Pipes OPan at Zekesbury | Page 6

touching me with his elbow. "Look at
the Professor!"
"Look at everybody!" said I. And the artless little voice went on again
half quaveringly:
"But Aunty's all so childish-like on my account, you see, I'm 'most
afeared she'll be took down--an' 'at's what bothers me!--
'Cause ef my
good ole Aunty ever would git sick an' die,
I don't know what she'd
do in Heaven--till _I_ come, by an' by:-- Far she's so ust to all my ways,
an' ever'thing, you know, An' no one there like me, to nurse, an' worry
over so!--
'Cause all the little childerns there's so straight an' strong
an' fine,
They's nary angel 'bout the place with 'Curv'ture of the
Spine!'"
The old Professor's face was in his handkerchief; so was my friend's in
his; and so was mine in mine, as even now my pen drops and I reach
for it again.
I half regret joining the mad party that had gathered an hour later in the
old law-office where these two graceless characters held almost nightly
revel, the instigators and conniving hosts of a reputed banquet whose
menu's range confined itself to herrings, or "blind robins," dried beef,
and cheese, with crackers, gingerbread, and sometimes pie; the whole
washed down with anything but
"----Wines that heaven knows when
Had sucked the fire of some
forgotten sun,
And kept it through a hundred years of gloom
Still
glowing in a heart of ruby."

But the affair was memorable. The old Professor was himself lured into
it, and loudest in his praise of Hedrick's realistic art; and I yet recall
him at the orgie's height, excitedly repulsing the continued slurs and
insinuations of the clammy-handed Sweeney, who, still contending
against the old man's fulsome praise of his more fortunate rival, at last
openly declared that Hedrick was not_ a poet, _not a genius, and in no
way worthy to be classed in the same breath with himself_--"the gifted
but unfortunate _Sweeney, sir--the
unacknowledged author, sir--'y
gad, sir!--of the two poems that held you spell-bound to-night!"
DOWN AROUND THE RIVER POEMS
DOWN AROUND THE RIVER.
Noon-time and June-time, down around the river!
Have to furse with
'Lizey Ann--but lawzy! I fergive her!
Drives me off the place, and
says 'at all 'at she's a-wishin', Land o' gracious! time'll come I'll git
enough o' fishin'! Little Dave, a-choppin' wood, never 'pears to notice;

Don't know where she's hid his hat, er keerin' where his coat is,--
Specalatin', more 'n like, he haint a-goin' to mind me,
And guessin'
where, say twelve o'clock, a feller'd likely find me.
Noon-time and June-time, down around the river!
Clean out o' sight
o' home, and skulkin' under kivver
Of the sycamores, jack-oaks, and
swamp-ash and ellum--
Idies all so jumbled up, you kin hardly tell
'em!--
Tired_, you know, but _lovin' it, and smilin' jest to think 'at
Any sweeter tiredness you'd fairly want to drink it.
Tired o'
fishin'--tired o' fun--line out slack and slacker-- All you want in all the
world's a little more tobacker!
Hungry, but a-hidin' it, er jes' a-not a-keerin':-
Kingfisher gittin' up
and skootin' out o' hearin';
Snipes on the t'other side, where the
County Ditch is,
Wadin' up and down the aidge like they'd rolled
their britches! Old turkle on the root kindo-sorto drappin'
Intoo th'
worter like he don't know how it happen!
Worter, shade and all so
mixed, don't know which you'd orter Say, th' worter_ in the

shadder--_shadder_ in the _worter!
Somebody hollerin'--'way around the bend in
Upper Fork--where yer
eye kin jes' ketch the endin'
Of the shiney wedge o' wake some
muss-rat's a-makin'
With that pesky nose o' his! Then a sniff o' bacon,

Corn-bread and 'dock-greens--and little Dave a-shinnin'
'Crost the
rocks and mussel-shells, a-limpin' and a-grinnin', With yer dinner far ye,
and a blessin' from the giver.
Noon-time and June-time down around
the river!
KNEELING WITH HERRICK.
Dear Lord, to Thee my knee is bent.--
Give me content--

Full-pleasured with what comes to me,
What e'er it be:
An humble
roof--a frugal board,
And simple hoard;
The wintry fagot piled
beside
The chimney wide,
While the enwreathing flames up-sprout

And twine about
The brazen dogs that guard my hearth
And
household worth:
Tinge with the ember's ruddy glow
The rafters
low;
And let the sparks snap with delight,
As ringers might
That
mark deft measures of some tune
The children croon:
Then, with
good friends, the rarest few
Thou holdest true,
Ranged round about
the blaze, to share
My comfort there,--
Give me to claim the service
meet
That makes each seat
A place of honor, and each guest

Loved as the rest.
ROMANCIN'.
I' b'en a-kindo musin', as the feller says, and I'm
About o' the
conclusion that they ain't no better time,
When you come to cipher on
it, than the times we used to know When we swore our first
"dog-gone-it" sorto solem'-like and low!
You git my idy, do you?--Little tads, you understand--
Jes' a wishin'
thue and thue you that you on'y was a man.-- Yit here I am, this minute,
even forty, to a day,

And fergittin' all that's