The Wit and Humor of America Volume X Part 24

De screech owl screech f'um de ol' barn lof'; "You drinked yo' dram sence you done swear off; En you gwine de way Whar' de sinners stay, En Satan gwine ter roas' you at de Jedgmint Day!"

Den de ol' ha'nt say, f'um de ol' chu'ch wall: "You des so triflin' dat you _had_ ter fall!

En you gwine de way Whar' de brimstone stay, En Satan gwine ter roas' you at de Jedgmint Day!"

Den I shake en s.h.i.+ver, En I hunt fer kiver, En I cry ter de good Lawd, "Please deliver!"

I tell 'im plain Dat my hopes is vain, En I drinked my dram fer ter ease my pain!

Den de screech owl screech f'um de north ter south "You drinked yo' dram, en you _smacked_ yo' _mouth_!

En you gwine de way Whar' de brimstone stay, En Satan gwine ter roas' you at de Jedgmint Day!"

YE LEGEND OF SIR YRONCLADDE

BY WILBUR D. NESBIT

Now, whenne ye goode knyghte Yroncladde Hadde dwelte in Paradyse A matter of a thousand yeares, He syghed some grievous syghes, And went unto the entrance gate To speake hym in thys wyse:

"Beholde, I do not wysh to make A rackette, nor a fuss, And yet I fayne wolde hie awaye And cease from livyng thus; For it is moste too peaceful here, And sore monotonous."

"Oh, verie welle," ye keeper sayde, "You shall have your desyre: Go downe uponne ye earth agayne To see whatte you admyre-- But take goode heede that you shall keepe Your trolley on ye wyre."

Ryghte gladde was goode Sir Yroncladde To see ye gates unsealed.

He toke a jumpe strayghte through ye cloudes To what was there revealed, And strayghtwaye lit uponne ye grounde Whych was a footeball field!

"Gadzookes!" he sayde; "now, here is sporte!

Thys is a goodlie syghte.

For joustynges soche as here abound I have an appetyte; So I will amble to ye sc.r.a.ppe, For that is my delyghte."

He strode into ye hurtlynge ma.s.s, Whence rose a thrillynge sounde Of cla.s.s yelles, sygnalles, breakynge bones, And moanynges all arounde; And thenne ye footeballe menne tooke hym And pushed hym in ye grounde!

They brake hys breastplayte into bits, And shattered all hys greaves; They fractured bothe hys myghtie armes Withynne hys chaynemayle sleeves, And wounde hys ma.s.syve legges ynto Some oryentalle weaves.

Uppe rose ye brave Sir Yroncladde And groaned, "I hadde no wrong!

I'll hustle back to Paradyse, And ryng ye entraunce gong; For thys new croppe of earthlie knyghtes At joustynge is too strong; And henceforth thys is my resolve: To staye where I belong!"

WINTER DUSK

BY R. K. MUNKITTRICK

The prospect is bare and white, And the air is crisp and chill; While the ebon wings of night Are spread on the distant hill.

The roar of the stormy sea Seem the dirges shrill and sharp That winter plays on the tree-- His wild aeolian harp.

In the pool that darkly creeps In ripples before the gale, A star like a lily sleeps And wiggles its silver tail.

A MOTHER OF FOUR

BY JULIET WILBOR TOMPKINS

"You are fortunate to find us alone, Mrs. Merritt. With four girls, it is simply terrible--callers underfoot wherever you stir. You must know something about it, with two daughters; so you can fancy it multiplied by two. Really, sometimes I get out of all patience--I haven't a corner of my house to myself on Sundays! But I realize it is the penalty for having four lively daughters, and I have to put up with it."

Mrs. Merritt, the visitor, had a gently worried air as she glanced from the twins, thin and big-boned, reading by the fire, to pretty, affected Amelie at the tea-table, and the apathetic Enid furtively watching the front steps from the bay window. Something in her expression seemed to imply a humble wonder as to what might const.i.tute the elements of high popularity, since her two dear girls--

"Of course, mine have their friends," she a.s.serted; it was an admission that perhaps the door-bell was not overworked. "I enjoy young life," she added.

"Oh, yes, in moderation!" Mrs. Baldwin laughed from the depths of the complacent prosperity that irradiated her handsome white hair and active brown eyes, her pleasant rosiness, and even her compact stoutness, suggesting strength rather than weight. "But since Enid became engaged, that means Harry all the time--there's my library gone; and with the other three filling both drawing-rooms and the reception-room, I have to take to the dining-room, myself! There they begin," she added, as Enid left the window and slipped out into the hall, closing the door after her. "Now we shall have no peace until Monday morning. You know how it is!"

Mrs. Merritt seemed depressed, and soon took her leave.

The twins, when they were left alone in the drawing-room, lifted their heads and exchanged long and solemn looks; then returned to their reading in silence. When it grew too dark by the fire, they carried their books to the bay window, but drew back as they saw a pale and puny youth with a retreating chin coming up the front steps.

"The rush has begun," murmured Cora.

"Amelie can have him," Dora returned. "Let's fly."

They retreated up-stairs and read peacefully until tea-time. The bell did not ring again. When they came down, Mrs. Baldwin eyed them irritably.

"Why don't you ask the Carryl boys in to Sunday tea some time? They will think you have forgotten them. And Mr. White and that nice Mr. Morton who lives with him--I am afraid you have offended them in some way. They used to be here all the time."

"They only came twice, and those were party calls," said Dora bluntly.

"My dear, you have forgotten," was the firm answer. "They were here constantly. I shall send them a line; I don't like to have them think we have gone back on them."

"Oh, I--I wouldn't," began Cora, but was put down with decision:

"When I need your advice, Cora, I will ask for it. Amelie, dear, you look tired; I am afraid you have had too much gaiety this afternoon."

"Oh, I love it! It's the breath of life to me," said Amelie rapturously. The twins again exchanged solemn looks and sat down to their tea in silence. Mrs. Baldwin attacked them peevishly at intervals; she was cross at Enid also, who had not kept Harry to supper, and preserved an indifferent silence under questioning. "When I was your age--!" was the burden of her speech.

"I must give a dance for you young people," she decided. "You need livening up."

"Oh, lovely!" exclaimed Amelie.

"We have not had one this winter--I don't know what I have been thinking about," Mrs. Baldwin went on with returning cheerfulness. "We won't ask more than a hundred. You must have a new frock, Amelie. Enid, how is your blue one?"

"Oh, all right," said Enid indifferently. Mrs. Baldwin turned to the twins, and found them looking frankly dismayed.

"Well, what is it now?" she exclaimed. "I am sure I try to give you as good times as any girls in town; not many mothers on my income would do half so much. And you sit looking as if you were going to execution!"