Stephen Culpepper
Of Little Cow Hay
Farmed four hundred acres--
As Audit-book say;
An' he rode on a flea-bitten
Fiddle-faced grey;
There's the house--in the hollow,
With gable an' eave,
But they've altered it so
That you wouldn't believe;--
Wouldn't know the old place
If he saw it--old Steve;
His dads an' his gran'dads
Had lived there before;--
Born, married an' died there--
At least half a score;
Big men the Culpeppers--
As high as the door!
His wife was a Makepeace--
An' none likelier,
For she'd five hundred pounds
When he married o' her;
An' a grey eye as kindly
As grey lavender;
He'd sweetest o' roses,
He'd soundest o' wheat;
Six sons--an' a daughter
To make 'em complete,
An' he always said Grace
When they sat down to meat!
He'd the Blessin' o' Heaven
On barnyard an' byre,
For he made the best prices
Of all in the shire;
An' he always shook hands
With the Parson an' Squire!
An' whether his markets
Had downs or had ups,
He walked 'em three couple
O' blue-mottle pups--
As clumsy as ducklings--
As crazy as tups!
But that must be nigh
Sixty seasons away,
When things was all diff'rent
D'ye see--an' to-day
There ain't no Culpeppers
At Little Cow Hay!
P. R. CHALMERS.
Oct. 8, 1913.