The Coo-ee Reciter Part 13

Out at front a coloured couple sat in sorrow, nearly wild; On the altar was a coffin, in the coffin was a child.

I could picture him when living--curly hair, protruding lip-- And had seen perhaps a thousand in my hurried Southern trip.

But no baby ever rested in the soothing arms of death That had fanned more flames of sorrow with his little fluttering breath; And no funeral ever glistened with more sympathy profound Than was in the chain of teardrops that enclasped those mourners round.

Rose a sad, old coloured preacher at the little wooden desk-- With a manner grandly awkward, with a countenance grotesque; With simplicity and shrewdness on his Ethiopian face; With the ignorance and wisdom of a crushed, undying race.

And he said: "Now, don' be weepin' for dis pretty bit o' clay-- For de little boy who lived dere, he's done gone an' run away!

He was doin' very finely, an' he 'preciate your love; But his sure 'nuff Father want him in de large house up above.

"Now, he didn't give you that baby, by a hundred thousan' mile!

He just think you need some sunshine, an' He lent it for a while!

An' He let you keep an' love it till your hearts were bigger grown; An' dese silver tears your sheddin's jest de interes' on the loan.

"Here's yer oder pretty childrun!--doan' be makin' it appear Dat your love got sort o' 'nopolised by dis little fellow here; Don' pile up too much your sorrow on dere little mental shelves, So's to kind 'o set 'em wonderin' if dey're no account demselves.

"Just you think, you poor deah mounahs, creepin' long o'er Sorrow's way, What a blessed little pic-nic dis yere baby's got to-day!

Your good faders and good moders crowd de little fellow round In de angel-tended garden ob de big Plantation Ground.

"An' dey ask him, 'Was your feet sore?' an' take off his little shoes, An' dey wash him, an' dey kiss him, an' dey say--'Now what's de news?'

An' de Lawd done cut his tongue loose, den de little fellow say-- 'All our folks down in the valley tries to keep de hebbenly way.'

"An' his eyes dey brightly sparkle at de pretty things he view; Den a tear come an' he whispers--'But I want my parents too!'

But de Angel Chief Musician teach dat boy a little song-- Says 'If only dey be fait'ful dey will soon be comin' 'long.'

An' he'll get an' education dat will proberbly be worth Seberal times as much as any you could buy for him on earth; He'll be in de Lawd's big schoolhouse, widout no contempt or fear; While dere's no end to the bad tings might have happened to him here.

"So, my pooah dejected mounahs, let your hearts wid Jesus rest, An' don't go to critercisin' dat ar One w'at knows the best!

He have sent us many comforts--He have right to take away-- To the Lawd be praise an' glory now and ever! Let us pray!"

WILL CARLETON.

_DER SHPIDER UND DER FLY._

I reads in Yawcob's shtory book, A couple veeks ago, Von firsd-rade boem, vot I d.i.n.ks Der beoples all should know.

I'd ask dis goot conundhrum, too, Vich ve should brofit by: "'Vill you indo mine parlor valk?'

Says der Shpider off der fly."

Dot set me d.i.n.king, righdt avay, Und vhen, von afternoon, A shbeculator he comes in Und dells me, pooty soon, He haf silfer mine to sell, Und ask me eef I puy, I d.i.n.k off der oxberience Off dot plue-pottle fly.

Der oder day, vhen on der cars I vent by Nie Yorck oudt, I meets a fraulein on der train, Who dold me, mit a pout, She likes der Deutscher shentlemans Und dells me sit peside her-- I says: "Mine friendt, I vas no fly, Eef you vas peen a shpider."

I vent indo der shmoking car, Vhere dhey vas blaying boker, Und also haf somedings dhey calls Der funny "leedle joker."

Some money id vas shanging hands, Dhey vanted me to try-- I says: "You vas too brevious, I don'd vas been a fly!"

On Central Park a shmardt young man Says: "Strauss, how vas you peen?"

Und dake me kindtly py der hand, Und ask off mine Katrine.

He vants to shange a feefty bill, Und says hees name vas Schneider-- Maype, berhaps, he vas all righdt; More like he vas a shpider.

Mosd efry day some shwindling chap He dries hees leedle game; I cuts me oudt dot shpider biece Und poot id in a frame; Righdt in mine shtore I hangs it oup, Und near id, on der shly, I geeps a glub, to send gvick oudt, Dhose shpiders, "on der fly."

CHARLES FOLLEN ADAMS.

_LARIAT BILL._

"Well, stranger, 'twas somewhere in 'sixty-nine I wore runnin' the 'Frisco fast express; An' from Murder Creek to Blasted Pine, Were nigh onto eighteen mile, I guess.

The road were a down-grade all the way, An' we pulled out of Murder a little late, So I opened the throttle wide that day, And a mile a minute was 'bout our gait.

"My fireman's name was Lariat Bill, A quiet man with an easy way, Who could rope a steer with a cow-boy's skill, Which he'd learned in Texas, I've heard him say.

The coil were strong as tempered steel, An' it went like a bolt from a cross-bow flung, An' arter Bill changed from saddle to wheel, Just over his head in the cab it hung.

"Well, as I were saying, we fairly flew, As we struck the curve at Buffalo Spring, An' I give her full steam an' put her through, An' the engine rocked like a living thing; When all of a sudden I got a scare-- For thar on the track were a little child!

An' right in the path of the engine there She held out her little hands and smiled!

"I jerked the lever and whistled for brakes, The wheels threw sparks like a shower of gold; But I knew the trouble a down-grade makes, An' I set my teeth an' my flesh grew cold.

Then Lariat Bill yanked his long la.s.soo, An' out on the front of the engine crept-- He balanced a moment before he threw, Then out in the air his lariat swept!"

He paused. There were tears in his honest eyes; The stranger listened with bated breath.

"I know the rest of the tale," he cries; "He s.n.a.t.c.hed the child from the jaws of death!

'Twas the deed of a hero, from heroes bred, Whose praises the very angels sing!"

The engineer shook his grizzled head, And growled: "He didn't do no sich thing.

"He aimed at the stump of a big pine tree, An' the lariat caught with a double hitch, An' in less than a second the train an' we Were yanked off the track an' inter the ditch!

'Twere an awful smash, an' it laid me out, I ain't forgot it, and never shall; Were the pa.s.sengers hurt? Lemme see--about-- Yes, it killed about forty--but saved the gal!"

G. W. H.

_THE ELF CHILD; OR, LITTLE ORPHANT ANNIE._

Little orphant Annie's come to our house to stay, And wash the cups and saucers up, an' brush the crumbs away, An' shoo the chickens off the porch, an' dust the hearth, an' sweep, An' make the fire, and bake the bread, an' earn her board an' keep; An' all us other children, when the supper things is done, We set around the kitchen fire, an' has the mostest fun A-list'ning to the witch tales 'at Annie tells about, An' the gobble-uns 'at gits you Ef you Don't Watch Out!

Onc't they was a little boy wouldn't say his pray'rs; An' when he went to bed 'at night, away upstairs, His mammy heard him holler, and his daddy heard him bawl, An' whin they turn'd the kivvers down, he wasn't there at all!

An' they seeked him in the rafter room, and cubby hole and press, An' seeked him up the chimbly flue an' ever'wheres, I guess, But all they ever found was thist his pants an' roundabout!

An' the gobble-uns 'll git you Ef you Don't Watch Out!

An' one time a little girl 'ud allus laugh and grin, An' make fun of ever'one, an' all her blood an' kin; An' onc't when they was company an' ole folks was there, She mocked 'em an' shocked 'em, an' said she didn't care!

An' thist as she kicked her heels, an' turn't to run an' hide, They was two great big Black Things a-standin' by her side, An' they s.n.a.t.c.hed her through the ceilin' 'fore she know'd what she's about, An' the gobble-uns 'll git you Ef you Don't Watch Out!

An' little orphant Annie says, when the blaze is blue, An' the lampwick sputters, an' the wind goes woo-oo!