Neghborly Poems and Dialect Sketches

LINES FER ISAAC BRADWELL, OF INDANOPLIS, IND.,

COUNTY-SEAT OF MARION

[Writ on the flyleaf of a volume of the author's poems that come in one of gittin' burnt up in the great Bowen-Merrill's fire of March 17, 1890.]

Through fire and flood this book has passed. —Fer what? – I hardly dare to ast —Less'n it's still to pamper meWith extry food fer vanity; —Fer, sence it's fell in hands as trueAs yourn is – and a Hoosier too, —I'm prouder of the book, I jing!Than 'fore they tried to burn the thing!

DECORATION DAY ON THE PLACE

It's lonesome – sorto' lonesome, – it's a Sund'y-day, to me,It 'pears-like – more'n any day I nearly ever see! —Yit, with the Stars and Stripes above, a-flutterin' in the air,On ev'ry Soldier's grave I'd love to lay a lilly thare.They say, though, Decoration Days is giner'ly observed'Most ev'rywhares– espeshally by soldier-boys that's served. —But me and Mother's never went – we seldom git away, —In p'int o' fact, we're allus home on Decoration Day.They say the old boys marches through the streets in colum's grand,A-follerin' the old war-tunes they're playin' on the band —And citizuns all jinin' in – and little childern, too —All marchin', under shelter of the old Red White and Blue. —With roses! roses! roses! – everybody in the town! —And crowds o' little girls in white, jest fairly loaded down! —Oh! don't The Boys know it, from theyr camp acrost the hill? —Don't they see theyr com'ards comin' and the old flag wavin' still?Oh! can't they hear the bugul and the rattle of the drum? —Ain't they no way under heavens they can rickollect us some?Ain't they no way we can coax 'em, through the roses, jest to sayThey know that ev'ry day on earth's theyr Decoration Day?We've tried that – me and Mother, – whare Elias takes his rest,In the orchurd – in his uniform, and hands acrost his brest,And the flag he died fer, smilin' and a-ripplin' in the breezeAbove his grave – and over that, —the robin in the trees!And yit it's lonesome – lonesome! – It's a Sund'y-day, to me,It 'pears-like – more'n any day I nearly ever see! —Still, with the Stars and Stripes above, a-flutterin' in the air,On ev'ry Soldier's grave I'd love to lay a lilly thare.

THE TREE-TOAD

"'S cur'ous-like," said the tree-toad,"I've twittered fer rain all day;And I got up soon,And hollered tel noon —But the sun, hit blazed away,Tell I jest clumb down in a crawfish-hole,Weary at hart, and sick at soul!"Dozed away fer an hour,And I tackled the thing agin:And I sung, and sung,Tel I knowed my lungWas jest about give in;And then, thinks I, ef hit don't rain now,They's nothin' in singin', anyhow!"Onc't in a while some farmerWould come a-drivin' past;And he'd hear my cry,And stop and sigh —Tel I jest laid back, at last,And I hollered rain tel I thought my th'oatWould bust wide open at ever' note!"But I fetched her! – O I fetched her! —'Cause a little while ago,As I kindo' set,With one eye shet,And a-singin' soft and low,A voice drapped down on my fevered brain,A-sayin', – 'Ef you'll jest hush I'll rain!'"

THE ROSSVILLE LECTUR' COURSE

[Set down from the real facts of the case that come under notice of the author whilse visitun far distunt relatives who wuz then residin' at Rossville, Mich.]

Folks up here at Rossville got up a Lectur' Course: —All the leadin' citizens they wuz out in force;Met and talked at Williamses', and 'greed to meet ag'in;And helt another corkus when the next reports wuz in:Met ag'in at Samuelses'; and met ag'in at Moore's,And Johnts putt the shutters up and jest barr'd the door! —And yit, I'll jest be dagg-don'd! ef't didn't take a week'Fore we'd settled whare to write to git a man to speak!Found out whare the "Bureau" wuz; and then and thare agreedTo strike whilse the iron's hot and foller up the lead. —Simp wuz Secatary; so he tuk his pen in hand,And ast 'em what they'd tax us fer the one on "Holy Land" —"One of Colonel J. De-Koombs's Abelust and BestLectur's," the circ'lar stated, "Give East er West!"Wanted fifty dollars and his kyar-fare to and from,And Simp wuz hence instructed fer to write him not to come.Then we talked and jawed around another week er so,And writ the "Bureau" 'bout the town a-bein' sorto' slow —Old-fogey-like, and pore as dirt, and lackin' interprise,And ignornter'n any other, 'cordin' to its size:Tel finully the "Bureau" said they'd send a cheaper manFer forty dollars, who would give "A Talk About Japan" —"A reg'lar Japanee hise'f," the pamphlet claimed; and so,Nobody knowed his languige, and of course we let him go!Kindo' then let up a spell – but rallied onc't ag'in,And writ to price a feller on what's called the "violin" —A Swede, er Pole, er somepin' – but no matter what he wuz,Doc Cooper said he'd heerd him, and he wuzn't wuth a kuss!And then we ast fer Swingse's terms; and Cook, and Ingersoll—And blame! ef forty dollars looked like anything at all!And then Burdette, we tried fer him; and Bob he writ to sayHe wuz busy writin' ortographts and couldn't git away.At last – along in Aprile – we signed to take this-hereBill Nye of Californy, 'at wuz posted to appear"The Comicalest Funny Man 'at Ever Jammed a Hall!"So we made big preperations, and swep' out the church and all!And night he wuz to lectur', and the neghbors all wuz thare,And strangers packed along the aisles 'at come from ev'rywhare,Committee got a telegrapht the preacher read, 'at run —"Got off at Rossville, Indiany, 'stid of Michigun."

WHEN THE GREEN GITS BACK IN THE TREES

In Spring, when the green gits back in the trees,And the sun comes out and stays,And yer boots pulls on with a good tight squeeze,And you think of yer bare-foot days;When you ort to work and you want to not,And you and yer wife agreesIt's time to spade up the garden-lot,When the green gits back in the trees —Well! work is the least o' my ideesWhen the green, you know, gits back in the trees!When the green gits back in the trees, and beesIs a-buzzin' aroun' ag'inIn that kind of a lazy go-as-you-pleaseOld gait they bum roun' in;When the groun's all bald whare the hay-rick stood,And the crick's riz, and the breezeCoaxes the bloom in the old dogwood,And the green gits back in the trees, —I like, as I say, in sich scenes as these,The time when the green gits back in the trees!When the whole tail-fethers o' WintertimeIs all pulled out and gone!And the sap it thaws and begins to climb,And the swet it starts out onA feller's forred, a-gittin' downAt the old spring on his knees —I kindo' like jest a-loaferin' roun'When the green gits back in the trees —Jest a-potterin' roun' as I – durn – please —When the green, you know, gits back in the trees!

HOW IT HAPPENED

I got to thinkin' of her – both her parunts dead and gone —And all her sisters married off, and none but her and JohnA-livin' all alone thare in that lonesome sorto' way,And him a blame old bachelor, confirmder ev'ry day!I'd knowed 'em all, from childern, and theyr daddy from the timeHe settled in the neghborhood, and hadn't ary a dimeEr dollar, when he married, fer to start housekeepin' on! —So I got to thinkin' of her – both her parunts dead and gone!I got to thinkin' of her; and a-wundern what she doneThat all her sisters kep' a-gittin' married, one by one,And her without no chances – and the best girl of the pack —A' old maid, with her hands, you might say, tied behind her back!And Mother, too, afore she died, —she ust to jest take on,When none of 'em wuz left, you know, but Evaline and John,And jest declare to goodness 'at the young men must be blineTo not see what a wife they'd git ef they got Evaline!I got to thinkin' of her: In my great affliction sheWuz sich a comfert to us, and so kind and neghborly, —She'd come, and leave her housework, fer to he'p out little Jane,And talk of her own mother 'at she'd never see again —They'd sometimes cry together – though, fer the most part, sheWould have the child so rickonciled and happy-like 'at weFelt lonesomer'n ever when she'd putt her bonnet onAnd say she'd railly haf to be a-gittin' back to John!I got to thinkin' of her, as I say, – and more and moreI'd think of her dependence, and the burdens 'at she bore, —Her parunts both a-bein' dead, and all her sisters goneAnd married off, and her a-livin' thare alone with John —You might say jest a-toilin' and a-slavin' out her lifeFer a man 'at hadn't pride enugh to git hisse'f a wife —'Less some one married Evaline and packed her off some day! —So I got to thinkin' of her – and – It happened thataway.

A DOS'T O' BLUES

I' got no patience with blues at all!And I ust to kindo' talkAginst 'em, and claim, tel along last Fall,They wuz none in the fambly stock;But a nephew of mine, from Eelinoy,That visitud us last year,He kindo' convinct me differuntWhilse he wuz a-stayin' here.From ev'ry-which-way that blues is from,They'd pester him ev'ry-ways;They'd come to him in the night, and comeOn Sundys, and rainy days;They'd tackle him in corn-plantin' time,And in harvest, and airly Fall, —But a dos't o' blues in the Wintertime,He 'lowed, wuz the worst of all!Said "All diseases that ever he had —The mumps, er the rhumatiz —Er ev'ry-other-day-aigger – badAs ever the blame thing is! —Er a cyarbuncle, say, on the back of his neck,Er a felon on his thumb, —But you keep the blues away from him,And all o' the rest could come!"And he'd moan, "They's nary a leaf below!Ner a spear o' grass in sight!And the whole woodpile's clean under snow!And the days is dark as night!You can't go out – ner you can't stay in —Lay down – stand up – ner set!"And a tetch o' regular tyfoid-bluesWould double him jest clean shet!I writ his parunts a postal-kyardHe could stay tel Springtime come;And Aprile —first, as I rickollect —Wuz the day we shipped him home!Most o' his relatives, sence then,Has eether give up, er quit,Er jest died off; but I understandHe's the same old color yit!

THE OLD HOME BY THE MILL

This is "The old Home by the Mill" – fer we still call it so,Although the old mill, roof and sill, is all gone long ago.The old home, though, and the old folks – the old spring, and a fewOld cattails, weeds and hartychokes, is left to welcome you!Here, Marg'et! – fetch the man a tin to drink out of! Our springKeeps kindo'-sorto' cavin' in, but don't "taste" anything!She's kindo' agein', Marg'et is – "the old process" – like me,All ham-stringed up with rhumatiz, and on in seventy-three.Jest me and Marg'et lives alone here – like in long ago;The childern all putt off and gone, and married, don't you know?One's millin' 'way out West somewhare; two other miller-boysIn Minnyopolis they air; and one's in Illinoise.The oldest gyrl – the first that went – married and died right here;The next lives in Winn's Settlement – fer purt'-nigh thirty year!And youngest one – was allus fer the old home here – but no! —Her man turns in and he packs her 'way off to Idyho!I don't miss them like Marg'et does – 'cause I got her, you see;And when she pines for them – that's 'cause she's only jest got me!I laugh, and joke her 'bout it all. – But talkin' sense, I'll say,When she was tuk so bad last Fall, I laughed then t'other way!I hain't so favor'ble impressed 'bout dyin'; but ef IFound I was only second-best when us two come to die,I'd 'dopt the "new process" in full, ef Marg'et died, you see, —I'd jest crawl in my grave and pull the green grass over me!

THE WAY IT WUZ

Las' July – and, I persume,'Bout as hotAs the old Gran'-Jury roomWhare they sot! —Fight 'twixt Mike and Dock McGreff…'Pears to me jest like as efI'd a-dremp' the whole blame thing —Allus ha'nts me roun' the gizzardWhen they's nightmares on the wingAnd a feller's blood's jes' friz!Seed the row from A to Izzard —'Cause I wuz a-standin' as clos't to 'emAs me and you is!Tell you the way it wuz —And I don't want to see,Like some fellers does,When they's goern to beAny kind o' fuss —On'y makes a rumpus wussFer to interfereWhen theyr dander's riz —Might as lif to cheer!But I wuz a-standin' as clos't to 'emAs me and you is!I wuz kindo' strayin'Past the blame saloon —Heerd some fiddler playin'That old "Hee-cup tune!"I'd stopped-like, you know,Fer a minit er so,And wuz jest aboutSettin' down, when —Jeemses-whizz!—Whole durn winder-sash fell out!And thare laid Dock McGreff, and MikeA-straddlin' him, all bloody-like,And both a-gittin' down to biz! —And I wuz a-standin' as clos't to 'emAs me and you is!I wuz the on'y man aroun' —(Durn old-fogey town!'Peared more like, to me,Sund'y than Saturd'y!)Dog come 'crost the roadAnd tuk a smellAnd putt right back:Mishler driv by 'ith a loadO' cantalo'pes he couldn't sell —Too mad, 'i jack!To even astWhat wuz up, as he went past!Weather most outrageous hot! —Fairly hear it sizzRoun' Dock and Mike – tel Dock he shot, —And Mike he slacked that grip o' hisAnd fell, all spraddled out. Dock riz'Bout half up, a spittin' red,And shuck his head…And I wuz a-standin' as clos't to 'emAs me and you is!And Dock he says,A-whisperin'-like, —"It hain't no useA-tryin'! – MikeHe's jest ripped my daylights loose! —Git that blame-don fiddler toLet up, and come out here – YouGot some burryin' to do, —Mike makes one, and, I expects,'Bout ten seconds, I'll make two!"And he drapped back, whare he'd riz,'Crost Mike's body, black and blue,Like a great big letter X! —And I wuz a-standin' as clos't to 'emAs me and you is!

PAP'S OLD SAYIN'

Pap had one old-fashioned sayin'That I'll never quite fergit —And they's seven growed-up childernOf us rickollects it yit! —Settin' round the dinner-table,Talkin' 'bout our friends, perhaps,Er abusin' of our neghbors,I kin hear them words o' Pap's —"Shet up, and eat yer vittels!"Pap he'd never argy with us,Ner cut any subject shortWhilse we all kep' clear o' gossip,And wuz actin' as we ort:But ef we'd git out o' order —Like sometimes a fambly is, —Faultin' folks, er one another,Then we'd hear that voice o' his —"Shet up, and eat yer vittels!"Wuz no hand hisse'f at talkin' —Never hadn't much to say, —Only, as I said, pervidin'When we'd rile him thataway:Then he'd allus lose his temperSpite o' fate, and jerk his headAnd slam down his caseknife vicious'Whilse he glared around and said —"Shet up, and eat yer vittels!"Mind last time 'at Pap was ailin'With a misery in his side,And had hobbled in the kitchen —Jest the day before he died, —Laury Jane she ups and tells him,"Pap, you're pale as pale kin be —Hain't ye 'feard them-air cowcumbersHain't good fer ye?" And says he,"Shet up, and eat yer vittels!"Well! I've saw a-many a sorrow, —Forty year', through thick and thin;I've got best, – and I've got wors'ted,Time and time and time ag'in! —But I've met a-many a troubleThat I hain't run onto twice,Haltin'-like and thinkin' overThem-air words o' Pap's advice:"Shet up, and eat yer vittels!"

ROMANCIN'

I' b'en a-kindo' "musin'," as the feller says, and I'mAbout o' the conclusion that they hain't no better time,When you come to cipher on it, than the times we ust to knowWhen we swore our first "dog-gone-it" sorto' solum-like and low!You git my idy, do you? —Little tads, you understand —Jest a-wishin' thue and thue you that you on'y wuz a man. —Yit here I am, this minit, even sixty, to a day,And fergettin' all that's in it, wishin' jest the other way!I hain't no hand to lectur' on the times, er dimonstrateWhare the trouble is, er hector and domineer with Fate, —But when I git so flurried, and so pestered-like and blue,And so rail owdacious worried, let me tell you what I do! —I jest gee-haw the hosses, and onhook the swingle-tree,Whare the hazel-bushes tosses down theyr shadders over me;And I draw my plug o' navy, and I climb the fence, and setJest a-thinkin' here, i gravy! tel my eyes is wringin'-wet!Tho' I still kin see the trouble o' the presunt, I kin see —Kindo' like my sight wuz double – all the things that ust to be;And the flutter o' the robin and the teeter o' the wrenSets the willer-branches bobbin' "howdy-do" thum Now to Then!The deadnin' and the thicket's jest a-bilin' full of June,Thum the rattle o' the cricket, to the yallar-hammer's tune;And the catbird in the bottom, and the sapsuck on the snag,Seems ef they can't – od-rot 'em! – jest do nothin' else but brag!They's music in the twitter of the bluebird and the jay,And that sassy little critter jest a-peckin' all the day;They's music in the "flicker," and they's music in the thrush,And they's music in the snicker o' the chipmunk in the brush!They's music all around me! – And I go back, in a dreamSweeter yit than ever found me fast asleep, – and in the streamThat ust to split the medder whare the dandylions growed,I stand knee-deep, and redder than the sunset down the road.Then's when I' b'en a-fishin'! – And they's other fellers, too,With theyr hick'ry-poles a-swishin' out behind 'em; and a fewLittle "shiners" on our stringers, with theyr tails tip-toein' bloom,As we dance 'em in our fingers all the happy jurney home.I kin see us, true to Natur', thum the time we started out,With a biscuit and a 'tater in our little "roundabout"! —I kin see our lines a-tanglin', and our elbows in a jam,And our naked legs a-danglin' thum the apern o' the dam.I kin see the honeysuckle climbin' up around the mill,And kin hear the worter chuckle, and the wheel a-growlin' still;And thum the bank below it I kin steal the old canoe,And jest git in and row it like the miller ust to do.W'y, I git my fancy focussed on the past so mortul planeI kin even smell the locus'-blossoms bloomin' in the lane;And I hear the cow-bells clinkin' sweeter tunes 'n "Money-musk"Fer the lightnin' bugs a-blinkin' and a-dancin' in the dusk.And when I've kep' on "musin'," as the feller says, tel I'mFirm-fixed in the conclusion that they hain't no better time,When you come to cipher on it, than the old times, – I de-clareI kin wake and say "dog-gone-it!" jest as soft as any prayer!

AN OLD SETTLER'S STORY

AN OLD SETTLER'S STORY

William Williams his name was – er so he said; – Bill Williams they called him, and them 'at knowed him best called him Bill Bills.

The first I seed o' Bills was about two weeks after he got here. The Settlement wasn't nothin' but a baby in them days, fer I mind 'at old Ezry Sturgiss had jist got his saw and griss-mill a-goin', and Bills had come along and claimed to know all about millin', and got a job with him; and millers in them times was wanted worse'n congerssmen, and I reckon got better wages; fer afore Ezry built, there wasn't a dust o' meal er flour to be had short o' the White Water, better'n sixty mil'd from here, the way we had to fetch it. And they used to come to Ezry's fer their grindin' as fur as that; and one feller I knowed to come from what used to be the old South Fork, over eighty mil'd from here, and in the wettest, rainyest weather; and mud! Law!

Well, this-here Bills was a-workin' fer Ezry at the time – part the time a-grindin', and part the time a-lookin' after the sawin', and gittin' out timber and the like. Bills was a queer-lookin' feller, shore! About as tall a build man as Tom Carter – but of course you don't know nothin' o' Tom Carter. A great big hulk of a feller, Tom was; and as fur back as Fifty-eight used to make his brags that he could cut and putt up his seven cord a day.

Well, what give Bills this queer look, as I was a-goin' on to say, was a great big ugly scar a-runnin' from the corner o' one eye clean down his face and neck, and I don't know how fur down his breast – awful lookin'; and he never shaved, and there wasn't a hair a-growin' in that scar, and it looked like a – some kind o' pizen snake er somepin' a-crawlin' in the grass and weeds. I never seed sich a' out-and-out ornry-lookin' chap, and I'll never fergit the first time I set eyes on him.

Steve and me – Steve was my youngest brother; Steve's be'n in Californy now fer, le' me see, – well, anyways, I rickon, over thirty year. – Steve was a-drivin' the team at the time – I allus let Steve drive; 'peared like Steve was made a-purpose fer hosses. The beatin'est hand with hosses 'at ever you did see and-I-know! W'y, a hoss, after he got kindo' used to Steve a-handlin' of him, would do anything fer him! And I've knowed that boy to swap fer hosses 'at couldn't hardly make a shadder; and, afore you knowed it, Steve would have 'em a-cavortin' around a-lookin' as peert and fat and slick!

Well, we'd come over to Ezry's fer some grindin' that day; and Steve wanted to price some lumber fer a house, intendin' to marry that Fall – and would a-married, I reckon, ef the girl hadn't a-died jist as she'd got her weddin' clothes done – and that set hard on Steve fer a while. Yit he rallied, you know, as a youngster will; but he never married, someway – never married. Reckon he never found no other woman he could love well enough – 'less it was – well, no odds. – The Good Bein's jedge o' what's best fer each and all.

We lived then about eight mil'd from Ezry's, and it tuck about a day to make the trip; so you kin kindo' git an idy o' how the roads was in them days.

Well, on the way over I noticed Steve was mighty quiet-like, but I didn't think nothin' of it, tel at last he says, says he, "Ben, I want you to kindo' keep an eye out fer Ezry's new hand" – meanin' Bills. And then I kindo' suspicioned somepin' o' nother was up betwixt 'em; and shore enough there was, as I found out afore the day was over.

I knowed 'at Bills was a mean sort of a man, from what I'd heerd. His name was all over the neighberhood afore he'd be'n here two weeks.

In the first place, he come in a suspicious sorto' way: Him and his wife, and a little baby on'y a few months old, come through in a kivvered wagon with a fambly a-goin' som'ers in The Illinoy; and they stopped at the mill, fer some meal er somepin', and Bills got to talkin' with Ezry 'bout millin', and one thing o' nother, and said he was expeerenced some 'bout a mill hisse'f, and told Ezry ef he'd give him work he'd stop; said his wife and baby wasn't strong enough to stand trav'lin', and ef Ezry'd give him work he was ready to lick into it then and there; said his woman could pay her board by sewin' and the like, tel they got ahead a little; and then, ef he liked the neighberhood, he said he'd as lif settle there as anywheres; he was huntin' a home, he said, and the outlook kindo' struck him, and his woman railly needed rest, and wasn't strong enough to go much furder. And old Ezry kindo' tuk pity on the feller; and havin' house-room to spare, and railly in need of a good hand at the mill, he said all right; and so the feller stopped and the wagon druv ahead and left 'em; and they didn't have no things ner nothin' – not even a cyarpet-satchel, ner a stitch o' clothes, on'y what they had on their backs. And I think it was the third er fourth day after Bills stopped 'at he whirped Tomps Burk, the bully o' here them days, tel you wouldn't a-knowed him!

Well, I'd heerd o' this, and the facts is I'd made up my mind 'at Bills was a bad stick, and the place wasn't none the better fer his bein' here. But, as I was a-goin' on to say, – as Steve and me driv up to the mill, I ketched sight o' Bills the first thing, a-lookin' out o' where some boards was knocked off, jist over the worter-wheel; and he knowed Steve – I could see that by his face; and he hollered somepin', too, but what it was I couldn't jist make out, fer the noise o' the wheel; but he looked to me as ef he'd hollered somepin' mean a-purpose so's Steve wouldn't hear it, and he'd have the consolation o' knowin' 'at he'd called Steve some ornry name 'thout givin' him a chance to take it up. Steve was allus quiet-like, but ef you raised his dander onc't – and you could do that 'thout much trouble, callin' him names er somepin', particular' anything 'bout his mother. Steve loved his mother – allus loved his mother, and would fight fer her at the drap o' the hat. And he was her favo-rite– allus a-talkin' o' "her boy, Steven," as she used to call him, and so proud of him, and so keerful of him allus, when he'd be sick or anything; nuss him like a baby, she would.