Riley Child-Rhymes

  They all climbed up on a high board-fence—
    Nine little Goblins, with green-glass eyes—
  Nine little Goblins that had no sense,
    And couldn't tell coppers from cold mince pies;
      And they all climbed up on the fence, and sat—
      And I asked them what they were staring at.

  And the first one said, as he scratched his head
    With a queer little arm that reached out of his ear
  And rasped its claws in his hair so red—
    "This is what this little arm is fer!"
      And he scratched and stared, and the next one said,
      "How on earth do you scratch your head?"

  And he laughed like the screech of a rusty hinge—
    Laughed and laughed till his face grew black;
  And when he choked, with a final twinge
    Of his stifling laughter, he thumped his back
      With a fist that grew on the end of his tail
      Till the breath came back to his lips so pale.

  [Unavailable image: The Nine Little Goblins]

  And the third little Goblin leered round at me—
    And there were no lids on his eyes at all—
  And he clucked one eye, and he says, says he,
    "What is the style of your socks this fall?"
      And he clapped his heels—and I sighed to see
      That he had hands where his feet should be.

  Then a bald-faced Goblin, gray and grim,
    Bowed his head, and I saw him slip
  His eyebrows off, as I looked at him,
    And paste them over his upper lip;
      And then he moaned in remorseful pain—
      "Would—Ah, would I'd me brows again!"

  And then the whole of the Goblin band
    Rocked on the fence-top to and fro,
  And clung, in a long row, hand in hand,
    Singing the songs that they used to know—
      Singing the songs that their grandsires sung
      In the goo-goo days of the Goblin-tongue.

  And ever they kept their green-glass eyes
    Fixed on me with a stony stare—
  Till my own grew glazed with a dread surmise,
    And my hat whooped up on my lifted hair,
      And I felt the heart in my breast snap to
      As you've heard the lid of a snuff-box do.

  And they sang "You're asleep! There is no board-fence,
    And never a Goblin with green-glass eyes!—
  'Tis only a vision the mind invents
    After a supper of cold mince-pies,—
  And you're doomed to dream this way," they said,—
  "And you sha'n't wake up till you're clean plum dead!"

  [Unavailable image: The Nine Little Goblins—Tailpiece]

  [Unavailable image: Time of Clearer Twitterings—Title]

  I.

  Time of crisp and tawny leaves,
  And of tarnished harvest sheaves,
  And of dusty grasses—weeds—
  Thistles, with their tufted seeds
  Voyaging the Autumn breeze
  Like as fairy argosies:
  Time of quicker flash of wings,
  And of clearer twitterings
  In the grove, or deeper shade
  Of the tangled everglade,—
  Where the spotted water-snake
  Coils him in the sunniest brake;
  And the bittern, as in fright,
  Darts, in sudden, slanting flight,
  Southward, while the startled crane
  Films his eyes in dreams again.

  II

  Down along the dwindled creek
  We go loitering. We speak
  Only with old questionings
  Of the dear remembered things
  Of the days of long ago,
  When the stream seemed thus and so
  In our boyish eyes:—The bank
  Greener then, through rank on rank
  Of the mottled sycamores,
  Touching tops across the shores:
  Here, the hazel thicket stood—
  There, the almost pathless wood
  Where the shellbark hickory tree
  Rained its wealth on you and me.
  Autumn! as you loved us then,
  Take us to your heart again!

  III

  Season halest of the year!
  How the zestful atmosphere
  Nettles blood and brain, and smites
  Into life the old delights
  We have tasted in our youth,
  And our graver years, forsooth!
  How again the boyish heart
  Leaps to see the chipmunk start
  From the brush and sleek the sun
  Very beauty, as he runs!
  How again a subtle hint
  Of crushed pennyroyal or mint,
  Sends us on our knees, as when
  We were truant boys of ten—
  Brown marauders of the wood,
  Merrier than Robin Hood!

  [Unavailable image: Where the shellbark hickory tree]

  IV

  Ah! will any minstrel say,
  In his sweetest roundelay,
  What is sweeter, after all,
  Than black haws, in early Fall—
  Fruit so sweet the frost first sat,
  Dainty-toothed, and nibbled at!
  And will any poet sing
  Of a lusher, richer thing
  Than a ripe May-apple, rolled
  Like a pulpy lump of gold
  Under thumb and finger-tips,
  And poured molten through the lips?
  Go, ye bards of classic themes,
  Pipe your songs by classic streams!
  I would twang the redbird's wings
  In the thicket while he sings!

  Oh, the Circus-Day parade! How the bugles played and played!
  And how the glossy horses tossed their flossy manes, and neighed,
  As the rattle and the rhyme of the tenor-drummer's time
  Filled all the hungry hearts of us with melody sublime!

  How the grand band-wagon shone with a splendor all its own,
  And glittered with a glory that our dreams had never known!
  And how the boys behind, high and low of every kind,
  Marched in unconscious capture, with a rapture undefined!

  How the horsemen, two and two, with their plumes of white and blue,
  And crimson, gold and purple, nodding by at me and you.
  Waved the banners that they bore, as the Knights in days of yore,
  Till our glad eyes gleamed and glistened like the spangles that they wore!

  [Unavailable image: The Circus-Day Parade]

  How the graceless-graceful stride of the elephant was eyed,
  And the capers of the little horse that cantered at his side!
  How the shambling camels, tame to the plaudits of their fame,
  With listless eyes came silent, masticating as they came.

  [Unavailable image: How the cages jolted past]

  How the cages jolted past, with each wagon battened fast,
  And the mystery within it only hinted of at last
  From the little grated square in the rear, and nosing there
  The snout of some strange animal that sniffed the outer air!

  And, last of all, The Clown, making mirth for all the town,
  With his lips curved ever upward and his eyebrows ever down,
  And his chief attention paid to the little mule that played
  A tattoo on the dashboard with his heels, in the parade.

  Oh! the Circus-Day parade! How the bugles played and played!
  And how the glossy horses tossed their flossy manes and neighed.
  As the rattle and the rhyme of the tenor-drummer's time
  Filled all the hungry hearts of us with melody sublime!

  [Unavailable image: And, last of all, the clown]

  [Unavailable image: The Lugubrious Whing-Whang—Title]

  The rhyme o' The Raggedy Man's 'at's best
  Is Tickle me, Love, in these Lonesome Ribs,—
  'Cause that-un's the strangest of all o' the rest,
  An' the worst to learn, an' the last one guessed,
  An' the funniest one, an' the foolishest.—
    Tickle me, Love, in these Lonesome Ribs!

  I don't know what in the world it means—
    Tickle me, Love, in these Lonesome Ribs!—
  An' nen when I tell him I don't, he leans
  Like he was a-grindin' on some machines
  An' says: Ef I don't, w'y, I don't know beans!    Tickle me, Love, in these Lonesome Ribs!—

  Out on the margin of Moonshine Land,
    Tickle me, Love, in these Lonesome Ribs!
  Out where the Whing-Whang loves to stand,
  Writing his name with his tail in the sand,
  And swiping it out with his oogerish hand;
    Tickle me, Love, in these Lonesome Ribs!

  Is it the gibber of Gungs or Keeks?
    Tickle me, Love, in these Lonesome Ribs!
  Or what is the sound that the Whing-Whang seeks?—
  Crouching low by the winding creeks
  And holding his breath for weeks and weeks!
    Tickle me, Love, in these Lonesome Ribs!

  Aroint him the wraithest of wraithly things!
    Tickle me, Love, in these Lonesome Ribs!
  'Tis a fair Whing-Whangess, with phosphor rings
  And bridal-jewels of fangs and stings;
  And she sits and as sadly and softly sings
  As the mildewed whir of her own dead wings,—
    Tickle me, Dear,
        Tickle me here,
    Tickle me, Love, in these Lonesome Ribs!

  [Unavailable image: Waitin' Fer The Cat to Die—Title]

  Lawzy! don't I rickollect
    That-'air old swing in the lane!
  Right and proper, I expect,
    Old times can't come back again;
  But I want to state, ef they
  Could come back, and I could say
  What my pick 'ud be, i jing!
  I'd say, Gimme the old swing
  'Nunder the old locus'-trees
  On the old place, ef you please!—
  Danglin' there with half-shet eye,
  Waitin' fer the cat to die!

  I'd say, Gimme the old gang
    Of barefooted, hungry, lean,
  Ornry boys you want to hang
    When you're growed up twic't as mean!
  The old gyarden-patch, the old
  Truants, and the stuff we stol'd!
  The old stompin'-groun', where we
  Wore the grass off, wild and free
  As the swoop of the old swing,
  Where we ust to climb and cling,
  And twist roun', and fight, and lie—
  Waitin' fer the cat to die!

  'Pears like I 'most allus could
    Swing the highest of the crowd—
  Jes sail up there tel I stood
    Downside-up, and screech out loud,—
  Ketch my breath, and jes drap back
  Fer to let the old swing slack,
  Yit my tow-head dippin' still
  In the green boughs, and the chill
  Up my backbone taperin' down,
  With my shadder on the ground'
  Slow and slower trailin' by—
  Waitin' fer the cat to die!

  [Unavailable image: Barefooted, hungry, lean, ornry boys]

  Now my daughter's little Jane's
    Got a kind o' baby-swing
  On the porch, so's when it rains
    She kin play there—little thing!
  And I'd limped out t'other day
  With my old cheer this-a-way,
  Swingin' her and rockin' too,
  Thinkin' how I ust to do
  At her age, when suddently,
  "Hey, Gran'pap!" she says to me,
  "Why you rock so slow?" ... Says I,
  "Waitin' fer the cat to die!"

  [Unavailable image: Why you rock so slow?]

  [Unavailable image: Naughty Claude]

  When Little Claude was naughty wunst
    At dinner-time, an' said
  He won't say "Thank you" to his Ma,
    She maked him go to bed
  An' stay two hours an' not git up,—
    So when the clock struck Two,
  Nen Claude says,—"Thank you, Mr. Clock,
    I'm much obleeged to you!"

  [Unavailable image: The South Wind and The Sun—Title]

      O the South Wind and the Sun
      How each loved the other one—
  Full of fancy—full of folly—
      Full of jollity and fun!
      How they romped and ran about,
      Like two boys when school is out,
  With glowing face, and lisping lip,
      Low laugh, and lifted shout!

      And the South Wind—he was dressed
      With a ribbon round his breast
  That floated, flapped and fluttered
      In a riotous unrest;
      And a drapery of mist,
      From the shoulder and the wrist
  Flowing backward with the motion
      Of the waving hand he kissed.

      And the Sun had on a crown
      Wrought of gilded thistledown,
  And a scarf of velvet vapor,
      And a raveled-rainbow gown;
      And his tinsel-tangled hair,
      Tossed and lost upon the air,
  With glossier and flossier
      Than any anywhere.

      And the South Wind's eyes were two
      Little dancing drops of dew,
  As he puffed his cheeks, and pursed his lips,
      And blew and blew and blew!
      And the Sun's—like diamond-stone,
      Brighter yet than ever known,
  As he knit his brows and held his breath,
      And shone and shone and shone!

      And this pair of merry fays
      Wandered through the summer days;
  Arm-in-arm they went together
      Over heights of morning haze—
      Over slanting slopes of lawn
      They went on and on and on,
  Where the daisies looked like star-tracks
      Trailing up and down the dawn.

      And where'er they found the top
      Of a wheat-stalk droop and lop,
  They chucked it underneath the chin
      And praised the lavish crop,
      Till it lifted with the pride
      Of the heads it grew beside,
  And then the South Wind and the Sun
      Went onward satisfied.

      Over meadow-lands they tripped,
      Where the dandelions dipped
  In crimson foam of clover bloom
      And dripped and dripped and dripped!
      And they clinched the bumble-stings,
      Gauming honey on their wings,
  And bundling them in lily-bells,
      With maudlin murmurings.

      And the humming-bird, that hung
      Like a jewel up among
  The tilted honeysuckle horns,
      They mesmerized and swung
      In the palpitating air,
      Drowsed with odors strange and rare,
  And, with whispered laughter, slipped away,
      And left him hanging there.

      And they braided blades of grass
      Where the truant had to pass;
  And they wriggled through the rushes
      And the reeds of the morass,
      Where they danced, in rapture sweet,
      O'er the leaves that laid a street
  Of undulant mosaic for
      The touches of their feet.

      By the brook with mossy brink,
      Where the cattle came to drink,
  They trilled and piped and whistled
      With the thrush and bobolink,
      Till the kine, in listless pause,
      Switched their tails in mute applause,
  With lifted heads, and dreamy eyes,
      And bubble-dripping jaws.

      And where the melons grew,
      Streaked with yellow, green and blue,
  These jolly sprites went wandering
      Through spangled paths of dew;
      And the melons, here and there,
      They made love to, everywhere,
  Turning their pink souls to crimson
      With caresses fond and fair.

  [Unavailable image: This pair of merry fays]

      Over orchard walls they went,
      Where the fruited boughs were bent
  Till they brushed the sward beneath them
      Where the shine and shadow blent;
      And the great green pear they shook
      Till the sallow hue forsook
  Its features, and the gleam of gold
      Laughed out in every look.

      And they stroked the downy cheek
      Of the peach, and smoothed it sleek,
  And flushed it into splendor;
      And, with many an elfish freak,
      Gave the russet's rust a wipe—
      Prankt the rambo with a stripe,
  And the winesap blushed its reddest
      As they spanked the pippins ripe.

      Through the woven ambuscade
      That the twining vines had made,
  They found the grapes, in clusters,
      Drinking up the shine and shade—
      Plumpt, like tiny skins of wine,
      With a vintage so divine
  That the tongue of Fancy tingled
      With the tang of muscadine.

      And the golden-banded bees,
      Droning o'er the flowery leas,
  They bridled, reined, and rode away
      Across the fragrant breeze,
      Till in hollow oak and elm
      They had groomed and stabled them
  In waxen stalls that oozed with dews
      Of rose and lily-stem.

      Where the dusty highway leads,
      High above the wayside weeds,
  They sowed the air with butterflies
      Like blooming flower-seeds,
      Till the dull grasshopper sprung
      Half a man's-height up, and hung
  Tranced in the heat, with whirring wings,
      And sung and sung and sung!

      And they loitered, hand in hand,
      Where the snipe along the sand
  Of the river ran to meet them
      As the ripple meets the land,
      Till the dragonfly, in light
      Gauzy armor, burnished bright,
  Came tilting down the waters
      In a wild, bewildered flight.

      And they heard the kildee's call,
      And afar, the waterfall,
  But the rustle of a falling leaf
      They heard above it all;
      And the trailing willow crept
      Deeper in the tide that swept
  The leafy shallop to the shore,
      And wept and wept and wept!

      And the fairy vessel veered
      From its moorings—tacked and steered
  For the center of the current—
      Sailed away and disappeared:
      And the burthen that it bore
      From the long-enchanted shore—
  "Alas! the South Wind and the Sun!"
      I murmur evermore.

      For the South Wind and the Sun,
      Each so loves the other one,
  For all his jolly folly,
      And frivolity and fun,
      That our love for them they weigh
      As their fickle fancies may,
  And when at last we love them most,
      They laugh and sail away.

  [Unavailable image: The Jolly Miller—Title]

  [Restored Romaunt.]

  It was a Jolly Miller lived on the River Dee;
  He looked upon his piller, and there he found a flea:
    "O Mr. Flea! you have bit' me,
      And you shall shorely die!"
    So he scrunched his bones against the stones—
      And there he let him lie!

  Twas then the Jolly Miller he laughed and told his wife,
  And she laughed fit to kill her, and dropped her carvin'-knife!—
    "O Mr. Flea!" "Ho-ho!" "Tee-hee!"
      They both laughed fit to kill,
    Until the sound did almost drownd
      The rumble of the mill!

  "Laugh on, my Jolly Miller! and Missus Miller, too!—
  But there's a weeping-willer will soon wave over you!"    The voice was all so awful small—
      So very small and slim!—
    He durst' infer that it was her,
      Ner her infer 'twas him!

  [Unavailable image: That cat o' yourn I'd kill her]

  That night the Jolly Miller, says he, "It's Wifey dear,
  That cat o' yourn, I'd kill her!—her actions is so queer,—
    She rubbin' 'ginst the grindstone-legs,
      And yowlin' at the sky—
    And I 'low the moon haint greener
      Than the yaller of her eye!"

  And as the Jolly Miller went chuckle-un to bed,
  Was Somepin jerked his piller from underneath his head!
    "O Wife," says he, on-easi-lee,
      "Fetch here that lantern there!"
    But Somepin moans in thunder tones,
      "You tetch it ef you dare!"

  'Twas then the Jolly Miller he trimbled and he quailed—
  And his wife choked until her breath come back, 'n' she wailed!    And "O!" cried she, "it is the Flea,
      All white and pale and wann—
    He's got you in his clutches, and
      He's bigger than a man!"

  "Ho! ho! my Jolly Miller," (fer 'twas the Flea, fer shore!)
  "I reckon you'll not rack my bones ner scrunch 'em any more!"
    And then the Ghost he grabbed him clos't,
      With many a ghastly smile,
    And from the doorstep stooped and hopped
      About four hundred mile!

  Our hired girl, she's 'Lizabuth Ann;
    An' she can cook best things to eat!
  She ist puts dough in our pie-pan,
    An' pours in somepin' 'at's good and sweet,
  An' nen she salts it all on top
  With cinnamon; an' nen she'll stop
    An' stoop an' slide it, ist as slow,
  In th' old cook-stove, so's 'twon't slop
    An' git all spilled; nen bakes it, so
    It's custard pie, first thing you know!
      An' nen she'll say:
    "Clear out o' my way!
    They's time fer work, an' time fer play!—
      Take yer dough, an' run, Child; run!
      Er I cain't git no cookin' done!"

  When our hired girl 'tends like she's mad,
    An' says folks got to walk the chalk
  When she's around, er wisht they had,
    I play out on our porch an' talk
  To th' Raggedy Man 'at mows our lawn;
  An' he says "Whew!" an' nen leans on
    His old crook-scythe, and blinks his eyes
  An' sniffs all around an' says,—"I swawn!
    Ef my old nose don't tell me lies,
    It 'pears like I smell custard-pies!"
      An' nen he'll say,—
    "'Clear out' o' my way!
    They's time fer work an' time fer play!
      Take yer dough, an' run, Child; run!
      Er she cain't git no cookin' done!'"

  [Unavailable image: Wuz parchin' corn fer the raggedy man]

  Wunst our hired girl, one time when she
    Got the supper, an' we all et,
  An' it was night, an' Ma an' me
    An' Pa went wher' the "Social" met,—
  An' nen when we come home, an' see
  A light in the kitchen-door, an' we
    Heerd a maccordeum, Pa says "Lan'—
  O'Gracious! who can her beau be?"
    An' I marched in, an' 'Lizabuth Ann
    Wuz parchin' corn fer the Raggedy Man!
      Better say
    "Clear out o' the way!
    They's time fer work, an' time fer play!
      Take the hint, an' run, Child; run!
      Er we cain't git no courtin' done!'"

  [Unavailable image: The Boys' Candidate]

  Las' time 'at Uncle Sidney come,
  He bringed a watermelon home—
        An' half the boys in town,
  Come taggin' after him.—An' he
  Says, when we et it,—"Gracious me!
        'S the boy-house fell down?"

  [Unavailable image: The Pet Coon—Title]

  Noey Bixler ketched him, and fetched him in to me
    When he's ist a little teenty-weenty baby-coon
  'Bout as big as little pups, an' tied him to a tree;
    An' Pa gived Noey fifty cents, when he come home at noon.
  Nen he buyed a chain fer him, an' little collar, too,
    An' sawed a hole in a' old tub an' turnt it upside-down;
  An' little feller'd stay in there and won't come out fer you—
    'Tendin' like he's kindo' skeered o' boys 'at lives in town.

  Now he aint afeard a bit! he's ist so fat an' tame,
    We on'y chain him up at night, to save the little chicks.
  Holler "Greedy! Greedy!" to him, an' he knows his name,
    An' here he'll come a-waddle-un, up fer any tricks!
  He'll climb up my leg, he will, an' waller in my lap,
    An' poke his little black paws 'way in my pockets where
  They's beechnuts, er chinkypins, er any little scrap
    Of anything, 'at's good to eat—an' he don't care!

  An' he's as spunky as you please, an' don't like dogs at all.—
    Billy Miller's black-an'-tan tackled him one day,
  An' "Greedy" he ist kindo' doubled all up like a ball,
    An' Billy's dog he gived a yelp er two an' runned away!
  An' nen when Billy fighted me, an' hit me with a bone,
    An' Ma she purt'nigh ketched him as he dodged an' skooted thro'
  The fence, she says, "You better let my little boy alone,
    Er 'Greedy,' next he whips yer dog, shall whip you, too!"

  [Unavailable image: An' nen when Billy fighted me]

  [Unavailable image: The Old Hay-Mow—Title]

  The Old Hay-mow's the place to play
  Fer boys, when it's a rainy day!
  I good-'eal ruther be up there
  Than down in town, er anywhere!

  When I play in our stable-loft,
  The good old hay's so dry an' soft,
  An' feels so fine, an' smells so sweet,
  I 'most ferget to go an' eat.

  [Unavailable image: In our hay-mow where I keep store]

  An' one time wunst I did ferget
  To go 'tel dinner was all et,—
  An' they had short-cake—an'—Bud he
  Hogged up the piece Ma saved fer me!

  Nen I won't let him play no more
  In our hay-mow where I keep store
  An' got hen-eggs to sell,—an' shoo
  The cackle-un old hen out, too!

  An' nen, when Aunty she was here
  A-visitun from Rensselaer,
  An' bringed my little cousin,—he  Can come up there an' play with me.

  But, after while—when Bud he bets
  'At I can't turn no summersetts,—
  I let him come up, ef he can
  Ac' ha'f-way like a gentleman!

  [Unavailable image: On The Sunny Side—Title]

  Hi and whoop-hooray, boys!
    Sing a song of cheer!
  Here's a holiday, boys,
    Lasting half a year!
  Round the world, and half is
    Shadow we have tried;
  Now we're where the laugh is,—
    On the sunny side!

  Pigeons coo and mutter,
    Strutting high aloof
  Where the sunbeans flutter
    Through the stable roof.
  Hear the chickens cheep, boys,
    And the hen with pride
  Clucking them to sleep, boys,
    On the sunny side!

  [Unavailable image: As a romping boy]

  Hear the clacking guinea;
    Hear the cattle moo;
  Hear the horses whinny,
    Looking out at you!
  On the hitching-block, boys,
    Grandly satisfied,
  See the old peacock, boys,
    On the sunny side!

  Robins in the peach-tree;
    Bluebirds in the pear;
  Blossoms over each tree
    In the orchard there!
  All the world's in joy, boys,
    Glad and glorified
  As a romping boy, boys,
    On the sunny side!

  Where's a heart as mellow?
    Where's a soul as free?
  Where is any fellow
    We would rather be?
  Just ourselves or none, boys,
    World around and wide,
  Laughing in the sun, boys,
    On the sunny side!

  [Unavailable image: A Sudden Shower—Title]

  Barefooted boys scud up the street
    Or skurry under sheltering sheds;
  And schoolgirl faces, pale and sweet,
    Gleam from the shawls about their heads.

  Doors bang; and mother-voices call
    From alien homes; and rusty gates
  Are slammed; and high above it all,
    The thunder grim reverberates.

  And then, abrupt,—the rain! the rain!—
    The earth lies gasping; and the eyes
  Behind the streaming window-pane
    Smile at the trouble of the skies.

  [Unavailable image: Schoolgirl faces ... gleam from the shawls about their
  heads]

  The highway smokes; sharp echoes ring;
    The cattle bawl and cowbells clank;
  And into town comes galloping
    The farmer's horse, with streaming flank.

  The swallow dips beneath the eaves,
    And flirts his plumes and folds his wings;
  And under the catawba leaves
    The caterpillar curls and clings.

  The bumble-bee is pelted down
    The wet stem of the hollyhock;
  And sullenly, in spattered brown,
    The cricket leaps the garden walk.

  Within, the baby claps his hands
    And crows with rapture strange and vague;
  Without, beneath the rosebush stands
    A dripping rooster on one leg.

  [Unavailable image: A Sudden Shower—Tailpiece]

  [Unavailable image: Grandfather Squeers—Title]

  "My grandfather Squeers," said The Raggedy Man,
  As he solemnly lighted his pipe and began—

  "The most indestructible man, for his years,
  And the grandest on earth, was my grandfather Squeers!

  "He said, when he rounded his three-score-and-ten,
  'I've the hang of it now and can do it again!'

  "He had frozen his heels so repeatedly, he
  Could tell by them just what the weather would be;

  "And would laugh and declare, 'while the Almanac would
  Most falsely prognosticate, he never could!'

  "Such a hale constitution had grandfather Squeers
  That, 'though he'd used 'navy' for sixty odd years,

  "He still chewed a dime's-worth six days of the week,
  While the seventh he passed with a chew in each cheek:

  "Then my grandfather Squeers had a singular knack
  Of sitting around on the small of his back,

  "With his legs like a letter Y stretched o'er the grate
  Wherein 'twas his custom to ex-pec-tor-ate.

  "He was fond of tobacco in manifold ways,
  And would sit on the door-step, of sunshiny days,

  "And smoke leaf-tobacco he'd raised strictly for
  The pipe he'd used all through The Mexican War."

  And The Raggedy Man said, refilling the bowl
  Of his own pipe and leisurely picking a coal

  From the stove with his finger and thumb, "You can see
  What a tee-nacious habit he's fastened on me!

  "And my grandfather Squeers took a special delight
  In pruning his corns every Saturday night

  "With a horn-handled razor, whose edge he excused
  By saying 'twas one that his grandfather used;

  "And, though deeply etched in the haft of the same
  Was the ever-euphonious Wostenholm's name,

  "'Twas my grandfather's custom to boast of the blade
  As 'A Seth Thomas razor—the best ever made!'

  "No Old Settlers' Meeting, or Pioneers' Fair,
  Was complete without grandfather Squeers in the chair

  "To lead off the programme by telling folks how
  'He used to shoot deer where the Court-House stands now'—

  [Unavailable image: And smoke leaf-tobacco]

  "How 'he felt, of a truth, to live over the past,
  When the country was wild and unbroken and vast,

  "'That the little log cabin was just plenty fine
  For himself, his companion, and fambly of nine!—

  "'When they didn't have even a pump, or a tin,
  But drunk surface-water, year out and year in,

  "'From the old-fashioned gourd that was sweeter, by odds,
  Than the goblets of gold at the lips of the gods!'"

  Then The Raggedy Man paused to plaintively say
  It was clockin' along to'rds the close of the day—

  And he'd ought to get back to his work on the lawn,—
  Then dreamily blubbered his pipe and went on:

  "His teeth were imperfect—my grandfather owned
  That he couldn't eat oysters unless they were 'boned';

  "And his eyes were so weak, and so feeble of sight,
  He couldn't sleep with them unless, every night,

  "He put on his spectacles—all he possessed,—
  Three pairs—with his goggles on top of the rest.

  "And my grandfather always, retiring at night,
  Blew down the lamp-chimney to put out the light;

  "Then he'd curl up on edge like a shaving, in bed,
  And puff and smoke pipes in his sleep, it is said:

  "And would snore oftentimes as the legends relate,
  Till his folks were wrought up to a terrible state,—

  "Then he'd snort, and rear up, and roll over; and there,
  In the subsequent hush they could hear him chew air.

  "And so glaringly bald was the top of his head
  That many's the time he has musingly said,

  "As his eyes journeyed o'er its reflex in the glass,—
  'I must set out a few signs of Keep Off the Grass!'

  "So remarkably deaf was my grandfather Squeers
  That he had to wear lightning-rods over his ears

  "To even hear thunder—and oftentimes then
  He was forced to request it to thunder again."

  [Unavailable image: Grandfather Squeers—Tailpiece]

  [Unavailable image: The Pixy People—Title]

  It was just a very
    Merry fairy dream!—
  All the woods were airy
    With the gloom and gleam;
  Crickets in the clover
    Clattered clear and strong,
  And the bees droned over
    Their old honey-song.

  In the mossy passes,
    Saucy grasshoppers
  Leapt about the grasses
    And the thistle-burs;
  And the whispered chuckle
    Of the katydid
  Shook the honeysuckle
    Blossoms where he hid.

  Through the breezy mazes
    Of the lazy June,
  Drowsy with the hazes
    Of the dreamy noon,
  Little Pixy people
    Winged above the walk,
  Pouring from the steeple
    Of a mullein-stalk.

  One—a gallant fellow—
    Evidently King,—
  Wore a plume of yellow
    In a jewelled ring
  On a pansy bonnet,
    Gold and white and blue,
  With the dew still on it,
    And the fragrance, too.

  One—a dainty lady,—
    Evidently Queen,—
  Wore a gown of shady
    Moonshine and green,
  With a lace of gleaming
    Starlight that sent
  All the dewdrops dreaming
    Everywhere she went.

  [Unavailable image: Winged above the walk]

  One wore a waistcoat
    Of roseleaves, out and in,
  And one wore a faced-coat
    Of tiger-lily-skin;
  And one wore a neat coat
    Of palest galingale;
  And one a tiny street-coat,
    And one a swallow-tail.

  And Ho! sang the King of them,
    And Hey! sang the Queen;
  And round and round the ring of them
    Went dancing o'er the green;
  And Hey! sang the Queen of them,
    And Ho! sang the King—
  And all that I had seen of them
    —Wasn't anything!

  It was just a very
    Merry fairy dream!—
  All the woods were airy
    With the gloom and gleam;
  Crickets in the clover
    Clattered clear and strong,
  And the bees droned over
    Their old honey-song!

  [Unavailable image: A Life-Lesson—Title]

  There! little girl; don't cry!
    They have broken your doll, I know;
      And your tea-set blue,
      And your play-house, too,
    Are things of the long ago;
      But childish troubles will soon pass by.—
        There! little girl; don't cry!

  There! little girl; don't cry!
    They have broken your slate, I know;
      And the glad, wild ways
      Of your school-girl days
    Are things of the long ago;
      But life and love will soon come by.—
        There! little girl; don't cry!

  There! little girl; don't cry!
    They have broken your heart, I know;
      And the rainbow gleams
      Of your youthful dreams
    Are things of the long ago;
      But Heaven holds all for which you sigh.—
        There! little girl; don't cry!

  [Unavailable image: But Heaven hold all for which you sigh]

  [Unavailable image: A Home-made Fairy-Tale—Title]

  Bud, come here to your Uncle a spell,
  And I'll tell you something you mustn't tell—
  For it's a secret and shore-nuff true,
  And maybe I oughtn't to tell it to you!—
  But out in the garden, under the shade
  Of the apple-trees where we romped and played
  Till the moon was up, and you thought I'd gone
  Fast asleep.—That was all put on!
  For I was a-watchin' something queer
  Goin' on there in the grass, my dear!
  'Way down deep in it, there I see
  A little dude-Fairy who winked at me,
  And snapped his fingers, and laughed as low
  And fine as the whine of a mus-kee-to!
  I kept still—watchin' him closer—and
  I noticed a little guitar in his hand,
  Which he leant 'ginst a little dead bee—and laid
  His cigarette down on a clean grass-blade;
  And then climbed up on the shell of a snail—
  Carefully dusting his swallowtail—
  And pulling up, by a waxed web-thread,
  This little guitar, you remember, I said!
  And there he trinkled and trilled a tune—
  "My Love, so Fair, Tans in the Moon!"
  Till presently, out of the clover-top
  He seemed to be singing to, came k'pop!
  The purtiest, daintiest Fairy face
  In all this world, or any place!
  Then the little ser'nader waved his hand,
  As much as to say, "We'll excuse you!" and
  I heard, as I squinted my eyelids to,
  A kiss like the drip of a drop of dew!

  [Unavailable image: A Little Dude-Fairy]

  THAT ALEX "IST MAKED UP HIS-OWN-SE'F"

  W'y, wunst they wuz a Little Boy went out
  In the woods to shoot a Bear. So, he went out
  'Way in the grea'-big woods—he did.—An' he
  Wuz goin' along—an' goin' along, you know,
  An' purty soon he heerd somepin' go "Wooh!"—
  Ist thataway—"Woo-ooh!" An' he wuz skeered,
  He wuz. An' so he runned an' clumbed a tree—
  A grea'-big tree, he did,—a sicka-more tree.
  An' nen he heerd it ag'in: an' he looked round,
  An' 't'uz a Bear!—a grea'-big shore-nuff Bear!—
  No: 't'uz two Bears, it wuz—two grea'-big Bears—
  One of 'em wuz—ist one's a grea'-big Bear.—
  But they ist boff went "Wooh!"—An' here they come
  To climb the tree an' git the Little Boy
  An' eat him up!

            An' nen the Little Boy
  He 'uz skeered worse'n ever! An' here come
  The grea'-big Bear a-climbin' th' tree to git
  The Little Boy an' eat him up—Oh, no!—
  It 'uzn't the Big Bear 'at clumb the tree—
  It 'uz the Little Bear. So here he come
  Climbin' the tree—an' climbin' the tree! Nen when
  He git wite clos't to the Little Boy, w'y nen
  The Little Boy he ist pulled up his gun
  An' shot the Bear, he did, an' killed him dead!
  An' nen the Bear he falled clean on down out
  The tree—away clean to the ground, he did—
  Spling-splung! he falled plum down, an' killed him, too!
  An' lit wite side o' where the Big Bear's at.

  An' nen the Big Bear's awful mad, you bet!—
  'Cause—'cause the Little Boy he shot his gun
  An' killed the Little Bear.—'Cause the Big Bear
  He—he 'uz the Little Bear's Papa.—An' so here
  He come to climb the big old tree an' git
  The Little Boy an' eat him up! An' when
  The Little Boy he saw the grea'-big Bear  A-comin', he uz badder skeered, he wuz,
  Than any time! An' so he think he'll climb
  Up higher—'way up higher in the tree
  Than the old Bear kin climb, you know.—But he—
  He can't climb higher 'an old Bears kin climb,—
  'Cause Bears kin climb up higher in the trees
  Than any little Boys in all the Wo-r-r-ld!

  An' so here come the grea'-big-Bear, he did,—
  A-climbin' up—an' up the tree, to git
  The Little Boy an' eat him up! An' so
  The Little Boy he clumbed on higher, an' higher,
  An' higher up the tree—an' higher—an' higher—
  An' higher'n iss-here house is!—An' here come
  Th' old Bear—clos'ter to him all the time!—
  An' nen—first thing you know,—when th' old Big Bear
  Wuz wite clos't to him—nen the Little Boy
  Ist jabbed his gun wite in the old Bear's mouf
  An' shot an' killed him dead!—No; I fergot,—
  He didn't shoot the grea'-big Bear at all—
  'Cause they 'uz no load in the gun, you know—
  'Cause when he shot the Little Bear, w'y, nen
  No load 'uz anymore nen in the gun!

  But th' Little Boy clumbed higher up, he did—
  He clumbed lots higher—an' on up higher—an' higher
  An' higher—tel he ist can't climb no higher,
  'Cause nen the limbs 'uz all so little, 'way
  Up in the teeny-weeny tip-top of
  The tree, they'd break down wiv him ef he don't
  Be keerful! So he stop an' think: An' nen
  He look around—An' here come th' old Bear!

  An' so the Little Boy make up his mind
  He's got to ist git out o' there some way!—
  'Cause here come the old Bear!—so clos't, his bref's
  Purt 'nigh so's he kin feel how hot it is
  Ag'inst his bare feet—ist like old "Ring's" bref
  When he's ben out a-huntin' an's all tired.
  So when th' old Bear's so clos't—the Little Boy
  Ist gives a grea'-big jump fer 'nother tree—
  No!—no he don't do that!—I tell you what
  The Little Boy does:—W'y, nen—w'y, he—Oh, yes—
  The Little Boy he finds a hole up there
  'At's in the tree—an' climbs in there an' hides—
  An' nen th' old Bear can't find the Little Boy
  At all!—But, purty soon th' old Bear finds
  The Little Boy's gun 'at's up there—'cause the gun  It's too tall to tooked wiv him in the hole.
  So, when the old Bear fin' the gun, he knows
  The Little Boy's ist hid 'round somers there,—
  An' th' old Bear 'gins to snuff an' sniff around,
  An' sniff an' snuff around—so's he kin find
  Out where the Little Boy's hid at.—An' nen—nen—
  Oh, yes!—W'y, purty soon the old Bear climbs
  'Way out on a big limb—a grea'-long limb,—
  An' nen the Little Boy climbs out the hole
  An' takes his ax an' chops the limb off!... Nen
  The old Bear falls k-splunge! clean to the ground
  An' bust an' kill hisse'f plum dead, he did!

  An' nen the Little Boy he git his gun
  An' 'menced a-climbin' down the tree ag'in—
  No!—no, he didn't git his gun—'cause when
  The Bear falled, nen the gun falled, too—An' broked
  It all to pieces, too!—An' nicest gun!—
  His Pa ist buyed it!—An' the Little Boy
  Ist cried, he did; an' went on climbin' down
  The tree—an' climbin' down—an' climbin' down!—
  An'-sir! when he 'uz purt'-nigh down,—w'y, nen
  The old Bear he jumped up ag'in—an' he
  Ain't dead at all—ist 'tendin' thataway,
  So he kin git the Little Boy an' eat
  Him up! But the Little Boy he 'uz too smart
  To climb clean down the tree.—An' the old Bear
  He can't climb up the tree no more—'cause when
  He fell, he broke one of his—he broke all  His legs!—an' nen he couldn't climb! But he
  Ist won't go'way an' let the Little Boy
  Come down out of the tree. An' the old Bear
  Ist growls 'round there, he does—ist growls an' goes
  "Wooh!—woo-ooh!" all the time! An' Little Boy
  He haf to stay up in the tree—all night—
  An' 'thout no supper neether!—On'y they
  Wuz apples on the tree!—An' Little Boy
  Et apples—ist all night—an' cried—an' cried!
  Nen when 'tuz morning th' old Bear went "Wooh!"  Ag'in, an' try to climb up in the tree
  An' git the Little Boy.—But he can't  Climb t'save his soul, he can't!—An' oh! he's mad!—
  He ist tear up the ground! an' go "Woo-ooh!"  An'—Oh, yes!—purty soon, when morning's come
  All light—so's you kin see, you know,—w'y, nen
  The old Bear finds the Little Boy's gun, you know,
  'At's on the ground.—(An' it ain't broke at all—
  I ist said that!) An' so the old Bear think
  He'll take the gun an' shoot the Little Boy:—
  But Bears they don't know much 'bout shootin' guns;
  So when he go to shoot the Little Boy,
  The old Bear got the other end the gun
  Ag'in' his shoulder, 'stid o' th' other end—
  So when he try to shoot the Little Boy,
  It shot the Bear, it did—an' killed him dead!
  An' nen the Little Boy clumb down the tree
  An' chopped his old woolly head off:—Yes, an' killed
  The other Bear ag'in, he did—an' killed
  All boff the bears, he did—an' tuk 'em home
  An' cooked 'em, too, an' et 'em!
                      —An' that's all.

  [Unavailable image: ENVOY]