Cape Cod Ballads, and Other Verse | Page 7

are all
a-gigglin' and a-tryin' ter be smart, With their braided pig-tails wigglin'
at the joltin' of the cart; There's the teachers all a-beamin', rigged up in
their Sunday clothes, And the parson's specs a-gleamin' like two moons
acrost his nose, And the sup'rintendent lookin' mighty dignerfied and
cool,
And a-bossin' of the picnic of the Baptist Sunday-school.
Everybody's got their basket brimmin' full of things ter eat, And I've
got one--if yer ask it--that is purty hard ter beat,-- 'Cept that Sis put in
some pound-cake that she made herself alone, And I bet yer never
found cake that was quite so much like stone. There'll be quarts of

sass'parilla; yes, and "lemmo" in a tub; There'll be ice-cream--it's
vernilla--and all kinds of fancy grub; And they're sure ter spread the
table on the ground beside the spring, So's the ants and hoppergrasses
can just waltz on everything.
Then the girls they'll be a-yippin', 'cause a bug is in the cream; And a
"daddy-long-legs" skippin' round the butter makes 'em scream; And a
fuzzy caterpillar--jest the littlest kind they make-- Sets 'em holl'rin',
"Kill her! kill her!" like as if it was a snake. Then, when dinner-time is
over and we boys have et enough,
Why, the big girls they'll pick
clover, or make wreaths of leaves and
stuff;
And the big chaps they'll set 'round 'em, lookin' soft as ever wuz,
Talkin' gush and actin' silly, same as that kind always does.
Then, we'll ride home when it's dark'nin' and the leaves are wet with
dew, And the lightnin'-bugs are sparklin' and the moon is shinin', too;
We'll sing "Jingle bells" and "Sailing," "Seein' Nelly home," and more;
And that one that's slow and wailin', "Home ag'in from somethin'
shore." Then a feller's awful sleepy and he kinder wants ter rest,
But
the stuff he's et feels creepy and like bricks piled on his chest; And,
perhaps, he dreams his stummick has been stepped on by a mule; But it
ain't: it's jest the picnic of the Baptist Sunday school!

"AUNT 'MANDY"
Our Aunt 'Mandy thinks that boys
Never ought ter make a noise,
Or
go swimming or play ball,
Or have any fun at all;
Thinks a boy had
ought ter be
Dressed up all the time, and she
Hollers jest as if she's
hurt
At the littlest mite er dirt
On a feller's hands or face,
Or his
clothes, or any place.
Then at dinner-time she's there,
Sayin', "Mustn't kick the chair!"
Or
"Why don't yer sit up straight?"
"'Tain't perlite to drum yer plate."

An' yer got ter eat as slow,
'Cause she's dingin' at yer so.
Then,

when Chris'mus comes, she brings
Nothin', only useful things:

Han'kershi'fs an' gloves an' ties,
Sunday stuff yer jest despise.
She's a ole maid, all alone,
'Thout no children of her own,
An' I
s'pose that makes her fuss
'Round our house a-bossin' us.
If she 'd
had a boy, I bet,
'Tween her bossin' and her fret
She'd a-killed him,
jest about;
So God made her do without,
For he knew no boy could
stay
With Aunt 'Mandy every day.

THE STORY-BOOK BOY
Oh, the story-book boy! he's a wonderful youth,
A prodigy reeking
with goodness and truth;
As brave as a lion, as wise as a sage,
And
sharp as a razor, though twelve years of age.
His mother is good and
she's awfully poor,
But he says, "Do not fret, I'll provide for you,
sure!"
And the hard grasping landlord, who comes to annoy,
Is
braved to his teeth by the story-book boy.
Oh, the story-book boy! when he sees that young churl.
The Squire's
spoiled son, kick the poor crippled girl,
He darts to the rescue as
quick as he can,
And dusts the hard road with the cruel young man;

And when he is sought by the vengeful old Squire,
He withers the
latter with tongue-lashing ire;
For the town might combine his young
nerve to destroy,
And never once shake him--the story-book boy.
[Illustration: "And with--ahem--era--I said before."]
Oh, the story-book boy! when the Judge's dear child
Is dragged
through the streets by a runaway wild,
Of course he's on hand, and a
"ten-strike" he makes,
For he stops the mad steed in a couple of
"shakes";
And he tells the glad Judge, who has wept on his hat,
"I
did but my duty!" or something like that;
And the very best place in
the Judge's employ
Is picked out at once for the story-book boy.

Oh, the story-book boy! all his troubles are o'er,
For he gets to be
Judge in a year or two more;
And the wicked old landlord in poverty
dies,
And the Squire's son drinks, and in gutters he lies;
But the girl
whom he saved is our hero's fair bride,
And his old mother comes to
their home to abide;
In silks and sealskins, she cries, in her joy:

"Thank Heaven, I'm Ma of a story-book boy!"

THE SCHOOL-COMMITTEE MAN
Sometimes when we're in school, and it's the afternoon and late, And
kinder warm and sleepy, don't yer know;
And p'r'aps a feller's
studyin' or writin'