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FOOTNOTES:
[4] Lippincott's Magazine.
MISTER RABBIT'S LOVE AFFAIR
BY FRANK L. STANTON
One day w'en Mister Rabbit wuz a-settin' in de gra.s.s He see Miss Mary comin', en he wouldn't let her pa.s.s, Kaze he know she lookin' purty in de river lookin'gla.s.s, O Mister Rabbit, in de mawnin'!
But de Mockin'bird wuz singin' in de blossom en de dew, En he know 'bout Mister Rabbit, en he watchin' er 'im, too; En Miss Mary heah his music, en she tell 'im "Howdy-do!"
O Mister Rabbit, in de mawnin'!
Mister Rabbit 'low he beat 'im, en he say he'll l'arn ter sing, En he tried it all de winter, en he kep' it up in spring; But he wuzn't buil' fer singin', kaze he lack de voice en wing,-- Good-by, Mister Rabbit, in de mawnin'!
OUR HIRED GIRL
BY JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY
Our hired girl, she's 'Lizabuth Ann; An' she can cook best things to eat!
She ist puts dough in our pie-pan, An' pours in somepin' 'at's good and sweet, An' nen she salts it all on top With cinnamon; an' nen she'll stop An' stoop an' slide it, ist as slow, In th' old cook-stove, so's 'twon't slop An' git all spilled; nen bakes it, so It's custard pie, first thing you know!
An' nen she'll say: "Clear out o' my way!
They's time fer work, an' time fer play!-- Take yer dough, an' run, Child; run!
Er I cain't git no cookin' done!"
When our hired girl 'tends like she's mad, An' says folks got to walk the chalk When _she's_ around, er wisht they had, I play out on our porch an' talk To th' Raggedy Man 'at mows our lawn; An' he says "_Whew!_" an' nen leans on His old crook-scythe, and blinks his eyes An' sniffs all round an' says,--"I swawn!
Ef my old nose don't tell me lies, It 'pears like I smell custard-pies!"
An' nen _he'll_ say,-- "'Clear out o' my way!
They's time fer work an' time fer play!
Take yer dough, an' run, Child; run!
Er _she_ cain't git no cookin' done!'"
Wunst our hired girl, one time when she Got the supper, an' we all et, An' it was night, an' Ma an' me An' Pa went wher' the "Social" met,-- An' nen when we come home, an' see A light in the kitchen-door, an' we Heerd a maccordeum, Pa says "Lan'- O'-Gracious! who can _her_ beau be?"
An' I marched in, an' 'Lizabuth Ann Wuz parchin' corn fer the Raggedy Man!
_Better_ say "Clear out o' the way!
They's time fer work, an' time fer play!
Take the hint, an' run, Child; run!
Er we cain't git no _courtin'_ done!"
THE REASON
BY IRONQUILL
Says John last night: "William, by grab! I'm beat To know why stolen kisses Taste so sweet."
Says William: "Sho!
That's easily explained-- It's 'cause they're _syrup_- t.i.tiously obtained."
O cruel thought!
O words of cruel might!
The coroner He sat on John that night.
ONCL' ANTOINE ON 'CHANGE
BY WALLACE BRUCE AMSBARY
(_Antoine Boisvert, Raconteur._)
I've jus' com' from Chicago town, A seein' all de sights From stockyard to de ballet gairl, All dra.s.s' in spangled tights.
But all de worstes' nonsens'
T'roo vich I got to wade, I t'ink de t'ing dat gats de cake Ees place called Board of Trade.
I heard moch talk about dem chap Dey call de Bull an' Bear, Dat play aroun' with price of stock An' get you unaware.
Who'll tell you w'at your wheat Will bring in Fevuary nex', In jus' so smood an' quiet vay De cure read his tex'.
An' dere dey vere out on de floor, De mans who mak' de price Of all de country produce, A lookin' smood an' nice.
But dey had vink opon dere eye Dat look you t'roo an' t'roo, Like tricky bunko steerer ven He's hunting after you.
Dey got de ball to roll ver' swif'
An' firs' fall from de dock Vas bottom off on July pork; An' heem dat held de stock Commence to hiss an' wriggle Lak' a yellow rattlesnake; De res' buzz jus' lak' b.u.mblebee Stirred op vit hayin' rake.
Dis bottom off on July pork Is strike me kin' of queer, I's t'ink dat hogs is good for eat Mos' all of de 'hole year.
Dose feller on Chicago town Is mak' such fonny phrase Dat--_entre nous_--I sometimes t'ink Dat som' of dem ees craz'.
Den dere ees somet'ing happen Dat mak' 'em more excite', W'en news ees com' overe de vires Dat Boer an' Britain fight, I nevere saw such meex-op yet, In days since I be born, Dey scowl an' call wan nodder names, Dere faces show moch scorn.
Wan man grow wild an' mos'ly craz', De tears stream off his eyes, Dere's nodder man dat's laf an' shout, It's mak' me mos' surprise.
I guess it mak' som' diffe_rance_ Vich side you're on de fence, But in dis Bear an' Bull meex-op I see not ver' moch sense.
