to us as milk to babies, Or water is to fish, or pendlums to clox, Or roots and airbs unto an injun doctor, Or little pills unto an omepath, Or boys to gurls. Are is for us to brethe, What signifies who preaches if i cant brethe? Wats Pol? Wats Pollus to sinners who are ded? Ded for want of breth, why Sextant, when we dy Its only coz we can't brethe no more, thats all. And now O Sextant, let me beg of you To let a little are into our church. (Pewer are is sertain proper for the pews) And do it weak days, and Sundays tew, It aint much trouble, only make a hole And the are will come of itself; (It luvs to come in where it can git warm) And O how it will rouze the people up, And sperrit up the preacher, and stop garps, And yawns and figgits, as effectooal As wind on the dry boans the Profit tells of.
JIM BLUDSO OF THE PRAIRIE BELLE. PIKE COUNTY BALLADS.