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 find' 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 't'uz 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.
COLONEL CARTER'S STORY OF THE POSTMASTER
BY F. HOPKINSON SMITH
"Take, for instance, the town of Caartersville: look at that peaceful
village which for mo' than a hundred years has enjoyed the privileges of
free government; and not only Caartersville, but all our section of the
State."
"Well, what's the matter with Cartersville?" asked Fitz, lighting his
cigar.
"Mattah, suh! Just look at the degradation it fell into hardly ten years
ago. A Yankee jedge jurisdiction our laws, a Yankee sheriff enfo'cin'
'em, and a Yankee postmaster distributin' letters and sellin' postage
stamps."
"But they were elected all right, Colonel, and represented the will of
the people."
"What people? Yo' people, not mine. No, my dear Fitz; the Administration
succeeding the war treated us shamefully, and will go down to postehity
as infamous."
The colonel here left his chair and began pacing the floor, his
indignation rising at every step.
"To give you an idea, suh," he continued, "of what we Southern people
suffe'd immediately after the fall of the Confederacy, let me state a
case that came under my own observation.
"Coloner Temple Talcott of F'okeer County, Virginia, came into
Talcottville one mornin', suh,--a town settled by his ancestors,--ridin'
upon his horse--or rather a mule belongin' to his overseer. Colonel
Talcott, suh, belonged to one of the vehy fust families in Virginia. He
was a son of Jedge Thaxton Talcott, and grandson of General Snowden
Stafford Talcott of the Revolutionary War. Now, suh, let me tell you
right here that the Talcott blood is as blue as the sky, and that every
gentleman bearin' the name is known all over the county as a man whose
honor is dearer to him than his life, and whose word is as good as his
bond. Well, suh, on this mornin' Colonel Talcott left his plantation in
charge of his overseer,--he was workin' it on shares,--and rode through
his estate to his ancestral town, some five miles distant. It is true,
suh, these estates were no longer in his name, but that had no bearin'
on the events that followed; he ought to have owned them, and would have
done so but for some vehy ungentlemanly fo'closure proceedin's which
occurred immediately after the war.
"On arriving at Talcottville the colonel dismounted, handed the reins to
his servant,--or perhaps one of the niggers around de do'--and entered
the post-office. Now, suh, let me tell you that one month befo', the
Government, contrary to the express wishes of a great many of our
leadin' citizens, had sent a Yankee postmaster to Talcottville to
administer the postal affairs of the town. No sooner had this man taken
possession than he began to be exclusive, suh, and to put on airs. The
vehy fust air he put on was to build a fence in his office and compel
our people to transact their business through a hole. This in itself was
vehy gallin', suh, for up to that time the mail had always been dumped
out on the table in the stage office and every gentleman had he'ped
himself. The next thing was the closin' of his mail bags at a' hour
fixed by himself. This became a great inconvenience to our citizens, who
were often late in finishin' their correspondence, and who had always
found our former postmaster willin' either to hold the bag over until
the next day, or to send it across to Drummondtown by a boy to catch a
later train.
"Well, suh, Colonel Talcott's mission to the post-office was to mail a
letter to his factor in Richmond, Virginia, on business of the utmost
importance to himself,--namely, the raisin' of a small loan upon his
share of the crop. Not the crop that was planted, suh, but the crop that
he expected to plant.
"Colonel Talcott approached the hole, and with that Chesterfieldian
manner which has distinguished the Talcotts for mo' than two centuries,
asked the postmaster for the loan of a three-cent postage stamp.
"To his astonishment, suh, he was refused.
"Think of a Talcott in his own county town bein' refused a three-cent
postage stamp by a low-lived Yankee, who had never known a gentleman in
his life! The colonel's first impulse was to haul the scoundrel through
the hole and caarve him; but then he remembered that he was a Talcott
and could not demean himself, and drawin' himself up again with that
manner which was grace itself he requested the loan of a three-cent
postage stamp until he should communicate with his factor in Richmond,
Virginia; and again he was refused. Well, suh, what was there left for a
high-toned Southern gentleman to do? Colonel Talcott drew his revolver
and shot that Yankee scoundrel through the heart, and killed him on the
spot.
"And now, suh, comes the most remarkable part of the story. If it had
not been for Major Tom Yancey, Jedge Kerfoot and myself, there would
have been a lawsuit."
Fitz lay back in his chair and roared.
"And they did not hang the colonel?"
"Hang a Talcott! No, suh; we don't hang gentlemen down our way. Jedge
Kerfoot vehy properly charged the coroner's jury that it was a matter
of self-defense, and Colonel Talcott was not detained mo' than haalf an
hour."
The colonel stopped, unlocked a closet in the sideboard, and produced a
black bottle labeled in ink, "Old Cherry Bounce, 1848."
"You must excuse me, gentlemen, but the discussion of these topics has
quite unnerved me. Allow me to share with you a thimbleful."
Fitz drained the glass, cast his eyes upward, and said solemnly, "To the
repose of the postmaster's soul."
LOVE SONNETS OF AN OFFICE BOY
BY S.E. KISER
I
Oh, if you only knowed how much I like
To stand here, when the "old man" ain't around,
And watch your soft, white fingers while you pound
Away at them there keys! Each time you strike
It almost seems to me as though you'd found
So me way, while writin' letters, how to play
Sweet music on that thing, because the sound
Is something I could listen to all day.
You're twenty-five or six, and I'm fourteen,
And you don't hardly ever notice me--
But when you do, you call me Willie! Gee,
I wisht I'd bundles of the old long green
And could be twenty-eight or nine or so,
And something happened to your other beau.
VI
When you're typewritin' and that long-legged clerk
Tips back there on his chair and smiles at you,
And you look up and get to smilin', too,
I'd like to go and give his chair a jerk
And send him flyin' till his head went through
The door that goes out to the hall, and when
They picked him up he'd be all black and blue
And you'd be nearly busted laughin' then.
But if I done it, maybe you would run
And hold his head and smooth his hair and say
It made you sad that he got dumped that way,
And I'd get h'isted out for what I done--
I wish that he'd get fired and you'd stay
And suddenly I'd be a man some day.
VIII
This morning when that homely, long-legged clerk
Come in he had a rose he got somewhere;
He went and kind of leaned against her chair,
Instead of goin' on about his work,
And stood around and talked to her a while,
Because the boss was out,--and both took care
To watch the door; and when he left her there
He dropped the flower with a sickish smile.
I snuck it from the glass of water she
Had stuck it in, and tore it up and put
It on the floor and smashed it with my foot,
When neither him nor her was watchin' me--
I'd like to rub the stem acrost his nose,
And I wish they'd never be another rose.
XIII
Last night I dreamed about her in my sleep;
I thought that her and me had went away
Out on some hill where birds sung 'round all day,
And I had got a job of herdin' sheep.
I thought that she had went along to keep
Me comp'ny, and we'd set around for hours
Just lovin', and I'd go and gather flowers
And pile them at her feet, all in a heap.
It seemed to me like heaven, bein' there
With only her besides the sheep and birds,
And us not sayin' anything but words
About the way we loved. I wouldn't care
To ever wake again if I could still
Dream we was there forever on the hill.
XXVII
It's over now; the blow has fell at last;
It seems as though the sun can't shine no more,
And nothing looks the way it did before;
The glad thoughts that I used to think are past.
Her desk's shut up to-day, the lid's locked fast;
The keys where she typewrote are still; her chair
Looks sad and lonesome standin' empty there--
I'd like to let the tears come if I dast.
This morning when the boss come in he found
A letter that he'd got from her, and so
He read it over twice and turned around
And said: "The little fool's got married!" Oh,
It seemed as if I'd sink down through the ground,
And never peep no more--I didn't, though.
MR. DOOLEY ON THE GAME OF FOOTBALL
BY FINLEY PETER DUNNE
"Whin I was a young man," said Mr. Dooley, "an' that was a long time
ago,--but not so long ago as manny iv me inimies'd like to believe, if I
had anny inimies,--I played fut-ball, but 'twas not th' fut-ball I see
whin th' Brothers' school an' th' Saint Aloysius Tigers played las' week
on th' pee-raries.
"Whin I was a la-ad, iv a Sundah afthernoon we'd get out in th' field
where th' oats'd been cut away, an' we'd choose up sides. Wan cap'n'd
pick one man, an' th' other another. 'I choose Dooley,' 'I choose
O'Connor,' 'I choose Dimpsey,' 'I choose Riordan,' an' so on till there
was twinty-five or thirty on a side. Thin wan cap'n'd kick th' ball, an'
all our side'd r-run at it an' kick it back; an' thin wan iv th' other
side'd kick it to us, an' afther awhile th' game'd get so timpischous
that all th' la-ads iv both sides'd be in wan pile, kickin' away at wan
or th' other or at th' ball or at th' impire, who was mos'ly a la-ad
that cudden't play an' that come out less able to play thin he was whin
he wint in. An', if anny wan laid hands on th' ball, he was kicked be
ivry wan else an' be th' impire. We played fr'm noon till dark, an'
kicked th' ball all th' way home in the moonlight.
"That was futball, an' I was a great wan to play it. I'd think nawthin'
iv histin' th' ball two hundherd feet in th' air, an' wanst I give it
such a boost that I stove in th' ribs iv th' Prowtestant minister--bad
luck to him, he was a kind man--that was lookin' on fr'm a hedge. I was
th' finest player in th' whole county, I was so.
"But this here game that I've been seein' ivry time th' pagan fistival
iv Thanksgivin' comes ar-round, sure it ain't th' game I played. I seen
th' Dorgan la-ad comin' up th' sthreet yesterdah in his futball
clothes,--a pair iv matthresses on his legs, a pillow behind, a mask
over his nose, an' a bushel measure iv hair on his head. He was followed
by thee men with bottles, Dr. Ryan, an' th' Dorgan fam'ly. I jined thim.
They was a big crowd on th' peerary,--a bigger crowd than ye cud get to
go f'r to see a prize fight. Both sides had their frinds that give th'
colledge cries. Says wan crowd: 'Take an ax, an ax, an ax to thim.
Hooroo, hooroo, hellabaloo. Christyan Bro-others!' an' th' other says,
'Hit thim, saw thim, gnaw thim, chaw thim, Saint Alo-ysius!' Well,
afther awhile they got down to wur-ruk. 'Sivin, eighteen, two, four,'
says a la-ad. I've seen people go mad over figures durin' th' free
silver campaign, but I niver see figures make a man want f'r to go out
an' kill his fellow-men befure. But these here figures had th' same
effect on th' la-ads that a mintion iv Lord Castlereagh'd have on their
fathers. Wan la-ad hauled off, an' give a la-ad acrost fr'm him a punch
in th' stomach. His frind acrost th' way caught him in th' ear. Th'
cinter rush iv th' Saint Aloysiuses took a runnin' jump at th' left lung
iv wan iv th' Christyan Brothers, an' wint to th' grass with him. Four
Christyan Brothers leaped most crooly at four Saint Aloysiuses, an'
rolled thim. Th' cap'n iv th' Saint Aloysiuses he took th' cap'n iv th'
Christyan Brothers be th' leg, an' he pounded th' pile with him as I've
seen a section hand tamp th' thrack. All this time young Dorgan was
standin' back, takin' no hand in th' affray. All iv a suddent he give a
cry iv rage, an' jumped feet foremost into th' pile. 'Down!' says th'
impire. 'Faith, they are all iv that,' says I. 'Will iver they get up?'
'They will,' says ol' man Dorgan. 'Ye can't stop thim,' says he.
"It took some time f'r to pry thim off. Near ivry man iv th' Saint
Aloysiuses was tied in a knot around wan iv th' Christyan Brothers. On'y
wan iv thim remained on th' field. He was lyin' face down, with his nose
in th' mud. 'He's kilt,' says I. 'I think he is,' says Dorgan, with a
merry smile. 'Twas my boy Jimmy done it, too,' says he. 'He'll be
arrested f'r murdher,' says I. 'He will not,' says he. 'There's on'y wan
polisman in town cud take him, an' he's down town doin' th' same f'r
somebody,' he says. Well, they carried th' corpse to th' side, an' took
th' ball out iv his stomach with a monkey wrinch, an' th' game was
rayshumed. 'Sivin, sixteen, eight, eleven,' says Saint Aloysius; an'
young Dorgan started to run down th' field. They was another young la-ad
r-runnin' in fr-ront iv Dorgan; an', as fast as wan iv th' Christyan
Brothers come up an' got in th' way, this here young Saint Aloysius
grabbed him be th' hair iv th' head an' th' sole iv th' fut, an' thrun
him over his shoulder. 'What's that la-ad doin'?' says I. 'Interfering'
says he. 'I shud think he was,' says I, 'an' most impudent,' I says.
''Tis such interference as this,' I says, 'that breaks up fam'lies'; an'
I come away.
"'Tis a noble sport, an' I'm glad to see us Irish ar-re gettin' into it.
Whin we larn it thruly, we'll teach thim colledge joods fr'm th' pie
belt a thrick or two."
"We have already," said Mr. Hennessy. "They'se a team up in Wisconsin
with a la-ad be th' name iv Jeremiah Riordan f'r cap'n, an' wan named
Patsy O'Dea behind him. They come down here, an' bate th' la-ads fr'm
th' Chicawgo Colledge down be th' Midway."
"Iv coorse, they did," said Mr. Dooley. "Iv coorse, they did. An' they
cud bate anny collection iv Baptists that iver come out iv a tank."
THE FAIRPORT ART MUSEUM
BY OCTAVE THANET
After the war was over, the Middle West addressed itself to Culture.
Perhaps the husbands and brothers and fathers might still be busy making
money; but the women of the West, whose energies and emotions had been
mightily roused, found life a little tame when there were no more
sanitary commissions, no more great fairs or little fairs for the
soldiers, no more intense emotions over printed sheets. Then it was that
the Woman's Club lifted a modest finger at the passing car of progress,
and unobtrusively boarded it.
Fairport was conservative, as always, but she had no mind to be left
behind in the march of feminine fashion. She did not rush to extremes,
but she had women's clubs in 1881. The chief of these were the Ladies'
Literary Club and the Spinsters' Alliance. Both clubs tackled the same
great themes of ethics and art, and allotted a winter to the literature
of a nation, except in the case of Greek and Roman literatures, which
were not considered able to occupy a whole winter apiece, so they were
studied in company. The club possessed a proper complement of officers,
and their meetings went from house to house. They were conducted with
artless simplicity, in a pleasant, conversational manner, but with due
regard to polite forms; and only at a moment of excitement was the chair
addressed by her Christian name.
Naturally, the women's clubs were deeply stirred by the first great
World's Fair in America. But the whole West was moved. It turned to art
with a joyous ardor, the excited happiness of a child that finds a new
beauty in the world. Why had we not thought of the artistic regeneration
of our sordid life before? Never mind, we would make amends for lost
time by spending more money! In very truth the years following the
Centennial witnessed an extraordinary awakening of worship of beauty,
almost religious in its fervor. Passionate pilgrims ransacked Europe and
the Orient; a prodigal horde of their captives, objects of luxury and of
art, surged into galleries and museums and households. No cold, critical
taste weeded out these adorable aliens. The worst and the best
conquered, together. Our architecture, our furniture, our household
surroundings were metamorphosed as by enchantment. And the feature of
mark in it all was the unparalleled diffusion of the new faith. Not the
great cities only; the towns, the villages, the hamlets, caught fire.
Of course, Fairport went to Philadelphia; and Fairport was converted. It
followed, at once that the women's clubs of the place should serve most
zealously at the altar; and nothing could be more inevitable than that
in course of time there should be a concrete manifestation of zeal.
Hence the memorable Art Museum, the fame of which to this day will
revive, when there is a meeting of the solid and gray-haired matrons who
were the light-footed girls of the Alliance, and the talk falls on the
old times.
The art collection would give its admirers shivers to-day, but it
excited only happy complacency then. The mood of the hour was not
critical. The homes of the Fairport gentry held innumerable oil copies
of the great masters of different degrees of merit, which they loaned
secure of welcome; with them came family treasures so long held in
reverence that their artistic value (coldly considered) had been lost to
comparison, and the gems of accomplished amateurs who painted flowers on
china cups, or of rising young artists who had not as yet risen beyond
the circle of trusting friends in town.
In general, the donors' expectation of gratitude was justified, but even
so early as 1881 there were limits to artistic credulity; and some
offerings drove the club president, Miss Claudia Loraine, and the club
secretary, Miss Emma Hopkins, to "the coal hold." This was a wee closet
under the stairs, where the coal scuttles were ranged, until they should
fare forth to replenish the "base burners" which warmed the Museum home.
In real life the name of the Museum's lodgings was Harness Block, and
Mr. Harness had proffered the cause of art two empty stores, formerly a
fish market and a grocery. As there was no private office (only a wire
cage), when Miss Hopkins felt the need of frank speech she signaled
Claudia to the coal hole.
She was closeted with her thus on the morning of the second day. The
subject of the conference was the last assault on the nerves of the
committee, perpetrated by the Miller twins--not in person, but with
their china. The china, itself, had the outward semblance of ordinary
blue earthen ware of a cheap grade; but the Miller twins were convinced
(on the testimony of their dear old minister, who never told a lie in
his life, and who had heard the Millers' grandmother say--and everybody
knows that _she_ was a saint on earth, and she was ninety years old at
the time, and would she be likely to lie almost on her dying bed?--you
might call it her dying bed, averred Miss Miller, since she was
bedridden for two years before her death, on that same old four-poster
bedstead which belonged to her mother, and at last died on it) that the
blue ware had been the property of George the Third, had been sold and
was on board the ship with the tea which was rifled in Boston Harbor.
They had insisted in pasting these royal claims upon the china in the
blackest and neatest lettering. The awkward fact that earthenware does
not usually grace a royal board, or that the saintly old grandmother
mixed up dates and persons in a wonderful way during her latter days,
made no difference to her loyal descendants. Each platter with the black
chipping betraying plainly its lowly origin, each tea-cup mended with
cement, bore the paper-claim pasted securely upon it.
"It took up a whole afternoon," said Miss Tina Miller, "but it's _so_
precious and there might be other blue ware and it _might_ get
mixed--you'll insure it, Miss Hopkins? not that money could replace such
things, but, at least"--Miss Tina Miller always left her sentences in
the air, seemingly too diffident to complete them, once the auditors
were assured of their import.
The Millers kept a tiny little house on a tiny little income; but gave
of all they had to give, themselves, without stint. They were
public-spirited women, if Fairport ever held any such. Although they had
neither brothers nor cousins to go to the war, they had picked lint and
made bandages and trudged with subscription papers and scrimped for
weeks to have money to spend at the patriotic fairs. In consequence they
were deeply respected, so respected that it was simply impossible to
refuse their unselfish offering of their dearest god.
"I think it just _noble_ of you," said Miss Tina. "Sister and I felt we
_must_ help; so we brought the King George china and a little pencil
head our sister Euphrosyne did. The one who died, you know. I'm sorry
all your--art things--aren't in yet. No, I can't come to-morrow; I
shall be very busy--sister may come--_thank_ you."
* * * * *
Both the keen young listeners knew why Miss Tina could not come; it was
neither more nor less than the admission fee.
"But I'll take care of that," said Emma to Claudia in the coal hold.
"Elly is going to give her and Miss Ally each a season ticket."
"Then we're _in_ for the King George china!" groaned Claudia softly.
"We are," said Emma. "I've put it in a good but not too good a place,
and Mr. Winslow is inspecting it now."
"And he _knows_ about china; he's sent lovely things," mourned Claudia.