Old Bob White's a funny bird!—
Funniest you ever heard!—
Hear him whistle,—"Old—Bob—White!"
You can hear him, clean from where
He's 'way 'crosst the wheat-field there,
Whistlin' like he didn't care—
"Old-Bob-White!"
Whistles alluz ist the same—
So's we won't fergit his name!—
Hear him say it?—"Old—Bob—White!"
There! he's whizzed off down the lane—
Gone back where his folks is stayin'—
Hear him?—There he goes again,—
"Old—Bob—White!"
When boys ever tries to git
Clos't to him—how quick he'll quit
Whistlin' his "Old-Bob—White!"
"Whoo-rhoo-rhoo!" he's up an' flew,
Ist a-purt'-nigh skeerin' you
Into fits!—'At's what he'll do.—
"Old-Bob—White!"
Wunst our Hired Man an' me,
When we drove to Harmony,
Saw one, whistlin' "Old—Bob—White!"
An' we drove wite clos't, an' I
Saw him an' he didn't fly,—
Birds likes horses, an' that's why.
"Old—Bob—White!"
Now, Tudens, you sit on this knee—and 'scuse
It having no side-saddle on;—and, Jeems,
You sit on this—and don't you wobble so
And chug my old shins with your coppertoes;—
And, all the rest of you, range round someway,—
Ride on the rockers and hang to the arms
Of our old-time splint-bottom carryall!—
Do anything but squabble for a place,
Or push or shove or scrouge, or breathe out loud,
Or chew wet, or knead taffy in my beard!—
Do anything almost—act anyway,—
Only keep still, so I can hear myself
Trying to tell you "just one story more!"
One winter afternoon my father, with
A whistle to our dog, a shout to us—
His two boys—six and eight years old we were,—
Started off to the woods, a half a mile
From home, where he was chopping wood. We raced,
[104]We slipped and slid; reaching, at last, the north
Side of Tharp's corn-field.—There we struck what seemed
To be a coon-track—so we all agreed:
And father, who was not a hunter, to
Our glad surprise, proposed we follow it.
The snow was quite five inches deep; and we,
Keen on the trail, were soon far in the woods.
Our old dog, "Ring," ran nosing the fresh track
With whimpering delight, far on ahead.
After following the trail more than a mile
To northward, through the thickest winter woods
We boys had ever seen,—all suddenly
He seemed to strike another trail; and then
Our joyful attention was drawn to
Old "Ring"—leaping to this side, then to that,
Of a big, hollow, old oak-tree, which had
Been blown down by a storm some years before.
There—all at once—out leapt a lean old fox
From the black hollow of a big bent limb,—
Hey! how he scudded!—but with our old "Ring"
Sharp after him—and father after "Ring"—
We after father, near as we could hold!
And father noticed that the fox kept just
About four feet ahead of "Ring"—just that—
No farther, and no nearer! Then he said:—
"There are young foxes in that tree back there,
And the mother-fox is drawing 'Ring' and us
Away from their nest there!" "Oh, le' 's go back!—
Do le' 's go back!" we little vandals cried,—
"Le' 's go back, quick, and find the little things—
Please, father!—Yes, and take 'em home for pets—
'Cause 'Ring' he'll kill the old fox anyway!"
So father turned at last, and back we went,
And father chopped a hole in the old tree
About ten feet below the limb from which
The old fox ran, and—Bless their little lives!—
There, in the hollow of the old tree-trunk—
There, on a bed of warm dry leaves and moss—
There, snug as any bug in any rug—
We found—one—two—three—four, and, yes-sir, five
Wee, weenty-teenty baby-foxes, with
Their eyes just barely opened—Cute?—my-oh!—
The cutest—the most cunning little things
Two boys ever saw, in all their lives!
"Raw weather for the little fellows now!"
Said father, as though talking to himself,—
"Raw weather, and no home now!"—And off came
His warm old "waumus"; and in that he wrapped
The helpless little animals, and held
Them soft and warm against him as he could,—
And home we happy children followed him.—
Old "Ring" did not reach home till nearly dusk:
The mother-fox had led him a long chase—
[108]"Yes, and a fool's chase, too!" he seemed to say,
And looked ashamed to hear us praising him.
But, mother—well, we could not understand
Her acting as she did—and we so pleased!
I can see yet the look of pained surprise
And deep compassion of her troubled face
When father very gently laid his coat,
With the young foxes in it, on the hearth
Beside her, as she brightened up the fire.
She urged—for the old fox's sake and theirs—
That they be taken back to the old tree;
But father—for our wistful sakes, no doubt—
Said we would keep them, and would try our best
To raise them. And at once he set about
Building a snug home for the little things
Out of an old big bushel-basket, with
Its fractured handle and its stoven ribs:
So, lining and padding this all cosily,
He snuggled in its little tenants, and
Called in John Wesley Thomas, our hired man,
And gave him in full charge, with much advice
Regarding the just care and sustenance of
Young foxes.—"John," he said, "you feed 'em milk—
Warm milk, John Wesley! Yes, and keep 'em by
The stove—and keep your stove a-roarin', too,
Both night and day!—And keep 'em covered up—
Not smothered, John, but snug and comfortable.—
And now, John Wesley Thomas, first and last,—
You feed 'em milk—fresh milk—and always warm—
Say five or six or seven times a day—
Of course we'll grade that by the way they thrive."
But, for all sanguine hope, and care, as well,
The little fellows did not thrive at all.—
Indeed, with all our care and vigilance,
By the third day of their captivity
The last survivor of the fated five
Squeaked, like some battered little rubber toy
Just clean worn out.—And that's just what it was!
And—nights,—the cry of the mother-fox for her young
Was heard, with awe, for long weeks afterward.
And we boys, every night, would go to the door
And, peering out in the darkness, listening,
Could hear the poor fox in the black bleak woods
Still calling for her little ones in vain.
As, all mutely, we returned to the warm fireside,
Mother would say: "How would you like for me
To be out there, this dark night, in the cold woods,
Calling for my children?"
Uncle he says 'at 'way down in the sea
Ever'thing's ist like it used to be:—
He says they's mermaids, an' mermens, too,
An' little merchildern, like me an' you—
Little merboys, with tops an' balls,
An' little mergirls, with little merdolls.
Uncle Sidney's vurry proud
Of little Leslie-Janey,
'Cause she's so smart, an' goes to school
Clean 'way in Pennsylvany!
She print' an' sent a postul-card
To Uncle Sidney, telling
How glad he'll be to hear that she
"Toock the onners in Speling."
Uncle he learns us to rhyme an' write
An' all be poets an' all recite:
His little-est poet's his little-est niece,
An' this is her little-est poetry-piece.
O here's a little rhyme for the Spring- or Summer-time—
An a-ho-winky-tooden-an-a-ho!—
Just a little bit o' tune you can twitter, May or June,
An a-ho-winky-tooden-an-a-ho!
It's a song that soars and sings,
As the birds that twang their wings
Or the katydids and things
Thus and so, don't you know,
An a-ho-winky-tooden-an-a-ho!
It's a song just broken loose, with no reason or excuse—
An a-ho-winky-tooden-an-a-ho!
You can sing along with it—or it matters not a bit—
An a-ho-winky-tooden-an-a-ho!
It's a lovely little thing
That 'most any one could sing
With a ringle-dingle-ding,
Soft and low, don't you know,
An a-ho-winky-tooden-an-a-ho!
Our dog Fred
Et the bread.
Our dog Dash
Et the hash.
Our dog Pete
Et the meat.
Our dog Davy
Et the gravy.
Our dog Toffy
Et the coffee.
Our dog Jake
Et the cake.
Our dog Trip
Et the dip.
And—the worst,
From the first,—
Our dog Fido
Et the pie-dough.
Miss Medairy Dory-Ann
Cast her line and caught a man,
But when he looked so pleased, alack!
She unhooked and plunked him back.—
"I never like to catch what I can,"
Said Miss Medairy Dory-Ann.
[Voice from behind high board-fence.]
"Where's the crowd that dares to go
Where I dare to lead?—you know!"
"Well, here's one!"
Shouts Ezry Dunn.
"Count me two!"
Yells Cootsy Drew.
"Here's yer three!"
Sings Babe Magee.
"Score me four!"
Roars Leech-hole Moore.
"Tally—five!"
Howls Jamesy Clive.
"I make six!"
Chirps Herbert Dix.
"Punctchul!—seven!"
Pipes Runt Replevin.
"Mark me eight!"
Grunts Mealbag Nate.
"I'm yet nine!"
Growls "Lud'rick" Stein.
"Hi! here's ten!"
Whoops Catfish Ben.
"And now we march, in daring line,
For the banks of Brandywine!"
A wee little worm in a hickory-nut
Sang, happy as he could be,—
"O I live in the heart of the whole round world,
And it all belongs to me!"
A daring prince, of the realm Rangg Dhune,
Once went up in a big balloon
That caught and stuck on the horns of the moon,
And he hung up there till next day noon—
When all at once he exclaimed, "Hoot-toot!"
And then came down in his parachute.
Us-folks is purty pore—but Ma
She's waitin'—two years more—tel Pa
He serve his term out. Our Pa he—
He's in the Penitenchurrie!
Now don't you never tell!—'cause Sis,
The baby, she don't know he is.—
'Cause she wuz only four, you know,
He kissed her last an' hat to go!
Pa alluz liked Sis best of all
Us childern.—'Spect it's 'cause she fall
"When she'uz ist a child, one day—
An' make her back look thataway.
Pa—'fore he be a burglar—he's
A locksmiff, an' maked locks, an' keys,
An' knobs you pull fer bells to ring,
An' he could ist make anything!—
'Cause our Ma say he can!—An' this
Here little pair o' crutches Sis
Skips round on—Pa maked them—yes-sir!—
An' silivur-plate-name here fer her!
Pa's out o' work when Chris'mus come
One time, an' stay away from home,
An' 's drunk an' 'buse our Ma, an' swear
They ain't no "Old Kriss" anywhere!
An' Sis she alluz say they wuz
A' Old Kriss—an' she alluz does.
But ef they is a' Old Kriss, why,
When's Chris'mus, Ma she alluz cry?
This Chris'mus now, we live here in
Where Ma's rent's alluz due ag'in—
An' she "ist slaves"—I heerd her say
She did—ist them words thataway!
An' th'other night, when all's so cold
An' stove's 'most out—our Ma she rolled
Us in th'old feather-bed an' said,
"To-morry's Chris'mus—go to bed,
"An' thank yer blessed stars fer this—
We don't 'spect nothin' from Old Kriss!"
An' cried, an' locked the door, an' prayed,
An' turned the lamp down.... An' I laid
There, thinkin' in the dark ag'in,
"Ef wuz Old Kriss, he can't git in,
'Cause ain't no chimbly here at all—
Ist old stovepipe stuck frue the wall!"
I sleeped nen.—An' wuz dreamin' some
When I waked up an' morning's come,—
Fer our Ma she wuz settin' square
Straight up in bed, a-readin' there
Some letter 'at she 'd read, an' quit,
An' nen hold like she's huggin' it.—
An' diamon' ear-rings she don't know
Wuz in her ears tel I say so—
An' wake the rest up. An' the sun
In frue the winder dazzle-un
Them eyes o' Sis's, wiv a sure-
Enough gold chain Old Kriss bringed to 'er!
An' all of us git gold things!—Sis,
Though, say she know it "ain't Old Kriss—
He kissed her, so she waked an' saw
Him skite out—an' it wuz her Pa."
Sing! gangling lad, along the brink
Of wild brook-ways of shoal and deep,
Where killdees dip, and cattle drink,
And glinting little minnows leap!
Sing! slimpsy lass who trips above
And sets the foot-log quivering!
Sing! bittern, bumble-bee, and dove—
Sing! Sing! Sing!
Sing as you will, O singers all
Who sing because you want to sing!
Sing! peacock on the orchard wall,
Or tree-toad by the trickling spring!
Sing! every bird on every bough—
Sing! every living, loving thing—
Sing any song, and anyhow,
But Sing! Sing! Sing!
The Jaybird he's my favorite
Of all the birds they is!
I think he's quite a stylish sight
In that blue suit of his:
An' when he' lights an' shuts his wings,
His coat's a "cutaway"—
I guess it's only when he sings
You'd know he wuz a jay.
I like to watch him when he's lit
In top of any tree,
'Cause all birds git wite out of it
When he 'lights, an' they see
How proud he act', an' swell an' spread
His chest out more an' more,
An' raise the feathers on his head
Like it's cut pompadore!
Wunst, 'way West in Illinoise,
Wuz two Bears an' their two boys:
An' the two boys' names, you know,
Wuz—like ours is,—Jim an' Jo;
An' their parunts' names wuz same's,
All big grown-up people's names,—
Ist Miz Bear, the neighbers call
'Em, an' Mister Bear—'at's all.
Yes—an' Miz Bear scold him, too,
Ist like grown folks shouldn't do!
Wuz a grea'-big river there,
An', 'crosst that, 's a mountain where
Old Bear said some day he'd go,
Ef she don't quit scoldin'so!
So, one day when he been down
The river, fishin', 'most to town,
An' come back 'thout no fish a-tall,
An' Jim an' Jo they run an' bawl
[142]An' tell their ma their pa hain't fetch'
No fish,—she scold again an' ketch
Her old broom up an' biff him, too.—
An' he ist cry, an' say, "Boo-hoo!
I told you what I 'd do some day'."
An' he ist turned an' runned away
To where's the grea'-big river there,
An' ist splunged in an' swum to where
The mountain's at, 'way th'other side,
An' clumbed up there. An' Miz Bear cried—
An' little Jo an' little Jim—
Ist like their ma—bofe cried fer him!—
But he clumbed on, clean out o' sight,
He wuz so mad!—An' served 'em right!
[143]Nen—when the Bear got 'way on top
The mountain, he heerd somepin' flop
Its wings—an' somepin' else he heerd
A-rattlin'-like.—An' he wuz skeerd,
An' looked 'way up, an'—Mercy sake!—
It wuz a' Eagul an' a SNAKE!
An'-sir! the Snake, he bite an' kill'
The Eagul, an' they bofe fall till
They strike the ground—k'spang-k'spat!—
Wite where the Bear wuz standin' at!
An' when here come the Snake at him,
The Bear he think o' little Jim
[144]An' Jo, he did—an' their ma, too,—
All safe at home; an' he ist flew
Back down the mountain—an' could hear
The old Snake rattlin', sharp an' clear,
Wite clos't behind!—An' Bear he's so
All tired out, by time, you know,
He git down to the river there,
He know' he can't swim back to where
His folks is at. But ist wite nen
He see a boat an' six big men
'At's been a-shootin' ducks: An' so
He skeerd them out the boat, you know,
An' ist jumped in—an' Snake he tried
To jump in, too, but failed outside
Where all the water wuz; an' so
The Bear grabs one the things you row
The boat wiv an' ist whacks the head
Of the old Snake an' kills him dead!—
[145]An' when he's killed him dead, w'y, nen
The old Snake's drownded dead again!
Nen Bear set in the boat an' bowed
His back an' rowed—an' rowed—an' rowed—
Till he's safe home—so tired he can't
Do nothin' but lay there an' pant
An' tell his childern, "Bresh my coat!"
An' tell his wife, "Go chain my boat!"
An' they're so glad he's back, they say
"They knowed he's comin' thataway
To ist surprise the dear ones there!"
An' Jim an' Jo they dried his hair
An' pulled the burrs out; an' their ma
She ist set there an' helt his paw
Till he wuz sound asleep, an' nen
She tell' him she won't scold again—
Never—never—never—
Ferever an' ferever!
[W.S.]
With a hey! and a hi! and a hey-ho rhyme!
O the shepherd lad
He is ne'er so glad
As when he pipes, in the blossom-time,
So rare!
While Kate picks by, yet looks not there.
So rare! so rare!
With a hey! and a hi! and a ho!
The grasses curdle where the daisies blow!
With a hey! and a hi! and a hey-ho vow!
Then he sips her face
At the sweetest place—
And ho! how white is the hawthorn now!—
So rare!—
And the daisied world rocks round them there.
So rare! so rare!
With a hey! and a hi! and a ho!
The grasses curdle where the daisies blow!
[R.H.]
Little Julia, since that we
May not as our elders be,
Let us blithely fill the days
Of our youth with pleasant plays.
First we'll up at earliest dawn,
While as yet the dew is on
The sooth'd grasses and the pied
Blossomings of morningtide;
Next, with rinsed cheeks that shine
As the enamell'd eglantine,
We will break our fast on bread
With both cream and honey spread;
Then, with many a challenge-call,
We will romp from house and hall,
Gypsying with the birds and bees
Of the green-tress'd garden trees.
In a bower of leaf and vine
Thou shalt be a lady fine
Held in duress by the great
Giant I shall personate.
[150]Next, when many mimics more
Like to these we have played o'er,
We'll betake us home-along
Hand in hand at evensong.
[W.W.]
A little maid, of summers four—
Did you compute her years,—
And yet how infinitely more
To me her age appears:
I mark the sweet child's serious air,
At her unplayful play,—
The tiny doll she mothers there
And lulls to sleep away,
Grows—'neath the grave similitude—
An infant real, to me,
And she a saint of motherhood
In hale maturity.
So, pausing in my lonely round,
And all unseen of her,
I stand uncovered—her profound
And abject worshipper.
[A.T.]
Wind of the Sea, come fill my sail—
Lend me the breath of a freshening gale
And bear my port-worn ship away!
For O the greed of the tedious town—
The shutters up and the shutters down!
Wind of the Sea, sweep over the bay
And bear me away!—away!
Whither you bear me, Wind of the Sea,
Matters never the least to me:
Give me your fogs, with the sails adrip,
Or the weltering path thro' the starless night—
On, somewhere, is a new daylight
And the cheery glint of another ship
As its colors dip and dip!
Wind of the Sea, sweep over the bay
And bear me away!—away!
[R.B.]