P. S. Ef you cain't mek out dis letter, lay it by erpon de she'f, An' when I git home, I 'll read it, darlin', to you my own se'f.

CHRISMUS IS A-COMIN'

Bones a-gittin' achy, Back a-feelin' col', Han's a-growin' shaky, Jes' lak I was ol'. Fros' erpon de meddah Lookin' mighty white; Snowdraps lak a feddah Slippin' down at night. Jes' keep t'ings a-hummin' Spite o' fros' an' showahs, Chrismus is a-comin' An' all de week is ouahs.

Little mas' a-axin', "Who is Santy Claus?" Meks it kin' o' taxin' Not to brek de laws. Chillun 's pow'ful tryin' To a pusson's grace Wen dey go a pryin' Right on th'oo you' face Down ermong yo' feelin's; Jes' 'pears lak dat you Got to change you' dealin's So 's to tell 'em true.

An' my pickaninny— Dreamin' in his sleep! Come hyeah, Mammy Jinny, Come an' tek a peep. Ol Mas' Bob an' Missis In dey house up daih Got no chile lak dis is, D' ain't none anywhaih. Sleep, my little lammy, Sleep, you little limb, He do' know whut mammy Done saved up fu' him.

Dey 'll be banjo pickin', Dancin' all night thoo. Dey 'll be lots o' chicken, Plenty tukky, too. Drams to wet yo' whistles So 's to drive out chills. Whut I keer fu' drizzles Fallin' on de hills? Jes' keep t'ings a-hummin' Spite o' col' an' showahs, Chrismus day 's a-comin', An' all de week is ouahs.

A CABIN TALE

THE YOUNG MASTER ASKS FOR A STORY

Whut you say, dah? huh, uh! chile, You 's enough to dribe me wile. Want a sto'y; jes' hyeah dat! Whah' 'll I git a sto'y at? Di'n' I tell you th'ee las' night? Go 'way, honey, you ain't right. I got somep'n' else to do, 'Cides jes' tellin' tales to you. Tell you jes' one? Lem me see Whut dat one's a-gwine to be. When you 's ole, yo membry fails; Seems lak I do' know no tales. Well, set down dah in dat cheer, Keep still ef you wants to hyeah. Tek dat chin up off yo' han's, Set up nice now. Goodness lan's! Hol' yo'se'f up lak yo' pa. Bet nobidy evah saw Him scrunched down lak you was den— High-tone boys meks high-tone men.

Once dey was a ole black bah, Used to live 'roun' hyeah some whah In a cave. He was so big He could ca'y off a pig Lak you picks a chicken up, Er yo' leetles' bit o' pup. An' he had two gread big eyes, Jes' erbout a saucer's size. Why, dey looked lak balls o' fiah Jumpin' 'roun' erpon a wiah W'en dat bah was mad; an' laws! But you ought to seen his paws! Did I see 'em? How you 'spec I 's a-gwine to ricollec' Dis hyeah ya'n I 's try'n' to spin Ef you keeps on puttin' in? You keep still an' don't you cheep Less I 'll sen' you off to sleep. Dis hyeah bah 'd go trompin' 'roun' Eatin' evahthing he foun'; No one could n't have a fa'm But dat bah 'u'd do' em ha'm; And dey could n't ketch de scamp. Anywhah he wan'ed to tramp. Dah de scoun'el 'd mek his track, Do his du't an' come on back. He was sich a sly ole limb, Traps was jes' lak fun to him.

Now, down neah whah Mistah Bah Lived, dey was a weasel dah; But dey was n't fren's a-tall Case de weasel was so small. An' de bah 'u'd, jes' fu' sass, Tu'n his nose up w'en he 'd pass. Weasels 's small o' cose, but my! Dem air animiles is sly. So dis hyeah one says, says he, "I 'll jes' fix dat bah, you see." So he fixes up his plan An' hunts up de fa'merman. When de fa'mer see him come, He 'mence lookin' mighty glum, An' he ketches up a stick; But de weasel speak up quick: "Hol' on, Mistah Fa'mer man, I wan' 'splain a little plan. Ef you waits, I 'll tell you whah An' jes' how to ketch ol' Bah. But I tell yow now you mus' Gin me one fat chicken fus'." Den de man he scratch his haid, Las' he say, "I'll mek de trade." So de weasel et his hen, Smacked his mouf and says, "Well, den, Set yo' trap an' bait ternight, An' I 'll ketch de bah all right." Den he ups an' goes to see Mistah Bah, an' says, says he: "Well, fren' Bah, we ain't been fren's, But ternight ha'd feelin' 'en's. Ef you ain't too proud to steal, We kin git a splendid meal. Cose I would n't come to you, But it mus' be done by two; Hit's a trap, but we kin beat All dey tricks an' git de meat." "Cose I 's wif you," says de bah, "Come on, weasel, show me whah." Well, dey trots erlong ontwell Dat air meat beginned to smell In de trap. Den weasel say: "Now you put yo' paw dis way While I hol' de spring back so, Den you grab de meat an' go." Well, de bah he had to grin Ez he put his big paw in, Den he juked up, but—kerbing! Weasel done let go de spring. "Dah now," says de weasel, "dah, I done cotched you, Mistah Bah!" O, dat bah did sno't and spout, Try'n' his bestes' to git out, But de weasel say, "Goo'-bye! Weasel small, but weasel sly." Den he tu'ned his back an' run Tol' de fa'mer whut he done. So de fa'mer come down dah, Wif a axe and killed de bah.

Dah now, ain't dat sto'y fine? Run erlong now, nevah min'. Want some mo', you rascal, you? No, suh! no, suh! dat 'll do.

AT CANDLE-LIGHTIN' TIME

When I come in f'om de co'n-fiel' aftah wo'kin' ha'd all day, It 's amazin' nice to fin' my suppah all erpon de way; An' it 's nice to smell de coffee bubblin' ovah in de pot, An' it 's fine to see de meat a-sizzlin' teasin'-lak an' hot.

But when suppah-time is ovah, an' de t'ings is cleahed away; Den de happy hours dat foller are de sweetes' of de day. When my co'ncob pipe is sta'ted, an' de smoke is drawin' prime, My ole 'ooman says, "I reckon, Ike, it 's candle-lightin' time."

Den de chillun snuggle up to me, an' all commence to call, "Oh, say, daddy, now it 's time to mek de shadders on de wall." So I puts my han's togethah—evah daddy knows de way,— An' de chillun snuggle closer roun' ez I begin to say:—

"Fus' thing, hyeah come Mistah Rabbit; don' you see him wo'k his eahs? Huh, uh! dis mus' be a donkey,—look, how innercent he 'pears! Dah 's de ole black swan a-swimmin'—ain't she got a' awful neck? Who 's dis feller dat 's a-comin'? Why, dat 's ole dog Tray, I 'spec'!"

Dat 's de way I run on, tryin' fu' to please 'em all I can; Den I hollahs, "Now be keerful—dis hyeah las' 's de buga-man!" An' dey runs an' hides dey faces; dey ain't skeered—dey 's lettin' on: But de play ain't raaly ovah twell dat buga-man is gone.

So I jes' teks up my banjo, an' I plays a little chune, An' you see dem haids come peepin' out to listen mighty soon. Den my wife says, "Sich a pappy fu' to give you sich a fright! Jes, you go to baid, an' leave him: say yo' prayers an' say good-night."

WHISTLING SAM

I has hyeahd o' people dancin' an' I 's hyeahd o' people singin'. An' I 's been 'roun' lots of othahs dat could keep de banjo ringin'; But of all de whistlin' da'kies dat have lived an' died since Ham, De whistlin'est I evah seed was ol' Ike Bates's Sam. In de kitchen er de stable, in de fiel' er mowin' hay, You could hyeah dat boy a-whistlin' pu'ty nigh a mile erway,— Puck'rin' up his ugly features 'twell you could n't see his eyes, Den you 'd hyeah a soun' lak dis un f'om dat awful puckah rise:



When dey had revival meetin' an' de Lawd's good grace was flowin' On de groun' dat needed wat'rin' whaih de seeds of good was growin', While de othahs was a-singin' an' a-shoutin' right an' lef, You could hyeah dat boy a-whistlin' kin' o' sof beneaf his bref:



At de call fu' colo'ed soldiers, Sam enlisted 'mong de res' Wid de blue o' Gawd's great ahmy wropped about his swellin' breas', An' he laffed an' whistled loudah in his youfful joy an' glee Dat de govament would let him he'p to mek his people free. Daih was lots o' ties to bin' him, pappy, mammy, an' his Dinah,— Dinah, min' you, was his sweet-hea't, an' dey was n't nary finah; But he lef 'em all, I tell you, lak a king he ma'ched away, Try'n' his level bes' to whistle, happy, solemn, choky, gay:



To de front he went an' bravely fought de foe an' kep' his sperrit, An' his comerds said his whistle made 'em strong when dey could hyeah it. When a saber er a bullet cut some frien' o' his'n down, An' de time 'u'd come to trench him an' de boys 'u'd gethah 'roun', An' dey could n't sta't a hymn-tune, mebbe none o' dem 'u'd keer, Sam 'u'd whistle "Sleep in Jesus," an' he knowed de Mastah 'd hyeah. In de camp, all sad discouraged, he would cheer de hea'ts of all, When above de soun' of labour dey could hyeah his whistle call:



When de cruel wah was ovah an' de boys come ma'chin' back, Dey was shouts an' cries an' blessin's all erlong dey happy track, An' de da'kies all was happy; souls an' bodies bofe was freed. Why, hit seemed lak de Redeemah mus' 'a' been on earf indeed. Dey was gethahed all one evenin' jes' befo' de cabin do', When dey hyeahd somebody whistlin' kin' o' sof' an' sweet an' low. Dey could n't see de whistlah, but de hymn was cleah and ca'm, An' dey all stood daih a-listenin' ontwell Dinah shouted, "Sam!" An' dey seed a little da'ky way off yandah thoo de trees Wid his face all in a puckah mekin' jes' sich soun's ez dese:



HOW LUCY BACKSLID

De times is mighty stirrin' 'mong de people up ouah way, Dey 'sputin' an' dey argyin' an' fussin' night an' day; An' all dis monst'ous trouble dat hit meks me tiahed to tell Is 'bout dat Lucy Jackson dat was sich a mighty belle.

She was de preachah's favoured, an' he tol' de chu'ch one night Dat she travelled thoo de cloud o' sin a-bearin' of a light; But, now, I 'low he t'inkin' dat she mus' 'a' los' huh lamp, Case Lucy done backslided an' dey trouble in de camp.

Huh daddy wants to beat huh, but huh mammy daihs him to, Fu' she lookin' at de question f'om a ooman's pint o' view; An' she say dat now she would n't have it diff'ent ef she could; Dat huh darter only acted jes' lak any othah would.

Cose you know w'en women argy, dey is mighty easy led By dey hea'ts an' don't go foolin' 'bout de reasons of de haid. So huh mammy laid de law down (she ain' reckernizin' wrong), But you got to mek erlowance fu' de cause dat go along.

Now de cause dat made Miss Lucy fu' to th'ow huh grace away I 's afeard won't baih no 'spection w'en hit come to jedgement day; Do' de same t'ing been a-wo'kin' evah sence de worl' began,— De ooman disobeyin' fu' to 'tice along a man.

Ef you 'tended de revivals which we held de wintah pas', You kin rickolec' dat convuts was a-comin' thick an' fas'; But dey ain't no use in talkin', dey was all lef' in de lu'ch W'en ol' Mis' Jackson's dartah foun' huh peace an' tuk de chu'ch.

W'y, she shouted ovah evah inch of Ebenezah's flo'; Up into de preachah's pulpit an' f'om dah down to de do'; Den she hugged an' squeezed huh mammy, an' she hugged an' kissed huh dad, An' she struck out at huh sistah, people said, lak she was mad.

I has 'tended some revivals dat was lively in my day, An' I 's seed folks git 'uligion in mos' evah kin' o' way; But I tell you, an' you b'lieve me dat I 's speakin' true indeed, Dat gal tuk huh 'ligion ha'dah dan de ha'dest yit I 's seed.

Well, f'om dat, 't was "Sistah Jackson, won't you please do dis er dat?" She mus' allus sta't de singin' w'en dey 'd pass erroun' de hat, An' hit seemed dey was n't nuffin' in dat chu'ch dat could go by 'Dout sistah Lucy Jackson had a finger in de pie.

But de sayin' mighty trufeful dat hit easiah to sail W'en de sea is ca'm an' gentle dan to weathah out a gale. Dat 's whut made dis ooman's trouble; ef de sto'm had kep' away, She 'd 'a' had enough 'uligion fu' to lasted out huh day.

Lucy went wid 'Lishy Davis, but w'en she jined chu'ch, you know Dah was lots o' little places dat, of cose, she could n't go; An' she had to gin up dancin' an' huh singin' an' huh play.— Now hit's nachul dat sich goin's-on 'u'd drive a man away.

So, w'en Lucy got so solemn, Ike he sta'ted fu' to go Wid a gal who was a sinnah an' could mek a bettah show. Lucy jes' went on to meetin' lak she did n't keer a rap, But my 'sperunce kep' me t'inkin dah was somep'n' gwine to drap.

Fu' a gal won't let 'uligion er no othah so't o' t'ing Stop huh w'en she teks a notion dat she wants a weddin' ring. You kin p'omise huh de blessin's of a happy aftah life (An' hit's nice to be a angel), but she 'd ravah be a wife.

So w'en Chrismus come an' mastah gin a frolic on de lawn, Did n't 'sprise me not de littlest seein' Lucy lookin' on. An' I seed a wa'nin' lightnin' go a-flashin' f'om huh eye Jest ez 'Lishy an' his new gal went a-gallivantin' by.

An' dat Tildy, umph! she giggled, an' she gin huh dress a flirt Lak de people she was passin' was ez common ez de dirt; An' de minit she was dancin', w'y dat gal put on mo' aihs Dan a cat a-tekin' kittens up a paih o' windin' staihs.

She could 'fo'd to show huh sma'tness, fu' she could n't he'p but know Dat wid jes' de present dancahs she was ownah of de flo'; But I t'ink she 'd kin' o' cooled down ef she happened on de sly Fu' to noticed dat 'ere lightnin' dat I seed in Lucy's eye.

An' she would n't been so 'stonished w'en de people gin a shout, An' Lucy th'owed huh mantle back an' come a-glidin' out. Some ahms was dah to tek huh an' she fluttahed down de flo' Lak a feddah f'om a bedtick w'en de win' commence to blow.

Soon ez Tildy see de trouble, she jes' tu'n an' toss huh haid, But seem lak she los' huh sperrit, all huh darin'ness was daid. Did n't cut anothah capah nary time de blessid night; But de othah one, hit looked lak could n't git enough delight.

W'en you keeps a colt a-stan'nin' in de stable all along, W'en he do git out hit 's nachul he 'll be pullin' mighty strong. Ef you will tie up yo' feelin's, hyeah 's de bes' advice to tek, Look out fu' an awful loosin' w'en de string dat hol's 'em brek.

Lucy's mammy groaned to see huh, an' huh pappy sto'med an' to', But she kep' right on a-hol'in' to de centah of de flo'. So dey went an' ast de pastoh ef he could n't mek huh quit, But de tellin' of de sto'y th'owed de preachah in a fit.

Tildy Taylor chewed huh hank'cher twell she 'd chewed it in a hole,— All de sinnahs was rejoicin' 'cause a lamb had lef de fol', An' de las' I seed o' Lucy, she an' 'Lish was side an' side: I don't blame de gal fu' dancin', an' I could n't ef I tried.

Fu' de men dat wants to ma'y ain't a-growin' 'roun' on trees, An' de gal dat wants to git one sholy has to try to please. Hit's a ha'd t'ing fu' a ooman fu 'to pray an' jes' set down, An' to sacafice a husban' so 's to try to gain a crown.

Now, I don' say she was justified in follerin' huh plan; But aldough she los' huh 'ligion, yit she sholy got de man. Latah on, w'en she is suttain dat de preachah 's made 'em fas' She kin jes' go back to chu'ch an' ax fu'giveness fu' de pas'!



LYRICS OF LOVE AND LAUGHTER

TWO LITTLE BOOTS

Two little boots all rough an' wo', Two little boots! Law, I 's kissed 'em times befo', Dese little boots! Seems de toes a-peepin' thoo Dis hyeah hole an' sayin' "Boo!" Evah time dey looks at you— Dese little boots.

Membah de time he put 'em on, Dese little boots; Riz an' called fu' 'em by dawn, Dese little boots; Den he tromped de livelong day, Laffin' in his happy way, Evaht'ing he had to say, "My little boots!"

Kickin' de san' de whole day long, Dem little boots; Good de cobblah made 'em strong, Dem little boots! Rocks was fu' dat baby's use, I'on had to stan' abuse W'en you tu'ned dese champeens loose, Dese little boots!

Ust to make de ol' cat cry, Dese little boots; Den you walked it mighty high, Proud little boots! Ahms akimbo, stan'in' wide, Eyes a-sayin' "Dis is pride!" Den de manny-baby stride! You little boots.

Somehow, you don' seem so gay, Po' little boots, Sence yo' ownah went erway, Po' little boots! Yo' bright tops don' look so red, Dese brass tips is dull an' dead; "Goo'-by," whut de baby said; Deah little boots!

Ain't you kin' o' sad yo'se'f, You little boots? Dis is all his mammy 's lef', Two little boots. Sence huh baby gone an' died. Heav'n itse'f hit seem to hide Des a little bit inside Two little boots.

TO THE ROAD

Cool is the wind, for the summer is waning, Who 's for the road? Sun-flecked and soft, where the dead leaves are raining, Who 's for the road? Knapsack and alpenstock press hand and shoulder, Prick of the brier and roll of the boulder; This be your lot till the season grow older; Who 's for the road?

Up and away in the hush of the morning, Who 's for the road? Vagabond he, all conventions a-scorning, Who 's for the road? Music of warblers so merrily singing, Draughts from the rill from the roadside up-springing, Nectar of grapes from the vines lowly swinging, These on the road.

Now every house is a hut or a hovel, Come to the road: Mankind and moles in the dark love to grovel, But to the road. Throw off the loads that are bending you double; Love is for life, only labor is trouble; Truce to the town, whose best gift is a bubble: Come to the road!

A SPRING WOOING

Come on walkin' wid me, Lucy; 't ain't no time to mope erroun' Wen de sunshine 's shoutin' glory in de sky, An' de little Johnny-Jump-Ups 's jes' a-springin' f'om de groun', Den a-lookin' roun' to ax each othah w'y. Don' you hyeah dem cows a-mooin'? Dat 's dey howdy to de spring; Ain' dey lookin' most oncommon satisfied? Hit 's enough to mek a body want to spread dey mouf an' sing Jes' to see de critters all so spa'klin'-eyed.

W'y dat squir'l dat jes' run past us, ef I did n' know his tricks, I could swaih he 'd got 'uligion jes' to-day; An' dem liza'ds slippin' back an' fofe ermong de stones an' sticks Is a-wigglin' 'cause dey feel so awful gay. Oh, I see yo' eyes a-shinin' dough you try to mek me b'lieve Dat you ain' so monst'ous happy 'cause you come; But I tell you dis hyeah weathah meks it moughty ha'd to 'ceive Ef a body's soul ain' blin' an' deef an' dumb.

Robin whistlin' ovah yandah ez he buil' his little nes'; Whut you reckon dat he sayin' to his mate? He's a-sayin' dat he love huh in de wo'ds she know de bes', An' she lookin' moughty pleased at whut he state. Now, Miss Lucy, dat ah robin sholy got his sheer o' sense, An' de hen-bird got huh mothah-wit fu' true; So I t'ink ef you 'll ixcuse me, fu' I do' mean no erfence, Dey 's a lesson in dem birds fu' me an' you.

I 's a-buil'in' o' my cabin, an' I 's vines erbove de do' Fu' to kin' o' gin it sheltah f'om de sun; Gwine to have a little kitchen wid a reg'lar wooden flo', An' dey 'll be a back verandy w'en hit 's done. I 's a-waitin' fu' you, Lucy, tek de 'zample o' de birds, Dat 's a-lovin' an' a-matin' evahwhaih. I cain' tell you dat I loves you in de robin's music wo'ds, But my cabin 's talkin' fu' me ovah thaih!

JOGGIN' ERLONG

De da'kest hour, dey allus say, Is des' befo' de dawn, But it's moughty ha'd a-waitin' W'ere de night goes frownin' on; An' it's moughty ha'd a-hopin' W'en de clouds is big an' black, An' all de t'ings you 's waited fu' Has failed, er gone to wrack— But des' keep on a-joggin' wid a little bit o' song, De mo'n is allus brightah w'en de night's been long.

Dey 's lots o' knocks you 's got to tek Befo' yo' journey 's done, An' dey 's times w'en you 'll be wishin' Dat de weary race was run; W'en you want to give up tryin' An' des' float erpon de wave, W'en you don't feel no mo' sorrer Ez you t'ink erbout de grave— Den, des' keep on a-joggin' wid a little bit o' song, De mo'n is allus brightah w'en de night's been long.

De whup-lash sting a good deal mo' De back hit 's knowed befo', An' de burden 's allus heavies' Whaih hits weight has made a so'; Dey is times w'en tribulation Seems to git de uppah han' An' to whip de weary trav'lah 'Twell he ain't got stren'th to stan'— But des' keep on a-joggin' wid a little bit o' song, De mo'n is allus brightah w'en de night's been long.

IN MAY

Oh to have you in May, To talk with you under the trees, Dreaming throughout the day, Drinking the wine-like breeze,

Oh it were sweet to think That May should be ours again, Hoping it not, I shrink, Out of the sight of men.

May brings the flowers to bloom, It brings the green leaves to the tree, And the fatally sweet perfume, Of what you once were to me.

DREAMS

What dreams we have and how they fly Like rosy clouds across the sky; Of wealth, of fame, of sure success, Of love that comes to cheer and bless; And how they wither, how they fade, The waning wealth, the jilting jade— The fame that for a moment gleams, Then flies forever,—dreams, ah—dreams!

O burning doubt and long regret, O tears with which our eyes are wet, Heart-throbs, heart-aches, the glut of pain, The somber cloud, the bitter rain, You were not of those dreams—ah! well, Your full fruition who can tell? Wealth, fame, and love, ah! love that beams Upon our souls, all dreams—ah! dreams.

THE TRYST

De night creep down erlong de lan', De shadders rise an' shake, De frog is sta'tin' up his ban', De cricket is awake; My wo'k is mos' nigh done, Celes', To-night I won't be late, I 's hu'yin' thoo my level bes', Wait fu' me by de gate.

De mockin'-bird 'll sen' his glee A-thrillin' thoo and thoo, I know dat ol' magnolia-tree Is smellin' des' fu' you; De jessamine erside de road Is bloomin' rich an' white, My hea't 's a-th'obbin' 'cause it knowed You 'd wait fu' me to-night.

Hit 's lonesome, ain't it, stan'in' thaih Wid no one nigh to talk? But ain't dey whispahs in de aih Erlong de gyahden walk? Don't somep'n kin' o' call my name, An' say "he love you bes'"? Hit 's true, I wants to say de same, So wait fu' me, Celes'.

Sing somep'n fu' to pass de time, Outsing de mockin'-bird, You got de music an' de rhyme, You beat him wid de word. I 's comin' now, my wo'k is done, De hour has come fu' res', I wants to fly, but only run— Wait fu' me, deah Celes'.

A PLEA

Treat me nice, Miss Mandy Jane, Treat me nice. Dough my love has tu'ned my brain, Treat me nice. I ain't done a t'ing to shame, Lovahs all ac's jes' de same; Don't you know we ain't to blame? Treat me nice!

Cose I know I 's talkin' wild; Treat me nice; I cain't talk no bettah, child, Treat me nice; Whut a pusson gwine to do, Wen he come a-cou'tin' you All a-trimblin' thoo and thoo? Please be nice.

Reckon I mus' go de paf Othahs do: Lovahs lingah, ladies laff; Mebbe you Do' mean all the things you say, An' pu'haps some latah day W'en I baig you ha'd, you may Treat me nice!

THE DOVE

Out of the sunshine and out of the heat, Out of the dust of the grimy street, A song fluttered down in the form of a dove, And it bore me a message, the one word—Love!

Ah, I was toiling, and oh, I was sad: I had forgotten the way to be glad. Now, smiles for my sadness and for my toil, rest Since the dove fluttered down to its home in my breast!

A WARM DAY IN WINTER

"Sunshine on de medders, Greenness on de way; Dat 's de blessed reason I sing all de day." Look hyeah! Whut you axin'? Whut meks me so merry? 'Spect to see me sighin' W'en hit's wa'm in Febawary?

'Long de stake an' rider Seen a robin set; W'y hit 'mence a-thawin', Groun' is monst'ous wet. Den you stan' dah wond'rin', Lookin' skeert an' stary; I's a right to caper W'en hit's wa'm in Febawary.

Missis gone a-drivin', Mastah gone to shoot; Ev'ry da'ky lazin' In de sun to boot. Qua'tah 's moughty pleasant, Hangin' 'roun' my Mary; Cou'tin' boun' to prospah W'en hit's wa'm in Febawary.

Cidah look so pu'ty Po'in' f'om de jug— Don' you see it's happy? Hyeah it laffin'—glug? Now's de time fu' people Fu' to try an' bury All dey grief an' sorrer, W'en hit's wa'm in Febawary.

SNOWIN'

Dey is snow upon de meddahs, dey is snow upon de hill, An' de little branch's watahs is all glistenin' an' still; De win' goes roun' de cabin lak a sperrit wan'erin' 'roun'. An' de chillen shakes an' shivahs as dey listen to de soun'. Dey is hick'ry in de fiahplace, whah de blaze is risin' high, But de heat it meks ain't wa'min' up de gray clouds in de sky. Now an' den I des peep outside, den I hurries to de do', Lawd a mussy on my body, how I wish it would n't snow!

I kin stan' de hottes' summah, I kin stan' de wettes' fall, I kin stan' de chilly springtime in de ploughland, but dat's all; Fu' de ve'y hottes' fiah nevah tells my skin a t'ing, W'en de snow commence a-flyin', an' de win' begin to sing. Dey is plenty wood erroun' us, an' I chop an' tote it in, But de t'oughts dat I 's a t'inkin' while I 's wo'kin' is a sin. I kin keep f'om downright swahin' all de time I 's on de go, But my hea't is full o' cuss-wo'ds w'en I's trampin' thoo de snow.

What you say, you Lishy Davis, dat you see a possum's tracks? Look hyeah, boy, you stop yo' foolin', bring ol' Spot, an' bring de ax. Is I col'? Go way, now, Mandy, what you t'ink I's made of?—sho, W'y dis win' is des ez gentle, an' dis ain't no kin' o' snow. Dis hyeah weathah 's des ez healthy ez de wa'mest summah days. All you chillen step up lively, pile on wood an' keep a blaze. What's de use o' gittin' skeery case dey 's snow upon de groun'? Huh-uh, I 's a reg'lar snowbird ef dey 's any possum 'roun'.

Go on, Spot, don' be so foolish; don' you see de signs o' feet. What you howlin' fu? Keep still, suh, cose de col' is putty sweet; But we goin' out on bus'ness, an' hit 's bus'ness o' de kin' Dat mus' put a dog an' dahky in a happy frame o' min'. Yes, you 's col'; I know it, Spotty, but you des stay close to me, An' I 'll mek you hot ez cotton w'en we strikes de happy tree. No, I don' lak wintah weathah, an' I 'd wush 't uz allus June, Ef it was n't fu' de trackin' o' de possum an' de coon.

KEEP A SONG UP ON DE WAY

Oh, de clouds is mighty heavy An' de rain is mighty thick; Keep a song up on de way. An' de waters is a rumblin' On de boulders in de crick, Keep a song up on de way. Fu' a bird ercross de road Is a-singin' lak he knowed Dat we people did n't daih Fu' to try de rainy aih Wid a song up on de way.

What's de use o' gittin' mopy, Case de weather ain' de bes'! Keep a song up on de way. W'en de rain is fallin' ha'des', Dey 's de longes' times to res' Keep a song up on de way. Dough de plough 's a-stan'in' still Dey 'll be watah fu' de mill, Rain mus' come ez well ez sun 'Fo' de weathah's wo'k is done, Keep a song up on de way.

W'y hit's nice to hyeah de showahs Fallin' down ermong de trees: Keep a song up on de way. Ef de birds don' bothah 'bout it, But go singin' lak dey please, Keep a song up on de way. You don' s'pose I's gwine to see Dem ah fowls do mo' dan me? No, suh, I 'll des chase dis frown, An' aldough de rain fall down, Keep a song up on de way.

THE TURNING OF THE BABIES IN THE BED

Woman's sho' a cur'ous critter, an' dey ain't no doubtin' dat. She's a mess o' funny capahs f'om huh slippahs to huh hat. Ef you tries to un'erstan' huh, an' you fails, des' up an' say: "D' ain't a bit o' use to try to un'erstan' a woman's way."

I don' mean to be complainin', but I 's jes' a-settin' down Some o' my own obserwations, w'en I cas' my eye eroun'. Ef you ax me fu' to prove it, I ken do it mighty fine, Fu' dey ain't no bettah 'zample den dis ve'y wife o' mine.

In de ve'y hea't o' midnight, w'en I 's sleepin' good an' soun', I kin hyeah a so't o' rustlin' an' somebody movin' 'roun'. An' I say, "Lize, whut you doin'?" But she frown an' shek huh haid, "Heish yo' mouf, I's only tu'nin' of de chillun in de bed.

"Don' you know a chile gits restless, layin' all de night one way? An' you' got to kind o' 'range him sev'al times befo' de day? So de little necks won't worry, an' de little backs won't break; Don' you t'ink case chillun 's chillun dey hain't got no pain an' ache."

So she shakes 'em, an' she twists 'em, an' she tu'ns 'em 'roun' erbout, 'Twell I don' see how de chillun evah keeps f'om hollahin' out. Den she lif's 'em up head down'ards, so's dey won't git livahgrown, But dey snoozes des' ez peaceful ez a liza'd on a stone.

W'en hit's mos' nigh time fu' wakin' on de dawn o' jedgment day, Seems lak I kin hyeah ol' Gab'iel lay his trumpet down an' say, "Who dat walkin' 'roun' so easy, down on earf ermong de dead?"— 'T will be Lizy up a-tu'nin' of de chillun in de bed.

THE DANCE

Heel and toe, heel and toe, That is the song we sing; Turn to your partner and curtsey low, Balance and forward and swing. Corners are draughty and meadows are white, This is the game for a winter's night.

Hands around, hands around, Trip it, and not too slow; Clear is the fiddle and sweet its sound, Keep the girls' cheeks aglow. Still let your movements be dainty and light, This is the game for a winter's night.

Back to back, back to back, Turn to your place again; Never let lightness nor nimbleness lack, Either in maidens or men. Time hasteth ever, beware of its flight, Oh, what a game for a winter's night!

Slower now, slower now, Softer the music sighs; Look, there are beads on your partner's brow Though there be light in her eyes. Lead her away and her grace requite, So goes the game on a winter's night.

SOLILOQUY OF A TURKEY

Dey 's a so't o' threatenin' feelin' in de blowin' of de breeze, An' I 's feelin' kin' o' squeamish in de night; I 's a-walkin' 'roun' a-lookin' at de diffunt style o' trees, An' a-measurin' dey thickness an' dey height. Fu' dey 's somep'n mighty 'spicious in de looks de da'kies give, Ez dey pass me an' my fambly on de groun,' So it 'curs to me dat lakly, ef I caihs to try an' live, It concehns me fu' to 'mence to look erroun'.

Dey's a cu'ious kin' o' shivah runnin' up an' down my back, An' I feel my feddahs rufflin' all de day, An' my laigs commence to trimble evah blessid step I mek; W'en I sees a ax, I tu'ns my head away. Folks is go'gin' me wid goodies, an' dey 's treatin' me wid caih, An' I 's fat in spite of all dat I kin do. I 's mistrus'ful of de kin'ness dat's erroun' me evahwhaih, Fu' it 's jes' too good, an' frequent, to be true.

Snow 's a-fallin' on de medders, all erroun' me now is white, But I 's still kep' on a-roostin' on de fence; Isham comes an' feels my breas'bone, an' he hefted me las' night, An' he 's gone erroun' a-grinnin' evah sence. 'T ain't de snow dat meks me shivah; 't ain't de col' dat meks me shake; 'T ain't de wintah-time itse'f dat's 'fectin' me; But I t'ink de time is comin', an' I 'd bettah mek a break, Fu' to set wid Mistah Possum in his tree.

Wen you hyeah de da'kies singin', an' de quahtahs all is gay, 'T ain't de time fu' birds lak me to be 'erroun'; Wen de hick'ry chip is flyin', an' de log 's been ca'ied erway, Den hit's dang'ous to be roostin' nigh he groun'.

Grin on, Isham! Sing on, da'kies! But I flop my wings an' go Fu' de sheltah of de ve'y highest tree, Fu' dey 's too much close ertention—an' dey's too much fallin' snow— An' it's too nigh Chris'mus mo'nin' now fu' me.

FISHING

Wen I git up in de mo'nin' an' de clouds is big an' black, Dey's a kin' o' wa'nin' shivah goes a-scootin' down my back; Den I says to my ol' ooman ez I watches down de lane, "Don't you so't o' reckon, Lizy, dat we gwine to have some rain?"

"Go on, man," my Lizy answah, "you cain't fool me, not a bit, I don't see no rain a-comin', ef you's wishin' fu' it, quit; Case de mo' you t'ink erbout it, an de mo' you pray an' wish, W'y de rain stay 'way de longah, spechul ef you wants to fish."

But I see huh pat de skillet, an' I see huh cas' huh eye Wid a kin' o' anxious motion to'ds de da'kness in de sky; An' I knows whut she 's a-t'inkin', dough she tries so ha'd to hide. She 's a-sayin', "Would n't catfish now tas'e monst'ous bully, fried?"

Den de clouds git black an' blackah, an' de thundah 'mence to roll, An' de rain, it 'mence a-fallin'. Oh, I's happy, bless my soul! Ez I look at dat ol' skillet, an' I 'magine I kin see Jes' a slew o' new-ketched catfish sizzlin' daih fu' huh an' me.

'T ain't no use to go a-ploughin', fu' de groun' 'll be too wet, So I puts out fu' de big house at a moughty pace, you bet, An' ol' mastah say, "Well, Lishy, ef you t'ink hit 's gwine to rain, Go on fishin', hit 's de weathah, an' I 'low we cain't complain."

Talk erbout a dahky walkin' wid his haid up in de aih! Have to feel mine evah minute to be sho' I got it daih; En' de win' is cuttin' capahs an' a-lashin' thoo de trees, But de rain keeps on a-singin' blessed songs, lak "Tek yo' ease."

Wid my pole erpon my shouldah an' my wo'm can in my han', I kin feel de fish a-waitin' w'en I strikes de rivah's san'; Nevah min', you ho'ny scoun'els, need n' swim erroun' an' grin, I 'll be grinnin' in a minute w'en I 'mence to haul you in.

W'en de fish begin to nibble, an' de co'k begin to jump, I 's erfeahed dat dey 'll quit bitin', case dey hyeah my hea't go "thump," 'Twell de co'k go way down undah, an' I raise a awful shout, Ez a big ol' yallah belly comes a gallivantin' out.

Need n't wriggle, Mistah Catfish, case I got you jes' de same, You been eatin', I 'll be eatin', an' we needah ain't to blame. But you need n't feel so lonesome fu' I 's th'owin' out to see Ef dey ain't some of yo' comrades fu' to keep you company.

Spo't, dis fishin'! now you talkin', w'y dey ain't no kin' to beat; I don' keer ef I is soakin', laigs, an' back, an' naik, an' feet, It 's de spo't I 's lookin' aftah. Hit 's de pleasure an' de fun, Dough I knows dat Lizy 's waitin' wid de skillet w'en I's done.

A PLANTATION PORTRAIT

Hain't you see my Mandy Lou, Is it true? Whaih you been f'om day to day, Whaih, I say? Dat you say you nevah seen Dis hyeah queen Walkin' roun' f'om fiel' to street Smilin' sweet?

Slendah ez a saplin' tree; Seems to me Wen de win' blow f'om de bay She jes' sway Lak de reg'lar saplin' do Ef hit's grew Straight an' graceful, 'dout a limb, Sweet an' slim.

Browner den de frush's wing, An' she sing Lak he mek his wa'ble ring In de spring; But she sholy beat de frush, Hyeah me, hush: Wen she sing, huh teef kin show White ez snow.

Eyes ez big an' roun' an' bright Ez de light Whut de moon gives in de prime Harvest time. An' huh haih a woolly skein, Black an' plain. Hol's you wid a natchul twis' Close to bliss.

Tendah han's dat mek yo' own Feel lak stone; Easy steppin', blessid feet, Small an' sweet. Hain't you seen my Mandy Lou, Is it true? Look at huh befo' she's gone, Den pass on!

A LITTLE CHRISTMAS BASKET

De win' is hollahin' "Daih you" to de shuttahs an' de fiah, De snow's a-sayin' "Got you" to de groun', Fu' de wintah weathah 's come widout a-askin' ouah desiah, An' he 's laughin' in his sleeve at whut he foun'; Fu' dey ain't nobody ready wid dey fuel er dey food, An' de money bag look timid lak, fu' sho', So we want ouah Chrismus sermon, but we 'd lak it ef you could Leave a little Chrismus basket at de do'.

Wha 's de use o' tellin' chillen 'bout a Santy er a Nick, An' de sto'ies dat a body allus tol'? When de harf is gray wid ashes an' you has n't got a stick Fu' to warm dem when dey little toes is col'? Wha 's de use o' preachin' 'ligion to a man dat's sta'ved to def, An' a-tellin' him de Mastah will pu'vide? Ef you want to tech his feelin's, save yo' sermons an' yo' bref, Tek a little Chrismus basket by yo' side.

'T ain't de time to open Bibles an' to lock yo' cellah do', 'T ain't de time to talk o' bein' good to men; Ef you want to preach a sermon ez you nevah preached befo', Preach dat sermon wid a shoat er wid er hen; Bein' good is heap sight bettah den a-dallyin' wid sin, An' dey ain't nobody roun' dat knows it mo', But I t'ink dat 'ligion 's sweeter w'en it kind o' mixes in Wid a little Chrismus basket at de do'.

THE VALSE

When to sweet music my lady is dancing My heart to mild frenzy her beauty inspires. Into my face are her brown eyes a-glancing, And swift my whole frame thrills with tremulous fires. Dance, lady, dance, for the moments are fleeting, Pause not to place yon refractory curl; Life is for love and the night is for sweeting; Dreamily, joyously, circle and whirl.

Oh, how those viols are throbbing and pleading; A prayer is scarce needed in sound of their strain. Surely and lightly as round you are speeding, You turn to confusion my heart and my brain. Dance, lady, dance to the viol's soft calling, Skip it and trip it as light as the air; Dance, for the moments like rose leaves are falling, Strikes, now, the clock from its place on the stair.

Now sinks the melody lower and lower, The weary musicians scarce seeming to play. Ah, love, your steps now are slower and slower, The smile on your face is more sad and less gay. Dance, lady, dance to the brink of our parting, My heart and your step must not fail to be light. Dance! Just a turn—tho' the tear-drop be starting. Ah—now it is done—so—my lady, good-night!

REPONSE

When Phyllis sighs and from her eyes The light dies out; my soul replies With misery of deep-drawn breath, E'en as it were at war with death.

When Phyllis smiles, her glance beguiles My heart through love-lit woodland aisles, And through the silence high and clear, A wooing warbler's song I hear.

But if she frown, despair comes down, I put me on my sack-cloth gown; So frown not, Phyllis, lest I die, But look on me with smile or sigh.

MY SWEET BROWN GAL

W'en de clouds is hangin' heavy in de sky, An' de win's 's a-taihin' moughty vig'rous by, I don' go a-sighin' all erlong de way; I des' wo'k a-waitin' fu' de close o' day.

Case I knows w'en evenin' draps huh shadders down, I won' care a smidgeon fu' de weathah's frown; Let de rain go splashin', let de thundah raih, Dey 's a happy sheltah, an' I 's goin' daih.

Down in my ol' cabin wa'm ez mammy's toas', 'Taters in de fiah layin' daih to roas'; No one daih to cross me, got no talkin' pal, But I 's got de comp'ny o' my sweet brown gal.

So I spen's my evenin' listenin' to huh sing, Lak a blessid angel; how huh voice do ring! Sweetah den a bluebird flutterin' erroun', W'en he sees de steamin' o' de new ploughed groun'.

Den I hugs huh closah, closah to my breas'. Need n't sing, my da'lin', tek you' hones' res'. Does I mean Malindy, Mandy, Lize er Sal? No, I means my fiddle-dat's my sweet brown gal!

SPRING FEVER

Grass commence a-comin' Thoo de thawin' groun', Evah bird dat whistles Keepin' noise erroun'; Cain't sleep in de mo'nin', Case befo' it 's light Bluebird an' de robin, Done begun to fight.

Bluebird sass de robin, Robin sass him back, Den de bluebird scol' him 'Twell his face is black. Would n' min' de quoilin' All de mo'nin' long, 'Cept it wakes me early, Case hit 's done in song.

Anybody wo'kin' Wants to sleep ez late Ez de folks 'll 'low him, An' I wish to state (Co'se dis ain't to scattah, But 'twix' me an' you), I could stan' de bedclothes, Kin' o' latah, too.

'T ain't my natchul feelin', Dis hyeah mopin' spell. I stan's early risin' Mos'ly moughty well; But de ve'y minute, I feel Ap'il's heat, Bless yo' soul, de bedclothes Nevah seemed so sweet.

Mastah, he's a-scol'in', Case de han's is slow, All de hosses balkin', Jes' cain't mek 'em go. Don' know whut's de mattah, Hit's a funny t'ing, Less'n hit 's de fevah Dat you gits in spring.

THE VISITOR

Little lady at de do', W'y you stan' dey knockin'? Nevah seen you ac' befo' In er way so shockin'. Don' you know de sin it is Fu' to git my temper riz Wen I 's got de rheumatiz An' my jints is lockin'?

No, ol' Miss ain't sont you down, Don' you tell no story; I been seed you hangin' 'roun' Dis hyeah te'itory. You des come fu' me to tell You a tale, an' I ain'—well— Look hyeah, what is dat I smell? Steamin' victuals? Glory!

Come in, Missy, how you do? Come up by de fiah, I was jokin', chile, wid you; Bring dat basket nighah. Huh uh, ain't dat lak ol' Miss, Sen'in' me a feas' lak dis? Rheumatiz cain't stop my bliss, Case I's feelin' spryah.

Chicken meat an' gravy, too, Hot an' still a-heatin'; Good ol' sweet pertater stew; Missy b'lieves in treatin'. Des set down, you blessed chile, Daddy got to t'ink a while, Den a story mek you smile Wen he git thoo eatin'.

SONG

Wintah, summah, snow er shine, Hit's all de same to me, Ef only I kin call you mine, An' keep you by my knee.

Ha'dship, frolic, grief er caih, Content by night an' day, Ef only I kin see you whaih You wait beside de way.

Livin', dyin', smiles er teahs, My soul will still be free, Ef only thoo de comin' yeahs You walk de worl' wid me.

Bird-song, breeze-wail, chune er moan, What puny t'ings dey 'll be, Ef w'en I 's seemin' all erlone, I knows yo' hea't 's wid me.

THE COLORED BAND

Wen de colo'ed ban' comes ma'chin' down de street, Don't you people stan' daih starin'; lif yo' feet! Ain't dey playin'? Hip, hooray! Stir yo' stumps an' cleah de way, Fu' de music dat dey mekin' can't be beat.

Oh, de major man's a-swingin' of his stick, An' de pickaninnies crowdin' roun' him thick; In his go'geous uniform, He 's de lightnin' of de sto'm, An' de little clouds erroun' look mighty slick.

You kin hyeah a fine perfo'mance w'en de white ban's serenade, An' dey play dey high-toned music mighty sweet, But hit 's Sousa played in ragtime, an' hit 's Rastus on Parade, Wen de colo'ed ban' comes ma'chin' down de street.

Wen de colo'ed ban' comes ma'chin' down de street You kin hyeah de ladies all erroun' repeat: "Ain't dey handsome? Ain't dey gran'? Ain't dey splendid? Goodness, lan'! Wy dey's pu'fect f'om dey fo'heads to dey feet!" An' sich steppin' to de music down de line, 'T ain't de music by itself dat meks it fine, Hit's de walkin', step by step, An' de keepin' time wid "Hep," Dat it mek a common ditty soun' divine.

Oh, de white ban' play hits music, an' hit 's mighty good to hyeah, An' it sometimes leaves a ticklin' in yo' feet; But de hea't goes into bus'ness fu' to he'p erlong de eah, Wen de colo'ed ban' goes ma'chin' down de street.

TO A VIOLET FOUND ON ALL SAINTS' DAY

Belated wanderer of the ways of spring, Lost in the chill of grim November rain, Would I could read the message that you bring And find in it the antidote for pain.

Does some sad spirit out beyond the day, Far looking to the hours forever dead, Send you a tender offering to lay Upon the grave of us, the living dead?

Or does some brighter spirit, unforlorn, Send you, my little sister of the wood, To say to some one on a cloudful morn, "Life lives through death, my brother, all is good?"

With meditative hearts the others go The memory of their dead to dress anew. But, sister mine, bide here that I may know, Life grows, through death, as beautiful as you.

INSPIRATION

At the golden gate of song Stood I, knocking all day long, But the Angel, calm and cold, Still refused and bade me, "Hold."

Then a breath of soft perfume, Then a light within the gloom; Thou, Love, camest to my side, And the gates flew open wide.

Long I dwelt in this domain, Knew no sorrow, grief, or pain; Now you bid me forth and free, Will you shut these gates on me?

MY LADY OF CASTLE GRAND

Gray is the palace where she dwells, Grimly the poplars stand There by the window where she sits, My Lady of Castle Grand.

There does she bide the livelong day, Grim as the poplars are, Ever her gaze goes reaching out, Steady, but vague and far.

Bright burn the fires in the castle hall, Brightly the fire-dogs stand; But cold is the body and cold the heart Of my Lady of Castle Grand.

Blue are the veins in her lily-white hands, Blue are the veins in her brow; Thin is the line of her blue drawn lips, Who would be haughty now?

Pale is the face at the window-pane, Pale as the pearl on her breast, "Roderick, love, wilt come again? Fares he to east or west?"

The shepherd pipes to the shepherdess, The bird to his mate in the tree, And ever she sighs as she hears their song, "Nobody sings for me."

The scullery maids have swains enow Who lead them the way of love, But lonely and loveless their mistress sits At her window up above.

Loveless and lonely she waits and waits, The saddest in all the land; Ah, cruel and lasting is love-blind pride, My Lady of Castle Grand.

DRIZZLE

Hit 's been drizzlin' an' been sprinklin', Kin' o' techy all day long. I ain't wet enough fu' toddy, I 's too damp to raise a song, An' de case have set me t'inkin', Dat dey 's folk des lak de rain, Dat goes drizzlin' w'en dey's talkin', An' won't speak out flat an' plain.

Ain't you nevah set an' listened At a body 'splain his min'? W'en de t'oughts dey keep on drappin' Was n't big enough to fin'? Dem 's whut I call drizzlin' people, Othahs call 'em mealy mouf, But de fust name hits me bettah, Case dey nevah tech a drouf.

Dey kin talk from hyeah to yandah, An' f'om yandah hyeah ergain, An' dey don' mek no mo' 'pression, Den dis powd'ry kin' o' rain. En yo' min' is dry ez cindahs, Er a piece o' kindlin' wood, 'T ain't no use a-talkin' to 'em, Fu' dey drizzle ain't no good.

Gimme folks dat speak out nachul, Whut 'll say des whut dey mean, Whut don't set dey wo'ds so skimpy Dat you got to guess between. I want talk des' lak de showahs Whut kin wash de dust erway, Not dat sprinklin' convusation, Dat des drizzle all de day.

DE CRITTERS' DANCE

Ain't nobody nevah tol' you not a wo'd a-tall, 'Bout de time dat all de critters gin dey fancy ball? Some folks tell it in a sto'y, some folks sing de rhyme, 'Peahs to me you ought to hyeahed it, case hit 's ol' ez time.

Well, de critters all was p'osp'ous, now would be de chance Fu' to tease ol' Pa'son Hedgehog, givin' of a dance; Case, you know, de critters' preachah was de stric'est kin', An' he nevah made no 'lowance fu' de frisky min'.

So dey sont dey inbitations, Raccoon writ 'em all, "Dis hyeah note is to inbite you to de Fancy Ball; Come erlong an' bring yo' ladies, bring yo' chillun too, Put on all yo' bibs an' tuckahs, show whut you kin do."

W'en de night come, dey all gathahed in a place dey knowed, Fu' enough erway f'om people, nigh enough de road, All de critters had ersponded, Hop-Toad up to Baih, An' I 's hyeah to tell you, Pa'son Hedgehog too, was daih.

Well, dey talked an' made dey 'bejunce, des lak critters do, An' dey walked an' p'omenaded 'roun' an' thoo an' thoo; Jealous ol' Mis' Fox, she whispah, "See Mis' Wildcat daih, Ain't hit scan'lous, huh a-comin' wid huh shouldahs baih?"

Ol' man T'utle was n't honin' fu' no dancin' tricks, So he stayed by ol' Mis' Tu'tle, talkin' politics; Den de ban' hit 'mence a-playin' critters all to place, Fou' ercross an' fou' stan' sideways, smilin' face to face.

'Fessah Frog, he play de co'net, Cricket play de fife, Slews o' Grasshoppahs a-fiddlin' lak to save dey life; Mistah Crow, 'he call de figgers, settin' in a tree, Huh, uh! how dose critters sasshayed was a sight to see.

Mistah Possom swing Mis' Rabbit up an' down de flo', Ol' man Baih, he ain't so nimble, an' it mek him blow; Raccoon dancin' wid Mis' Squ'il squeeze huh little han', She say, "Oh, now ain't you awful, quit it, goodness lan'!"

Pa'son Hedgehog groanin' awful at his converts' shines, 'Dough he peepin' thoo his fingahs at dem movin' lines, 'Twell he cain't set still no longah w'en de fiddles sing, Up he jump, an' bless you, honey, cut de pigeon-wing.

Well, de critters lak to fainted jes' wid dey su'prise. Sistah Fox, she vowed she was n't gwine to b'lieve huh eyes; But dey could n't be no 'sputin' 'bout it any mo': Pa'son Hedgehog was a-cape'in' all erroun' de flo.'

Den dey all jes' capahed scan'lous case dey did n't doubt, Dat dey still could go to meetin'; who could tu'n 'em out? So wid dancin' an' uligion, dey was in de fol', Fu' a-dancin' wid de Pa'son couldn't hu't de soul.

WHEN DEY 'LISTED COLORED SOLDIERS

Dey was talkin' in de cabin, dey was talkin' in de hall; But I listened kin' o' keerless, not a-t'inkin' 'bout it all; An' on Sunday, too, I noticed, dey was whisp'rin' mighty much, Stan'in' all erroun' de roadside w'en dey let us out o' chu'ch. But I did n't t'ink erbout it 'twell de middle of de week, An' my 'Lias come to see me, an' somehow he could n't speak. Den I seed all in a minute whut he 'd come to see me for;— Dey had 'listed colo'ed sojers an' my 'Lias gwine to wah.

Oh, I hugged him, an' I kissed him, an' I baiged him not to go; But he tol' me dat his conscience, hit was callin' to him so, An' he could n't baih to lingah w'en he had a chanst to fight For de freedom dey had gin him an' de glory of de right. So he kissed me, an' he lef me, w'en I 'd p'omised to be true; An' dey put a knapsack on him, an' a coat all colo'ed blue. So I gin him pap's ol' Bible f'om de bottom of de draw',— W'en dey 'listed colo'ed sojers an' my 'Lias went to wah.

But I t'ought of all de weary miles dat he would have to tramp, An' I could n't be contented w'en dey tuk him to de camp. W'y my hea't nigh broke wid grievin' 'twell I seed him on de street; Den I felt lak I could go an' th'ow my body at his feet. For his buttons was a-shinin', an' his face was shinin', too, An' he looked so strong an' mighty in his coat o' sojer blue, Dat I hollahed, "Step up, manny," dough my th'oat was so' an' raw,— W'en dey 'listed colo'ed sojers an' my 'Lias went to wah.

Ol' Mis' cried w'en mastah lef huh, young Miss mou'ned huh brothah Ned, An' I did n't know dey feelin's is de ve'y wo'ds dey said W'en I tol' 'em I was so'y. Dey had done gin up dey all; But dey only seemed mo' proudah dat dey men had hyeahed de call. Bofe my mastahs went in gray suits, an' I loved de Yankee blue, But I t'ought dat I could sorrer for de losin' of 'em too; But I could n't, for I did n't know de ha'f o' whut I saw, 'Twell dey 'listed colo'ed sojers an' my 'Lias went to wah.

Mastah Jack come home all sickly; he was broke for life, dey said; An' dey lef my po' young mastah some'r's on de roadside,—dead. W'en de women cried an' mou'ned 'em, I could feel it thoo an' thoo, For I had a loved un fightin' in de way o' dangah, too. Den dey tol' me dey had laid him some'r's way down souf to res', Wid de flag dat he had fit for shinin' daih acrost his breas'. Well, I cried, but den I reckon dat 's whut Gawd had called him for, W'en dey 'listed colo'ed sojers an' my 'Lias went to wah.

LINCOLN

Hurt was the nation with a mighty wound, And all her ways were filled with clam'rous sound. Wailed loud the South with unremitting grief, And wept the North that could not find relief. Then madness joined its harshest tone to strife: A minor note swelled in the song of life. 'Till, stirring with the love that filled his breast, But still, unflinching at the right's behest, Grave Lincoln came, strong handed, from afar, The mighty Homer of the lyre of war. 'T was he who bade the raging tempest cease, Wrenched from his harp the harmony of peace, Muted the strings, that made the discord,—Wrong, And gave his spirit up in thund'rous song. Oh mighty Master of the mighty lyre, Earth heard and trembled at thy strains of fire: Earth learned of thee what Heav'n already knew, And wrote thee down among her treasured few.

ENCOURAGEMENT

Who dat knockin' at de do'? Why, Ike Johnson,—yes, fu' sho! Come in, Ike. I 's mighty glad You come down. I t'ought you 's mad At me 'bout de othah night, An' was stayin' 'way fu' spite. Say, now, was you mad fu' true Wen I kin' o' laughed at you? Speak up, Ike, an' 'spress yo'se'f.

'T ain't no use a-lookin' sad, An' a-mekin' out you 's mad; Ef you 's gwine to be so glum, Wondah why you evah come. I don't lak nobidy 'roun' Dat jes' shet dey mouf an' frown,— Oh, now, man, don't act a dunce! Cain't you talk? I tol' you once, Speak up, Ike, an' 'spress yo'se'f.

Wha 'd you come hyeah fu' to-night? Body 'd t'ink yo' haid ain't right. I 's done all dat I kin do,— Dressed perticler, jes' fu' you; Reckon I 'd 'a' bettah wo' My ol' ragged calico. Aftah all de pains I 's took, Cain't you tell me how I look? Speak up, Ike, an' 'spress yo'se'f.

Bless my soul! I 'mos' fu'got Tellin' you 'bout Tildy Scott. Don't you know, come Thu'sday night, She gwine ma'y Lucius White? Miss Lize say I allus wuh Heap sight laklier 'n huh; An' she 'll git me somep'n new, Ef I wants to ma'y too. Speak up, Ike, an' 'spress yo'se'f.

I could ma'y in a week, Ef de man I wants 'ud speak. Tildy's presents 'll be fine, But dey would n't ekal mine. Him whut gits me fu' a wife 'Ll be proud, you bet yo' life. I 's had offers; some ain't quit; But I has n't ma'ied yit! Speak up, Ike, an' 'spress yo'se'f.

Ike, I loves you,—yes, I does; You 's my choice, and allus was. Laffin' at you ain't no harm.— Go 'way, dahky, whah 's yo' arm? Hug me closer—dah, dat 's right! Was n't you a awful sight, Havin' me to baig you so? Now ax whut you want to know,— Speak up, Ike, an' 'spress yo'se'f!

THE BOOGAH MAN

W'en de evenin' shadders Come a-glidin' down, Fallin' black an' heavy Ovah hill an' town, Ef you listen keerful, Keerful ez you kin, So 's you boun' to notice Des a drappin' pin; Den you 'll hyeah a funny Soun' ercross de lan'; Lay low; dat's de callin' Of de Boogah Man!

Woo-oo woo-oo! Hyeah him ez he go erlong de way; Woo-oo, woo-oo! Don' you wish de night 'ud t'un to day? Woo-oo, woo-oo! Hide yo' little peepers 'hind yo' han; Woo-oo, woo-oo! Callin' of de Boogah Man.

W'en de win 's a-shiverin' Thoo de gloomy lane, An' dey comes de patterin' Of de evenin' rain, W'en de owl's a-hootin', Out daih in de wood, Don' you wish, my honey, Dat you had been good? 'T ain't no use to try to Snuggle up to Dan; Bless you, dat's de callin' Of de Boogah Man!

Ef you loves yo' mammy, An' you min's yo' pap, Ef you nevah wriggles Outen Sukey's lap; Ef you says yo' "Lay me" Evah single night 'Fo' dey tucks de kivers An' puts out de light, Den de rain kin pattah Win' blow lak a fan, But you need n' bothah 'Bout de Boogah Man!

THE WRAITH

Ah me, it is cold and chill And the fire sobs low in the grate, While the wind rides by on the hill, And the logs crack sharp with hate.

And she, she is cold and sad As ever the sinful are, But deep in my heart I am glad For my wound and the coming scar.

Oh, ever the wind rides by And ever the raindrops grieve; But a voice like a woman's sigh Says, "Do you believe, believe?"

Ah, you were warm and sweet, Sweet as the May days be; Down did I fall at your feet, Why did you hearken to me?

Oh, the logs they crack and whine, And the water drops from the eaves; But it is not rain but brine Where my dead darling grieves.

And a wraith sits by my side, A spectre grim and dark; Are you gazing here open-eyed Out to the lifeless dark?

But ever the wind rides on, And we sit close within; Out of the face of the dawn, I and my darling,—sin.

SILENCE

'T is better to sit here beside the sea, Here on the spray-kissed beach, In silence, that between such friends as we Is full of deepest speech.

WHIP-POOR-WILL AND KATY-DID

Slow de night 's a-fallin', An' I hyeah de callin, Out erpon de lonesome hill; Soun' is moughty dreary, Solemn-lak an' skeery, Sayin' fu' to "whip po' Will."

Now hit 's moughty tryin', Fu' to hyeah dis cryin', 'Deed hit 's mo' den I kin stan'; Sho' wid all our slippin', Dey 's enough of whippin' 'Dout a bird a'visin' any man.

In de noons o' summah Dey 's anothah hummah Sings anothah song instid; An' his th'oat 's a-swellin' Wid de joy o' tellin', But he says dat "Katy did."

Now I feels onsuhtain; Won't you raise de cu'tain Ovah all de ti'ngs dat 's hid? W'y dat feathahed p'isen Goes erbout a-visin' Whippin' Will w'en Katy did?

'LONG TO'DS NIGHT

Daih 's a moughty soothin' feelin' Hits a dahky man, 'Long to'ds night. W'en de row is mos' nigh ended, Den he stops to fan, 'Long to'ds night. De blue smoke f'om his cabin is a-callin' to him "Come;" He smell de bacon cookin', an' he hyeah de fiah hum; An' he 'mence to sing, 'dough wo'kin' putty nigh done made him dumb, 'Long to'ds night.

Wid his hoe erpon his shouldah Den he goes erlong, 'Long to'ds night. An' he keepin' time a-steppin' Wid a little song, 'Long to'ds night. De restin'-time 's a-comin', an' de time to drink an' eat; A baby's toddlin' to'ds him on hits little dusty feet, An' a-goin' to'ds his cabin, an' his suppah 's moughty sweet, 'Long to'ds night.

Daih his Ca'line min' de kettle, Rufus min' de chile, 'Long to'ds night; An' de sweat roll down his forred, Mixin' wid his smile, 'Long to'ds night. He toss his piccaninny, an' he hum a little chune; De wokin' all is ovah, an' de suppah comin' soon; De wo'kin' time 's Decembah, but de restin' time is June, 'Long to'ds night.

Dey 's a kin' o' doleful feelin', Hits a tendah place, 'Long to'ds night; Dey 's a moughty glory in him Shinin' thoo his face, Long to'ds night. De cabin 's lak de big house, an' de fiah's lak de sun; His wife look moughty lakly, an' de chile de puttiest one; W'y, hit 's blessid, jes' a-livin' w'en a body's wo'k is done. 'Long to'ds night.

A GRIEVANCE

Wen de snow 's a-fallin' An' de win' is col'. Mammy 'mence a-callin', Den she 'mence to scol', "Lucius Lishy Brackett, Don't you go out do's, Button up yo' jacket, Les'n you 'll git froze."

I sit at de windah Lookin' at de groun', Nuffin nigh to hindah, Mammy ain' erroun'; Wish 't she would n' mek me Set down in dis chaih; Pshaw, it would n't tek me Long to git some aih.

So I jump down nimble Ez a boy kin be, Dough I 's all a-trimble Feahed some one 'll see; Bet in a half a minute I fly out de do' An' I 's knee-deep in it, Dat dah blessed snow.

Den I hyeah a pattah Come acrost de flo'. Den dey comes a clattah At de cabin do'; An' my mammy holler Spoilin' all my joy, "Come in f'om dat waller, Don't I see you, boy?"

Wen de snow 's a-sievin' Down ez sof ez meal, Whut 's de use o' livin' 'Cept you got de feel Of de stuff dat's fallin' 'Roun' an' white an' damp, 'Dout some one a-callin', "Come in hyeah, you scamp!"

DINAH KNEADING DOUGH

I have seen full many a sight Born of day or drawn by night: Sunlight on a silver stream, Golden lilies all a-dream, Lofty mountains, bold and proud, Veiled beneath the lacelike cloud; But no lovely sight I know Equals Dinah kneading dough.

Brown arms buried elbow-deep Their domestic rhythm keep, As with steady sweep they go Through the gently yielding dough. Maids may vaunt their finer charms— Naught to me like Dinah's arms; Girls may draw, or paint, or sew— I love Dinah kneading dough.

Eyes of jet and teeth of pearl, Hair, some say, too tight a-curl; But the dainty maid I deem Very near perfection's dream. Swift she works, and only flings Me a glance—the least of things. And I wonder, does she know That my heart is in the dough?

TO A CAPTIOUS CRITIC

Dear critic, who my lightness so deplores, Would I might study to be prince of bores, Right wisely would I rule that dull estate— But, sir, I may not, till you abdicate.

DAT OL' MARE O' MINE

Want to trade me, do you, mistah? Oh, well, now, I reckon not, W'y you could n't buy my Sukey fu' a thousan' on de spot. Dat ol' mare o' mine? Yes, huh coat ah long an' shaggy, an' she ain't no shakes to see; Dat's a ring-bone, yes, you right, suh, an' she got a on'ry knee, But dey ain't no use in talkin', she de only hoss fu' me, Dat ol' mare o' mine.

Co'se, I knows dat Suke 's contra'y, an' she moughty ap' to vex; But you got to mek erlowance fu' de nature of huh sex; Dat ol' mare o' mine. Ef you pull her on de lef han'; she plum 'termined to go right, A cannon could n't skeer huh, but she boun' to tek a fright At a piece o' common paper, or anyt'ing whut's white, Dat ol' mare o' mine.

Wen my eyes commence to fail me, dough, I trus'es to huh sight, An' she 'll tote me safe an' hones' on de ve'y da'kes' night, Dat ol' mare o' mine. Ef I whup huh, she jes' switch huh tail, an' settle to a walk, Ef I whup huh mo', she shek huh haid, an' lak ez not, she balk. But huh sense ain't no ways lackin', she do evah t'ing but talk, Dat ol' mare o' mine.

But she gentle ez a lady w'en she know huh beau kin see. An' she sholy got mo' gumption any day den you or me, Dat ol' mare o' mine. She's a leetle slow a-goin,' an' she moughty ha'd to sta't, But we 's gittin' ol' togathah, an' she 's closah to my hea't, An' I does n't reckon, mistah, dat she 'd sca'cely keer to pa't; Dat ol' mare o' mine.

W'y I knows de time dat cidah 's kin' o' muddled up my haid, Ef it had n't been fu' Sukey hyeah, I reckon I 'd been daid; Dat ol' mare o' mine. But she got me in de middle o' de road an' tuk me home, An' she would n't let me wandah, ner she would n't let me roam, Dat's de kin' o' hoss to tie to w'en you 's seed de cidah's foam, Dat ol' mare o' mine.

You kin talk erbout yo' heaven, you kin talk erbout yo' hell, Dey is people, dey is hosses, den dey's cattle, den dey's—well— Dat ol' mare o' mine; She de beatenes' t'ing dat evah struck de medders o' de town, An' aldough huh haid ain't fittin' fu' to waih no golden crown, D' ain't a blessed way fu' Petah fu' to tu'n my Sukey down, Dat ol' mare o' mine.

IN THE MORNING

'Lias! 'Lias! Bless de Lawd! Don' you know de day's erbroad? Ef you don' git up, you scamp, Dey 'll be trouble in dis camp. T'ink I gwine to let you sleep W'ile I meks yo' boa'd an' keep? Dat's a putty howdy-do— Don' you hyeah me, 'Lias—you?

Bet ef I come crost dis flo' You won' fin' no time to sno'. Daylight all a-shinin' in Wile you sleep—w'y hit's a sin! Ain't de can'le-light enough To bu'n out widout a snuff, But you go de mo'nin' thoo Bu'nin' up de daylight too?

'Lias, don' you hyeah me call? No use tu'nin' to'ds de wall; I kin hyeah dat mattuss squeak; Don' you hyeah me w'en I speak? Dis hyeah clock done struck off six— Ca'line, bring me dem ah sticks! Oh, you down, suh; huh, you down— Look hyeah, don' you daih to frown.

Ma'ch yo'se'f an' wash yo' face, Don' you splattah all de place; I got somep'n else to do, 'Sides jes' cleanin' aftah you. Tek dat comb ah' fix yo' haid— Looks jes' lak a feddah baid. Look hyeah, boy, I let you see You sha' n't roll yo' eyes at me.

Come hyeah; bring me dat ah strap! Boy, I'll whup you 'twell you drap; You done felt yo'se'f too strong, An' you sholy got me wrong. Set down at dat table thaih; Jes' you whimpah ef you daih! Evah mo'nin' on dis place, Seem lak I mus' lose my grace.

Fol' yo' han's an' bow yo' haid— Wait ontwell de blessin' 's said; "Lawd, have mussy on ouah souls—" (Don' you daih to tech dem rolls—) "Bless de food we gwine to eat—" (You set still-I see yo' feet; You jes' try dat trick agin!) "Gin us peace an' joy. Amen!"

THE POET

He sang of life, serenely sweet, With, now and then, a deeper note. From some high peak, nigh yet remote, He voiced the world's absorbing beat.

He sang of love when earth was young, And Love, itself, was in his lays. But ah, the world, it turned to praise A jingle in a broken tongue.

A FLORIDA NIGHT

Win' a-blowin' gentle so de san' lay low, San' a little heavy f'om de rain, All de pa'ms a-wavin' an' a-weavin' slow, Sighin' lak a sinnah-soul in pain. Alligator grinnin' by de ol' lagoon, Mockin'-bird a-singin' to be big full moon. 'Skeeter go a-skimmin' to his fightin' chune (Lizy Ann's a-waitin' in de lane!).

Moccasin a-sleepin' in de cyprus swamp; Need n't wake de gent'man, not fu' me. Mule, you need n't wake him w'en you switch an' stomp, Fightin' off a 'skeeter er a flea. Florida is lovely, she's de fines' lan' Evah seed de sunlight f'om de Mastah's han', 'Ceptin' fu' de varmints an' huh fleas an' san' An' de nights w'en Lizy Ann ain' free.

Moon 's a-kinder shaddered on de melon patch; No one ain't a-watchin' ez I go. Climbin' of de fence so 's not to click de latch Meks my gittin' in a little slow. Watermelon smilin' as it say, "I' s free;" Alligator boomin', but I let him be, Florida, oh, Florida 's de lan' fu' me— (Lizy Ann a-singin' sweet an' low).

DIFFERENCES

My neighbor lives on the hill, And I in the valley dwell, My neighbor must look down on me, Must I look up?—ah, well, My neighbor lives on the hill, And I in the valley dwell.

My neighbor reads, and prays, And I—I laugh, God wot, And sing like a bird when the grass is green In my small garden plot; But ah, he reads and prays, And I—I laugh, God wot.

His face is a book of woe, And mine is a song of glee; A slave he is to the great "They say," But I—I am bold and free; No wonder he smacks of woe, And I have the tang of glee.

My neighbor thinks me a fool, "The same to yourself," say I; "Why take your books and take your prayers, Give me the open sky;" My neighbor thinks me a fool, "The same to yourself," say I.

LONG AGO

De ol' time's gone, de new time's hyeah Wid all hits fuss an' feddahs; I done fu'got de joy an' cheah We knowed all kin's o' weddahs, I done fu'got each ol'-time hymn We ust to sing in meetin'; I 's leahned de prah's, so neat an' trim, De preachah keeps us 'peatin'.

Hang a vine by de chimney side, An' one by de cabin do'; An' sing a song fu' de day dat died, De day of long ergo.

My youf, hit's gone, yes, long ergo, An' yit I ain't a-moanin'; Hit 's fu' somet'ings I ust to know I set to-night a-honin'. De pallet on de ol' plank flo', De rain bar'l und' de eaves, De live oak 'fo' de cabin do', Whaih de night dove comes an' grieves.

Hang a vine by de chimney side, An' one by de cabin do'; An' sing a song fu' de day dat died, De day of long ergo.

I 'd lak a few ol' frien's to-night To come an' set wid me; An' let me feel dat ol' delight I ust to in dey glee. But hyeah we is, my pipe an' me, Wid no one else erbout; We bofe is choked ez choked kin be, An' bofe 'll soon go out.

Hang a vine by de chimney side, An' one by de cabin do'; An' sing a song fu' de day dat died, De day of long ergo.

A PLANTATION MELODY

De trees is bendin' in de sto'm, De rain done hid de mountain's fo'm, I 's 'lone an' in distress. But listen, dah 's a voice I hyeah, A-sayin' to me, loud an' cleah, "Lay low in de wildaness."

De lightnin' flash, de bough sway low, My po' sick hea't is trimblin' so, It hu'ts my very breas'. But him dat give de lightnin' powah Jes' bids me in de tryin' howah "Lay low in de wildaness."

O brothah, w'en de tempes' beat, An' w'en yo' weary head an' feet Can't fin' no place to res', Jes' 'membah dat de Mastah 's nigh, An' putty soon you 'll hyeah de cry, "Lay low in de wildaness."

O sistah, w'en de rain come down, An' all yo' hopes is 'bout to drown, Don't trus' de Mastah less. He smilin' w'en you t'ink he frown, He ain' gwine let yo' soul sink down— Lay low in de wildaness.

A SPIRITUAL

De 'cession's stahted on de gospel way, De Capting is a-drawin' nigh: Bettah stop a-foolin' an' a-try to pray; Lif' up yo' haid w'en de King go by!

Oh, sinnah mou'nin' in de dusty road, Hyeah 's de minute fu' to dry yo' eye: Dey 's a moughty One a-comin' fu' to baih yo' load; Lif' up yo' haid w'en de King go by!

Oh, widder weepin' by yo' husban's grave, Hit 's bettah fu' to sing den sigh: Hyeah come de Mastah wid de powah to save; Lif' up yo' haid w'en de King go by!

Oh, orphans a-weepin' lak de widder do, An' I wish you 'd tell me why: De Mastah is a mammy an' a pappy too; Lif' up yo' haid w'en de King go by!

Oh, Moses sot de sarpint in de wildahness W'en de chillun had commenced to die: Some 'efused to look, but hit cuohed de res'; Lif' up yo' haid w'en de King go by!

Bow down, bow 'way down, Bow down, But lif' up yo' haid w'en de King go by!

THE MEMORY OF MARTHA

Out in de night a sad bird moans, An', oh, but hit 's moughty lonely; Times I kin sing, but mos' I groans, Fu' oh, but hit 's moughty lonely! Is you sleepin' well dis evenin', Marfy, deah? W'en I calls you fom de cabin, kin you hyeah? 'T ain't de same ol' place to me, Nuffin' 's lak hit used to be, W'en I knowed dat you was allus some'ers near.

Down by de road de shadders grows, An', oh, but hit's moughty lonely; Seem lak de ve'y moonlight knows, An', oh, but hit's moughty lonely! Does you know, I's cryin' fu' you, oh, my wife? Does you know dey ain't no joy no mo' in life? An' my only t'ought is dis, Dat I's honin' fu' de bliss Fu' to quit dis groun' o' worriment an' strife.

Dah on de baid my banjo lays, An', oh, but hit's moughty lonely; Can't even sta't a chune o' praise, An', oh, but hit's moughty lonely! Oh, hit's moughty slow a-waitin' hyeah below. Is you watchin' fu' me, Marfy, at de do'? Ef you is, in spite o' sin, Dey'll be sho' to let me in, Wen dey sees yo' face a-shinin', den dey'll know.

W'EN I GITS HOME

It's moughty tiahsome layin' 'roun' Dis sorrer-laden earfly groun', An' oftentimes I thinks, thinks I, 'T would be a sweet t'ing des to die, An' go 'long home.

Home whaih de frien's I loved 'll say, "We've waited fu' you many a day, Come hyeah an' res' yo'se'f, an' know You's done wid sorrer an' wid woe, Now you's at home."

W'en I gits home some blessid day, I 'lows to th'ow my caihs erway, An' up an' down de shinin' street, Go singin' sof' an' low an' sweet, W'en I gits home.

I wish de day was neah at han', I's tiahed of dis grievin' lan', I's tiahed of de lonely yeahs, I want to des dry up my teahs, An' go 'long home.

Oh, Mastah, won't you sen' de call? My frien's is daih, my hope, my all. I 's waitin' whaih de road is rough, I want to hyeah you say, "Enough, Ol' man, come home!"

"HOWDY, HONEY, HOWDY!"

Do' a-stan'in' on a jar, fiah a-shinin' thoo, Ol' folks drowsin' 'roun' de place, wide awake is Lou, W'en I tap, she answeh, an' I see huh 'mence to grin, "Howdy, honey, howdy, won't you step right in?"

Den I step erpon de log layin' at de do', Bless de Lawd, huh mammy an' huh pap's done 'menced to sno', Now's de time, ef evah, ef I's gwine to try an' win, "Howdy, honey, howdy, won't you step right in?"

No use playin' on de aidge, trimblin' on de brink, Wen a body love a gal, tell huh whut he t'ink; W'en huh hea't is open fu' de love you gwine to gin, Pull yo'se'f togethah, suh, an' step right in.

Sweetes' imbitation dat a body evah hyeahed, Sweetah den de music of a lovesick mockin'-bird, Comin' f'om de gal you loves bettah den yo' kin, "Howdy, honey, howdy, won't you step right in?"

At de gate o' heaven w'en de storm o' life is pas', 'Spec' I 'll be a-stan'in', 'twell de Mastah say at las', "Hyeah he stan' all weary, but he winned his fight wid sin. Howdy, honey, howdy, won't you step right in?"

THE UNSUNG HEROES

A song for the unsung heroes who rose in the country's need, When the life of the land was threatened by the slaver's cruel greed, For the men who came from the cornfield, who came from the plough and the flail, Who rallied round when they heard the sound of the mighty man of the rail.

They laid them down in the valleys, they laid them down in the wood, And the world looked on at the work they did, and whispered, "It is good." They fought their way on the hillside, they fought their way in the glen, And God looked down on their sinews brown, and said, "I have made them men."

They went to the blue lines gladly, and the blue lines took them in, And the men who saw their muskets' fire thought not of their dusky skin. The gray lines rose and melted beneath their scathing showers, And they said, "'T is true, they have force to do, these old slave boys of ours."

Ah, Wagner saw their glory, and Pillow knew their blood, That poured on a nation's altar, a sacrificial flood. Port Hudson heard their war-cry that smote its smoke-filled air, And the old free fires of their savage sires again were kindled there.

They laid them down where the rivers the greening valleys gem. And the song of the thund'rous cannon was their sole requiem, And the great smoke wreath that mingled its hue with the dusky cloud, Was the flag that furled o'er a saddened world, and the sheet that made their shroud.

Oh, Mighty God of the Battles Who held them in Thy hand, Who gave them strength through the whole day's length, to fight for their native land, They are lying dead on the hillsides, they are lying dead on the plain, And we have not fire to smite the lyre and sing them one brief strain.

Give, Thou, some seer the power to sing them in their might, The men who feared the master's whip, but did not fear the fight; That he may tell of their virtues as minstrels did of old, Till the pride of face and the hate of race grow obsolete and cold.

A song for the unsung heroes who stood the awful test, When the humblest host that the land could boast went forth to meet the best; A song for the unsung heroes who fell on the bloody sod, Who fought their way from night to day and struggled up to God.

THE POOL

By the pool that I see in my dreams, dear love, I have sat with you time and again; And listened beneath the dank leaves, dear love, To the sibilant sound of the rain.

And the pool, it is silvery bright, dear love, And as pure as the heart of a maid, As sparkling and dimpling, it darkles and shines In the depths of the heart of the glade.

But, oh, I 've a wish in my soul, dear love, (The wish of a dreamer, it seems,) That I might wash free of my sins, dear love, In the pool that I see in my dreams.

POSSESSION

Whose little lady is you, chile, Whose little gal is you? What's de use o' kiver'n up yo' face? Chile, dat ain't de way to do. Lemme see yo' little eyes, Tek yo' little han's down nice, Lawd, you wuff a million bills, Huh uh, chile, dat ain't yo' price.

Honey, de money ain't been made Dat dey could pay fu' you; 'T ain't no use a-biddin'; you too high Fu' de riches' Jap er Jew. Lemme see you smilin' now, How dem teef o' yo'n do shine, An' de t'ing dat meks me laff Is dat all o' you is mine.

How 's I gwine to tell you how I feel, How's I gwine to weigh yo' wuff? Oh, you sholy is de sweetes' t'ing Walkin' on dis blessed earf. Possum is de sweetes' meat, Cidah is the nices' drink, But my little lady-bird Is de bes' of all, I t'ink.

Talk erbout 'uligion he'pin' folks All thoo de way o' life, Gin de res' 'uligion, des' gin me You, my little lady-wife. Den de days kin come all ha'd, Den de nights kin come all black, Des' you tek me by de han', An' I'll stumble on de track.

Stumble on de way to Gawd, my chile, Stumble on, an' mebbe fall; But I'll keep a-trottin', while you lead on, Pickin' an' a-trottin', dat's all. Hol' me mighty tight, dough, chile, Fu' hit's rough an' rocky lan', Heaben 's at de en', I know, So I's leanin' on yo' han'.

THE OLD FRONT GATE

W'en daih 's chillun in de house, Dey keep on a-gittin' tall; But de folks don' seem to see Dat dey 's growin' up at all, 'Twell dey fin' out some fine day Dat de gals has 'menced to grow, Wen dey notice as dey pass Dat de front gate 's saggin' low.

Wen de hinges creak an' cry, An' de bahs go slantin' down, You kin reckon dat hit's time Fu' to cas' yo' eye erroun', 'Cause daih ain't no 'sputin' dis, Hit's de trues' sign to show Dat daih 's cou'tin' goin' on Wen de ol' front gate sags low.

Oh, you grumble an' complain, An' you prop dat gate up right; But you notice right nex' day Dat hit's in de same ol' plight. So you fin' dat hit's a rule, An' daih ain' no use to blow, W'en de gals is growin' up, Dat de front gate will sag low.

Den you t'ink o' yo' young days, W'en you cou'ted Sally Jane, An' you so't o' feel ashamed Fu' to grumble an' complain, 'Cause yo' ricerlection says, An' you know hits wo'ds is so, Dat huh pappy had a time Wid his front gate saggin' low.

So you jes' looks on an' smiles At 'em leanin' on de gate, Tryin' to t'ink whut he kin say Fu' to keep him daih so late, But you lets dat gate erlone, Fu' yo' 'sperunce goes to show, 'Twell de gals is ma'ied off, It gwine keep on saggin' low.

DIRGE FOR A SOLDIER

In the east the morning comes, Hear the rollin' of the drums On the hill. But the heart that beat as they beat In the battle's raging day heat Lieth still. Unto him the night has come, Though they roll the morning drum.

What is in the bugle's blast? It is: "Victory at last! Now for rest." But, my comrades, come behold him, Where our colors now enfold him, And his breast Bares no more to meet the blade, But lies covered in the shade.

What a stir there is to-day! They are laying him away Where he fell. There the flag goes draped before him; Now they pile the grave sod o'er him With a knell. And he answers to his name In the higher ranks of fame.

There's a woman left to mourn For the child that she has borne In travail. But her heart beats high and higher, With the patriot mother's fire, At the tale. She has borne and lost a son, But her work and his are done.

Fling the flag out, let it wave; They 're returning from the grave— "Double quick!" And the cymbals now are crashing, Bright his comrades' eyes are flashing From the thick Battle-ranks which knew him brave, No tears for a hero's grave.

In the east the morning comes, Hear the rattle of the drums Far away. Now no time for grief's pursuing, Other work is for the doing, Here to-day. He is sleeping, let him rest With the flag across his breast.

A FROLIC

Swing yo' lady roun' an' roun', Do de bes' you know; Mek yo' bow an' p'omenade Up an' down de flo'; Mek dat banjo hump huhse'f. Listen at huh talk: Mastah gone to town to-night; 'T ain't no time to walk.

Lif yo' feet an' flutter thoo, Run, Miss Lucy, run; Reckon you 'll be cotched an' kissed 'Fo' de night is done. You don't need to be so proud— I's a-watchin' you, An' I's layin' lots o' plans Fu' to git you, too.

Moonlight on de cotton-fiel' Shinin' sof an' white, Whippo'will a-tellin' tales Out thaih in de night; An' yo' cabin 's 'crost de lot: Run, Miss Lucy, run; Reckon you 'll be cotched an' kissed To' de night is done.

NODDIN' BY DE FIRE

Some folks t'inks hit's right an' p'opah, Soon ez bedtime come erroun', Fu' to scramble to de kiver, Lak dey 'd hyeahed de trumpet soun'. But dese people dey all misses Whut I mos'ly does desiah; Dat 's de settin' roun' an' dozin', An' a-noddin' by de fiah.

When you 's tiahed out a-hoein', Er a-followin' de plough, Whut's de use of des a-fallin' On yo' pallet lak a cow? W'y, de fun is all in waitin' In de face of all de tiah, An' a-dozin' and a-drowsin' By a good ol' hick'ry fiah.

Oh, you grunts an' groans an' mumbles Case yo' bones is full o' col', Dough you feels de joy a-tricklin' Roun' de co'nahs of yo' soul. An' you 'low anothah minute 'S sho to git you wa'm an' dryah, W'en you set up pas' yo' bedtime, Case you hates to leave de fiah.

Whut's de use o' downright sleepin'? You can't feel it while it las', An' you git up feelin' sorry W'en de time fu' it is pas'. Seem to me dat time too precious, An' de houahs too short entiah, Fu' to sleep, w'en you could spen' 'em Des a-noddin' by de fiah.

LOVE'S CASTLE

Key and bar, key and bar, Iron bolt and chain! And what will you do when the King comes To enter his domain?

Turn key and lift bar, Loose, oh, bolt and chain! Open the door and let him in, And then lock up again.

But, oh, heart, and woe, heart, Why do you ache so sore? Never a moment's peace have you Since Love hath passed the door.

Turn key and lift bar, And loose bolt and chain; But Love took in his esquire, Grief, And there they both remain.

MORNING SONG OF LOVE

Darling, my darling, my heart is on the wing, It flies to thee this morning like a bird, Like happy birds in springtime my spirits soar and sing, The same sweet song thine ears have often heard.

The sun is in my window, the shadow on the lea, The wind is moving in the branches green, And all my life, my darling, is turning unto thee, And kneeling at thy feet, my own, my queen.

The golden bells are ringing across the distant hill, Their merry peals come to me soft and clear, But in my heart's deep chapel all incense-filled and still A sweeter bell is sounding for thee, dear.

The bell of love invites thee to come and seek the shrine Whose altar is erected unto thee, The offerings, the sacrifice, the prayers, the chants are thine, And I, my love, thy humble priest will be.

ON A CLEAN BOOK

TO F. N.

Like sea-washed sand upon the shore, So fine and clean the tale, So clear and bright I almost see, The flashing of a sail.

The tang of salt is in its veins, The freshness of the spray God give you love and lore and strength, To give us such alway.

TO THE EASTERN SHORE

I 's feelin' kin' o' lonesome in my little room to-night, An' my min 's done los' de minutes an' de miles, Wile it teks me back a-flyin' to de country of delight, Whaih de Chesapeake goes grumblin' er wid smiles. Oh, de ol' plantation 's callin' to me, Come, come back, Hyeah 's de place fu' you to labouh an' to res', 'Fu my sandy roads is gleamin' w'ile de city ways is black; Come back, honey, case yo' country home is bes'.

I know de moon is shinin' down erpon de Eastern sho', An' de bay 's a-sayin' "Howdy" to de lan'; An' de folks is all a-settin' out erroun' de cabin do', Wid dey feet a-restin' in de silvah san'; An' de ol' plantation 's callin' to me, Come, oh, come, F'om de life dat 's des' a-waihin' you erway, F'om de trouble an' de bustle, an' de agernizin' hum Dat de city keeps ergoin' all de day.

I 's tiahed of de city, tek me back to Sandy Side, Whaih de po'est ones kin live an' play an' eat; Whaih we draws a simple livin' f'om de fo'est an' de tide, An' de days ah faih, an' evah night is sweet. Fu' de ol' plantation 's callin' to me, Come, oh, come. An' de Chesapeake 's a-sayin' "Dat's de t'ing," W'ile my little cabin beckons, dough his mouf is closed an' dumb, I 's a-comin, an' my hea't begins to sing.

RELUCTANCE

Will I have some mo' dat pie? No, ma'am, thank-ee, dat is—I— Bettah quit daihin' me. Dat ah pie look sutny good: How 'd you feel now ef I would? I don' reckon dat I should; Bettah quit daihin' me.

Look hyeah, I gwine tell de truf, Mine is sholy one sweet toof: Bettah quit daihin' me. Yass'm, yass'm, dat's all right, I 's done tried to be perlite: But dat pie 's a lakly sight, Wha 's de use o' daihin' me?

My, yo' lips is full an' red, Don't I wish you 'd tu'n yo' haid? Bettah quit daihin' me. Dat ain't faih, now, honey chile, I 's gwine lose my sense erwhile Ef you des set daih an' smile, Bettah quit daihin' me.

Nuffin' don' look ha'f so fine Ez dem teef, deah, w'en dey shine: Bettah quit daihin' me. Now look hyeah, I tells you dis; I 'll give up all othah bliss Des to have one little kiss, Bettah quit daihin' me.

Laws, I teks yo' little han', Ain't it tendah? bless de lan'— Bettah quit daihin' me. I 's so lonesome by myse'f, 'D ain't no fun in livin' lef'; Dis hyeah life's ez dull ez def: Bettah quit daihin' me.

Why n't you tek yo' han' erway? Yass, I 'll hol' it: but I say Bettah quit daihin' me. Holin' han's is sholy fine. Seems lak dat 's de weddin' sign. Wish you 'd say dat you 'd be mine;— Dah you been daihin' me.

BALLADE

By Mystic's banks I held my dream. (I held my fishing rod as well,) The vision was of dace and bream, A fruitless vision, sooth to tell. But round about the sylvan dell Were other sweet Arcadian shrines, Gone now, is all the rural spell, Arcadia has trolley lines.

Oh, once loved, sluggish, darkling stream, For me no more, thy waters swell, Thy music now the engines' scream, Thy fragrance now the factory's smell; Too near for me the clanging bell; A false light in the water shines While Solitude lists to her knell,— Arcadia has trolley lines.

Thy wooded lanes with shade and gleam Where bloomed the fragrant asphodel, Now bleak commercially teem With signs "To Let," "To Buy," "To Sell." And Commerce holds them fierce and fell; With vulgar sport she now combines Sweet Nature's piping voice to quell. Arcadia has trolley lines.

L'ENVOI.

Oh, awful Power whose works repel The marvel of the earth's designs,— I 'll hie me otherwhere to dwell, Arcadia has trolley lines.

SPEAKIN' AT DE COU'T-HOUSE

Dey been speakin' at de cou't-house, An' laws-a-massy me, 'T was de beatness kin' o' doin's Dat evah I did see. Of cose I had to be dah In de middle o' de crowd, An' I hallohed wid de othahs, Wen de speakah riz and bowed.

I was kind o' disapp'inted At de smallness of de man, Case I 'd allus pictered great folks On a mo' expansive plan; But I t'ought I could respect him An' tek in de wo'ds he said, Fu' dey sho was somp'n knowin' In de bald spot on his haid.