Chapter 3

There wasn't two purtier farms in the state Than the couple of which I'm about to relate;-- Jinin' each other--belongin' to Brown, And jest at the edge of a flourishin' town. Brown was a man, as I understand, That allus had handled a good 'eal o' land, And was sharp as a tack in drivin' a trade-- For that's the way most of his money was made. And all the grounds and the orchards about His two pet farms was all tricked out With poppies and posies And sweet-smellin' rosies; And hundreds o' kinds Of all sorts o' vines, To tickle the most horticultural minds And little dwarf trees not as thick as your wrist With ripe apples on 'em as big as your fist: And peaches,--Siberian crabs and pears, And quinces--Well! ANY fruit ANY tree bears; And th purtiest stream--jest a-swimmin' with fish, And--JEST O'MOST EVERYTHING HEART COULD WISH! The purtiest orch'rds--I wish you could see How purty they was, fer I know it 'ud be A regular treat!--but I'll go ahead with My story! A man by the name o' Smith-- (A bad name to rhyme, But I reckon that I'm Not goin' back on a Smith! nary time!) 'At hadn't a soul of kin nor kith, And more money than he knowed what to do with,-- So he comes a-ridin' along one day, And HE says to Brown, in his offhand way-- Who was trainin' some newfangled vines round a bay- Winder--"Howdy-do--look-a-here--say: What'll you take fer this property here?-- I'm talkin' o' leavin' the city this year, And I want to be Where the air is free, And I'll BUY this place, if it ain't too dear!"-- Well--they grumbled and jawed aroun'-- "I don't like to part with the place," says Brown; "Well," says Smith, a-jerkin' his head, "That house yonder--bricks painted red-- Jest like this'n--a PURTIER VIEW-- Who is it owns it?" "That's mine too," Says Brown, as he winked at a hole in his shoe, "But I'll tell you right here jest what I KIN do:-- If you'll pay the figgers I'll sell IT to you.," Smith went over and looked at the place-- Badgered with Brown, and argied the case-- Thought that Brown's figgers was rather too tall, But, findin' that Brown wasn't goin' to fall, In final agreed, So they drawed up the deed Fer the farm and the fixtures--the live stock an' all. And so Smith moved from the city as soon As he possibly could--But "the man in the moon" Knowed more'n Smith o' farmin' pursuits, And jest to convince you, and have no disputes, How little he knowed, I'll tell you his "mode," As he called it, o' raisin' "the best that growed," In the way o' potatoes-- Cucumbers--tomatoes, And squashes as lengthy as young alligators. 'Twas allus a curious thing to me How big a fool a feller kin be When he gits on a farm after leavin' a town!-- Expectin' to raise himself up to renown, And reap fer himself agricultural fame, By growin' of squashes--WITHOUT ANY SHAME-- As useless and long as a technical name. To make the soil pure, And certainly sure, He plastered the ground with patent manure. He had cultivators, and double-hoss plows, And patent machines fer milkin' his cows; And patent hay-forks--patent measures and weights, And new patent back-action hinges fer gates, And barn locks and latches, and such little dribs, And patents to keep the rats out o' the cribs-- Reapers and mowers, And patent grain sowers; And drillers And tillers And cucumber hillers, And horries;--and had patent rollers and scrapers, And took about ten agricultural papers. So you can imagine how matters turned out: But BROWN didn't have not a shadder o' doubt That Smith didn't know what he was about When he said that "the OLD way to farm was played out." But Smith worked ahead, And when any one said That the OLD way o' workin' was better instead O' his "modern idees," he allus turned red, And wanted to know What made people so INFERNALLY anxious to hear theirselves crow? And guessed that he'd manage to hoe his own row. Brown he come onc't and leant over the fence, And told Smith that he couldn't see any sense In goin' to such a tremendous expense Fer the sake o' such no-account experiments "That'll never make corn! As shore's you're born It'll come out the leetlest end of the horn!" Says Brown, as he pulled off a big roastin'-ear From a stalk of his own That had tribble outgrown Smith's poor yaller shoots, and says he, "Looky here! THIS corn was raised in the old-fashioned way, And I rather imagine that THIS corn'll pay Expenses fer RAISIN' it!--What do you say?" Brown got him then to look over his crop.-- HIS luck that season had been tip-top! And you may surmise Smith opened his eyes And let out a look o' the wildest surprise When Brown showed him punkins as big as the lies He was stuffin' him with--about offers he's had Fer his farm: "I don't want to sell very bad," He says, but says he, "Mr. Smith, you kin see Fer yourself how matters is standin' with me, I UNDERSTAND FARMIN' and I'd better stay, You know, on my farm;--I'm a-makin' it pay-- I oughtn't to grumble!--I reckon I'll clear Away over four thousand dollars this year." And that was the reason, he made it appear, Why he didn't care about sellin' his farm, And hinted at his havin' done himself harm In sellin' the other, and wanted to know If Smith wouldn't sell back ag'in to him.--So Smith took the bait, and says he, "Mr. Brown, I wouldn't SELL out but we might swap aroun'-- How'll you trade your place fer mine?" (Purty sharp way o' comin' the shine Over Smith! Wasn't it?) Well, sir, this Brown Played out his hand and brought Smithy down-- Traded with him an', workin' it cute, Raked in two thousand dollars to boot As slick as a whistle, an' that wasn't all,-- He managed to trade back ag'in the next fall,-- And the next--and the next--as long as Smith stayed He reaped with his harvests an annual trade.-- Why, I reckon that Brown must 'a' easily made-- On an AVERAGE--nearly two thousand a year-- Together he made over seven thousand--clear.-- Till Mr. Smith found he was losin' his health In as big a proportion, almost, as his wealth; So at last he concluded to move back to town, And sold back his farm to this same Mr. Brown At very low figgers, by gittin' it down. Further'n this I have nothin' to say Than merely advisin' the Smiths fer to stay In their grocery stores in flourishin' towns And leave agriculture alone--and the Browns.

A POET'S WOOING

I woo'd a woman once, But she was sharper than an eastern wind. --TENNYSON.

"What may I do to make you glad, To make you glad and free, Till your light smiles glance And your bright eyes dance Like sunbeams on the sea? Read some rhyme that is blithe and gay Of a bright May morn and a marriage day?" And she sighed in a listless way she had,-- "Do not read--it will make me sad!"

"What shall I do to make you glad-- To make you glad and gay, Till your eyes gleam bright As the stars at night When as light as the light of day Sing some song as I twang the strings Of my sweet guitar through its wanderings?" And she sighed in the weary way she had,-- "Do not sing--it will make me sad!"

"What can I do to make you glad-- As glad as glad can be, Till your clear eyes seem Like the rays that gleam And glint through a dew-decked tree?-- Will it please you, dear, that I now begin A grand old air on my violin?" And she spoke again in the following way,-- "Yes, oh yes, it would please me, sir; I would be so glad you'd play Some grand old march--in character,-- And then as you march away I will no longer thus be sad, But oh, so glad--so glad--so glad!"

MAN'S DEVOTION

A lover said, "O Maiden, love me well, For I must go away: And should ANOTHER ever come to tell Of love--What WILL you say?"

And she let fall a royal robe of hair That folded on his arm And made a golden pillow for her there; Her face--as bright a charm

As ever setting held in kingly crown-- Made answer with a look, And reading it, the lover bended down, And, trusting, "kissed the book."

He took a fond farewell and went away. And slow the time went by-- So weary--dreary was it, day by day To love, and wait, and sigh.

She kissed his pictured face sometimes, and said: "O Lips, so cold and dumb, I would that you would tell me, if not dead, Why, why do you not come?"

The picture, smiling, stared her in the face Unmoved--e'en with the touch Of tear-drops--HERS--bejeweling the case-- 'Twas plain--she loved him much.

And, thus she grew to think of him as gay And joyous all the while, And SHE was sorrowing--"Ah, welladay!" But pictures ALWAYS smile!

And years--dull years--in dull monotony As ever went and came, Still weaving changes on unceasingly, And changing, changed her name.

Was she untrue?--She oftentimes was glad And happy as a wife; But ONE remembrance oftentimes made sad Her matrimonial life.--

Though its few years were hardly noted, when Again her path was strown With thorns--the roses swept away again, And she again alone!

And then--alas! ah THEN!--her lover came: "I come to claim you now-- My Darling, for I know you are the same, And I have kept my vow

Through these long, long, long years, and now no more Shall we asundered be!" She staggered back and, sinking to the floor, Cried in her agony:

"I have been false!" she moaned, "_I_ am not true-- I am not worthy now, Nor ever can I be a wife to YOU-- For I have broke my vow!"

And as she kneeled there, sobbing at his feet, He calmly spoke--no sign Betrayed his inward agony--"I count you meet To be a wife of mine!"

And raised her up forgiven, though untrue; As fond he gazed on her, She sighed,--"SO HAPPY!" And she never knew HE was a WIDOWER.

A BALLAD

WITH A SERIOUS CONCLUSION

Crowd about me, little children-- Come and cluster 'round my knee While I tell a little story That happened once with me.

My father he had gone away A-sailing on the foam, Leaving me--the merest infant-- And my mother dear at home;

For my father was a sailor, And he sailed the ocean o'er For full five years ere yet again He reached his native shore.

And I had grown up rugged And healthy day by day, Though I was but a puny babe When father went away.

Poor mother she would kiss me And look at me and sigh So strangely, oft I wondered And would ask the reason why.

And she would answer sadly, Between her sobs and tears,-- "You look so like your father, Far away so many years!"

And then she would caress me And brush my hair away, And tell me not to question, But to run about my play.

Thus I went playing thoughtfully-- For that my mother said,-- "YOU LOOK SO LIKE YOUR FATHER!" Kept ringing in my head.

So, ranging once the golden sands That looked out on the sea, I called aloud, "My father dear, Come back to ma and me!"

Then I saw a glancing shadow On the sand, and heard the shriek Of a sea-gull flying seaward, And I heard a gruff voice speak:--

"Ay, ay, my little shipmate, I thought I heard you hail; Were you trumpeting that sea-gull, Or do you see a sail?"

And as rough and gruff a sailor As ever sailed the sea Was standing near grotesquely And leering dreadfully.

I replied, though I was frightened, "It was my father dear I was calling for across the sea-- I think he didn't hear."

And then the sailor leered again In such a frightful way, And made so many faces I was little loath to stay:

But he started fiercely toward me-- Then made a sudden halt And roared, "_I_ think he heard you!" And turned a somersault.

Then a wild fear overcame me, And I flew off like the wind, Shrieking "MOTHER!"--and the sailor Just a little way behind!

And then my mother heard me, And I saw her shade her eyes, Looking toward me from the doorway, Transfixed with pale surprise

For a moment--then her features Glowed with all their wonted charms As the sailor overtook me, And I fainted in her arms.

When I awoke to reason I shuddered with affright Till I felt my mother's presence With a thrill of wild delight--

Till, amid a shower of kisses Falling glad as summer rain, A muffled thunder rumbled,-- "Is he coming 'round again?"

Then I shrieked and clung unto her, While her features flushed and burned As she told me it was father From a foreign land returned.

. . . . . . .

I said--when I was calm again, And thoughtfully once more Had dwelt upon my mother's words Of just the day before,--

"I DON'T look like my father, As you told me yesterday-- I know I don't--or father Would have run the other way."

THE OLD TIMES WERE THE BEST

Friends, my heart is half aweary Of its happiness to-night: Though your songs are gay and cheery, And your spirits feather-light, There's a ghostly music haunting Still the heart of every guest And a voiceless chorus chanting That the Old Times were the best.

CHORUS

All about is bright and pleasant With the sound of song and jest, Yet a feeling's ever present That the Old Times were the best.

A SUMMER AFTERNOON

A languid atmosphere, a lazy breeze, With labored respiration, moves the wheat From distant reaches, till the golden seas Break in crisp whispers at my feet.

My book, neglected of an idle mind, Hides for a moment from the eyes of men; Or lightly opened by a critic wind, Affrightedly reviews itself again.

Off through the haze that dances in the shine The warm sun showers in the open glade, The forest lies, a silhouette design Dimmed through and through with shade.

A dreamy day; and tranquilly I lie At anchor from all storms of mental strain; With absent vision, gazing at the sky, "Like one that hears it rain."

The Katydid, so boisterous last night, Clinging, inverted, in uneasy poise, Beneath a wheat-blade, has forgotten quite If "Katy DID or DIDN'T" make a noise.

The twitter, sometimes, of a wayward bird That checks the song abruptly at the sound, And mildly, chiding echoes that have stirred, Sink into silence, all the more profound.

And drowsily I hear the plaintive strain Of some poor dove . . . Why, I can scarcely keep My heavy eyelids--there it is again-- "Coo-coo!"--I mustn't--"Coo-coo!"--fall asleep!

AT LAST

A dark, tempestuous night; the stars shut in With shrouds of fog; an inky, jet-black blot The firmament; and where the moon has been An hour agone seems like the darkest spot. The weird wind--furious at its demon game-- Rattles one's fancy like a window-frame.

A care-worn face peers out into the dark, And childish faces--frightened at the gloom-- Grow awed and vacant as they turn to mark The father's as he passes through the room: The gate latch clatters, and wee baby Bess Whispers, "The doctor's tummin' now, I dess!"

The father turns; a sharp, swift flash of pain Flits o'er his face: "Amanda, child! I said A moment since--I see I must AGAIN-- Go take your little sisters off to bed! There, Effie, Rose, and CLARA MUSTN'T CRY!" "I tan't he'p it--I'm fyaid 'at mama'll die!"

What are his feelings, when this man alone Sits in the silence, glaring in the grate That sobs and sighs on in an undertone As stoical--immovable as Fate, While muffled voices from the sick one's room Come in like heralds of a dreaded doom?

The door-latch jingles: in the doorway stands The doctor, while the draft puffs in a breath-- The dead coals leap to life, and clap their hands, The flames flash up. A face as pale as death Turns slowly--teeth tight clenched, and with a look The doctor, through his specs, reads like a book.

"Come, brace up, Major!"--"Let me know the worst!" "W'y you're the biggest fool I ever saw-- Here, Major--take a little brandy first-- There! She's a BOY--I mean HE is--hurrah!" "Wake up the other girls--and shout for joy-- Eureka is his name--I've found A BOY!"

FARMER WHIPPLE--BACHELOR

It's a mystery to see me--a man o' fifty-four, Who's lived a cross old bachelor fer thirty year' and more-- A-lookin' glad and smilin'! And they's none o' you can say That you can guess the reason why I feel so good to-day!

I must tell you all about it! But I'll have to deviate A little in beginnin', so's to set the matter straight As to how it comes to happen that I never took a wife-- Kindo' "crawfish" from the Present to the Springtime of my life!

I was brought up in the country: Of a family of five-- Three brothers and a sister--I'm the only one alive,-- Fer they all died little babies; and 'twas one o' Mother's ways, You know, to want a daughter; so she took a girl to raise.

The sweetest little thing she was, with rosy cheeks, and fat-- We was little chunks o' shavers then about as high as that! But someway we sort a' SUITED-like! and Mother she'd declare She never laid her eyes on a more lovin' pair

Than WE was! So we growed up side by side fer thirteen year', And every hour of it she growed to me more dear!-- W'y, even Father's dyin', as he did, I do believe Warn't more affectin' to me than it was to see her grieve!

I was then a lad o' twenty; and I felt a flash o' pride In thinkin' all depended on ME now to pervide Fer Mother and fer Mary; and I went about the place With sleeves rolled up--and workin', with a mighty smilin' face.--

Fer SOMEPIN' ELSE was workin'! but not a word I said Of a certain sort o' notion that was runnin' through my head,-- "Some day I'd maybe marry, and a BROTHER'S love was one Thing--a LOVER'S was another!" was the way the notion run!

I remember onc't in harvest, when the "cradle-in' " was done, (When the harvest of my summers mounted up to twenty-one), I was ridin' home with Mary at the closin' o' the day-- A-chawin' straws and thinkin', in a lover's lazy way!

And Mary's cheeks was burnin' like the sunset down the lane: I noticed she was thinkin', too, and ast her to explain. Well--when she turned and KISSED ME, WITH HER ARMS AROUND ME--LAW! I'd a bigger load o' Heaven than I had a load o' straw!

I don't p'tend to learnin', but I'll tell you what's a fac', They's a mighty truthful sayin' somers in a' almanac-- Er SOMERS--'bout "puore happiness"--perhaps some folks'll laugh At the idy--"only lastin' jest two seconds and a half."--

But it's jest as true as preachin'!--fer that was a SISTER'S kiss, And a sister's lovin' confidence a-tellin' to me this:-- "SHE was happy, BEIN' PROMISED TO THE SON O' FARMER BROWN."-- And my feelin's struck a pardnership with sunset and went down!

I don't know HOW I acted, and I don't know WHAT I said,-- Fer my heart seemed jest a-turnin' to an ice-cold lump o' lead; And the hosses kind o'glimmered before me in the road, And the lines fell from my fingers--And that was all I knowed--

Fer--well, I don't know HOW long--They's a dim rememberence Of a sound o' snortin' horses, and a stake-and-ridered fence A-whizzin' past, and wheat-sheaves a-dancin' in the air, And Mary screamin' "Murder!" and a-runnin' up to where

_I_ was layin' by the roadside, and the wagon upside down A-leanin' on the gate-post, with the wheels a-whirlin' roun'! And I tried to raise and meet her, but I couldn't, with a vague Sort o' notion comin' to me that I had a broken leg.

Well, the women nussed me through it; but many a time I'd sigh As I'd keep a-gittin' better instid o' goin' to die, And wonder what was left ME worth livin' fer below, When the girl I loved was married to another, don't you know!

And my thoughts was as rebellious as the folks was good and kind When Brown and Mary married--Railly must 'a' been my MIND Was kind o' out o' kilter!--fer I hated Brown, you see, Worse'n PIZEN--and the feller whittled crutches out fer ME--

And done a thousand little ac's o' kindness and respec'-- And me a-wishin' all the time that I could break his neck! My relief was like a mourner's when the funeral is done When they moved to Illinois in the Fall o' Forty-one.

Then I went to work in airnest--I had nothin' much in view But to drownd out rickollections--and it kep' me busy, too! But I slowly thrived and prospered, tel Mother used to say She expected yit to see me a wealthy man some day.

Then I'd think how little MONEY was, compared to happiness-- And who'd be left to use it when I died I couldn't guess! But I've still kep' speculatin' and a-gainin' year by year, Tel I'm payin' half the taxes in the county, mighty near!

Well!--A year ago er better, a letter comes to hand Astin' how I'd like to dicker fer some Illinois land-- "The feller that had owned it," it went ahead to state, "Had jest deceased, insolvent, leavin' chance to speculate,"--

And then it closed by sayin' that I'd "better come and see."-- I'd never been West, anyhow--a'most too wild fer ME, I'd allus had a notion; but a lawyer here in town Said I'd find myself mistakend when I come to look around.

So I bids good-by to Mother, and I jumps aboard the train, A-thinkin' what I'd bring her when I come back home again-- And ef she'd had an idy what the present was to be, I think it's more'n likely she'd 'a' went along with me!

Cars is awful tejus ridin', fer all they go so fast! But finally they called out my stoppin'-place at last: And that night, at the tavern, I dreamp' I was a train O' cars, and SKEERED at somepin', runnin' down a country lane!

Well, in the morning airly--after huntin' up the man-- The lawyer who was wantin' to swap the piece o' land-- We started fer the country; and I ast the history Of the farm--its former owner--and so forth, etcetery!

And--well--it was interESTin'--I su'prised him, I suppose, By the loud and frequent manner in which I blowed my nose!-- But his su'prise was greater, and it made him wonder more, When I kissed and hugged the widder when she met us at the door!--

IT WAS MARY: . . . They's a feelin' a-hidin' down in here-- Of course I can't explain it, ner ever make it clear.-- It was with us in that meetin', I don't want you to fergit! And it makes me kind o'nervous when I think about it yit!

I BOUGHT that farm, and DEEDED it, afore I left the town With "title clear to mansions in the skies," to Mary Brown! And fu'thermore, I took her and the CHILDERN--fer you see, They'd never seed their Grandma--and I fetched 'em home with me.

So NOW you've got an idy why a man o' fifty-four, Who's lived a cross old bachelor fer thirty year' and more Is a-lookin' glad and smilin'!--And I've jest come into town To git a pair o' license fer to MARRY Mary Brown.

MY JOLLY FRIEND'S SECRET

Ah, friend of mine, how goes it, Since you've taken you a mate?-- Your smile, though, plainly shows it Is a very happy state! Dan Cupid's necromancy! You must sit you down and dine, And lubricate your fancy With a glass or two of wine.

And as you have "deserted," As my other chums have done, While I laugh alone diverted, As you drop off one by one-- And I've remained unwedded, Till--you see--look here--that I'm, In a manner, "snatched bald-headed" By the sportive hand of Time!

I'm an "old 'un!" yes, but wrinkles Are not so plenty, quite, As to cover up the twinkles Of the BOY--ain't I right? Yet, there are ghosts of kisses Under this mustache of mine My mem'ry only misses When I drown 'em out with wine.

From acknowledgment so ample, You would hardly take me for What I am--a perfect sample Of a "jolly bachelor"; Not a bachelor has being When he laughs at married life But his heart and soul's agreeing That he ought to have a wife!

Ah, ha I old chum, this claret, Like Fatima, holds the key Of the old Blue-Beardish garret Of my hidden mystery! Did you say you'd like to listen? Ah, my boy! the "SAD NO MORE!" And the tear-drops that will glisten-- TURN THE CATCH UPON THE DOOR,