Or up the slippery knob I strain An' see a hundred hills like islan's Lift their blue woods in broken chain Out o' the sea o' snowy silence; The farm-smokes, sweetes' sight on airth, Slow thru the winter air a-shrinkin' Seem kin' o' sad, an' roun' the hearth Of empty places set me thinkin'. Beaver roars hoarse with meltin' snows, Started my blood to country-dances, Rat-tat-tat-tattle thru the street I hear the drummers makin' riot, An' I set thinkin' o' the feet Thet follered once an' now are quiet,— White feet ez snowdrops innercent, Thet never knowed the paths o' Satan, Whose comin' step ther' 's ears thet won't, No, not lifelong, leave off awaitin'. Why, hain't I held 'em on my knee? Did n't I love to see 'em growin', Three likely lads ez wal could be, Hahnsome an' brave an' not knowin'? tu Nothin' but tells us wut we miss, Ther' 's gaps our lives can't never fay in, An' thet world seems so fur from this My eyes cloud up for rain; my mouth Will take to twitchin' roun' the corners; I pity mothers, tu, down South, For all they sot among the scorners: I'd sooner take my chance to stan' At Jedgment where your meanest slave is, Than at God's bar hol' up a han' Ez drippin' red ez yourn, Jeff Davis ! Come, Peace! not like a mourner bowed For honor lost an' dear ones wasted, But proud, to meet a people proud, With eyes thet tell o' triumph tasted! Longin' for you, our sperits wilt ef it wuz ez pressin' ez a deppity Shiriff. never shell this one ag in. Subjick staited; Sence Mr. Wilbur's disease I hev n't hed expanded; delayted; extended. Pump no one thet could dror out my talons. lively. Subjick staited ag'in so 's to avide He ust to kind o' wine me up an' set the all mistaiks. Ginule remarks; continpenderlum agoin' an' then somehow I ooed; kerried on; pushed furder; kind o' seemed to go on tick as it wear tell I run gin out. Subjick re-staited; dielooted; down, but the noo minister ain't of the stirred up permiscoous. Pump ag'in. same brewin' nor I can't seem to git ahold Gits back to where he sot out. Can't of no kine of huming nater in him but sort seem to stay thair. Ketches into Mr. Seaof slide rite off as you du on the eedge of ward's hair. Breaks loose ag'in an' staits a mow. Minnysteeril natur is wal enough his subjick; stretches it; turns it; folds an' a site better 'n most other kines I it; onfolds it; folds it ag'in so 's 't no one know on, but the other sort sech as Wel- can't find it. Argoos with an imedginary bor hed wuz of the Lord's makin' an' nat- bean thet ain't aloud to say nothin' in reerally more wonderfle an' sweet tastin' pleye. Gives him a real good dressin' an' leastways to me so fur as heerd from. He is settysfide he 's rite. Gits into Johnson's used to interdooce 'em smooth ez ile hair. No use tryin' to git into his head. athout sayin' nothin' in pertickler an' I Gives it up. Hez to stait his subjick misdoubt he did n't set so much by the ag'in; doos it back'ards, sideways, eendsec'nd Ceres as wut he done by the Fust, ways, criss-cross, bevellin', noways. Gits fact, he let on onct thet his mine misgive finally red on it. Concloods. Concloods him of a sort of fallin' off in spots. He more. Reads some xtrax. Sees his subwuz as outspoken as a norwester he wuz, jick a-nosin' round arter him ag'in. Tries but I tole him I hoped the fall wuz from to avide it. Wun't du. Misstates it. so high up thet a feller could ketch a good Can't conjectur' no other plawsable way of many times fust afore comin' bunt onto staytin' on it. Tries pump. No fx. Finethe ground as I see Jethro C. Swett from ly concloods to conclood. Yeels the flore. the meetin' house steeple up to th' old perrish, an' took up for dead but he's alive now an' spry as wut you be. Turnin' of it over I recclected how they ust to put wut they called Argymunce onto the frunts of poymns, like poorches afore housen whare you could rest ye a spell whilst you wuz concludin' whether you'd go in or nut espeshully ware tha wuz darters, though I most allus found it the best plen to go in fust an' think afterwards an' the gals likes it best tu. I dno as speechis ever hez any argimunts to 'em, I never see none thet hed an' I guess they never du but tha must allus be a B'ginnin' to every thin' athout it is Etarnity so I'll begin rite away an' anybody may put it afore any of his speeches ef it soots an' welcome. I don't claim no paytent. THE ARGYMUNT. You kin spall an' punctooate thet as you please. I allus do, it kind of puts a noo soot of close onto a word, thisere funattick spellin' doos an' takes 'em out of the prissen dress they wair in the Dixonary. Ef I squeeze the cents out of 'em it's the main thing, an' wut they wuz made for; wut 's left 's jest pummis. །“ Mistur Wilbur sez he to me onct, sez he, "Hosee," sez he, "in litterytoor the only good thing is Natur. It's amazin' hard to come at," sez he, "but onct git it an' you 've gut everythin'. Wut 's the sweetest small on airth?" sez he "Noomone hay," sez I, pooty bresk, for he wuz allus hankerin' round in hayin'. "Naw thin' of the kine," sez he "My leetle Huldy's breath,' sez I ag'in. "You 're a good lad," sez he, his eyes sort of ripplin' like, for he lost a babe onct nigh about her age, you 're a good lad; but 't ain't thet nuther," sez he. "Ef you want Interducshin, w'ich may be skipt. Be- to know," sez he, "open your winder of a gins by talkin' about himself: thet 's jest mornin' et ary season, and you'll larn natur an' most gin'ally allus pleasin', I thet the best of perfooms is jest fresh air, b'leeve I've notist, to one of the cumpany, fresh air," sez he, emphysizin', "athout an' thet 's more than wut you can say of no mixtur. Thet 's wut I call natur in most speshes of talkin'. Nex' comes the writin', and it bathes my lungs and washes gittin' the goodwill of the orjunce by let-'em sweet whenever I git a whiff on 't," tin' 'em gether from wut you kind of ex'dentally let drop thet they air about East, A one, an' no mistaik, skare 'em up an' take 'em as they rise. Spring interdooced with a few approput flours. Speach finally begins witch nobuddy need n't feel obolygated to read as I never read 'em an' sez he. I offen think o' thet when I set down to write, but the winders air so ept to git stuck, an' breakin' a pane costs sunthin'. Yourn for the last time, |