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ol' Pickett's Nell.

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Th’ folks wuz talkin' ev'rywhars 'Bout her a-puttin' on sech airs, 'Nd seemed 't' me like they wuz right, Afore th' cows come home last night.

But now - oh, my!

FEEL more 'an ever like a fool
Sence Pickett's Nell come back from school.
She oncet wuz twelve ’nd me eighteen
('Nd better friends you never seen);

Mather Dean Kimball.

The Dialect Tale.

We have had it in Irish and Dutch,

From the east, from the north, from the south; The spelling is generally such

As to twist the most classical mouth, We have meekly submitted for long,

We have patiently tried to pronounce This language of story and song,

But there comes to each pound a last ounce.

O brothers, we pray and beseech,

If you have a “short story" to tell, Put it into your everyday speech,

And spell as the spelling-books spell ! If you find it devoid of all wit,

If it lacketh both humor and sense, If it aimeth and faileth to hit,

Spare, spare us the final offense!

Has the reader no rights of his own?

Must he read his once-loved magazines In language which makes him to groan With struggles to guess what it means,

haunted by similar les, He tries to compare and collate, Till overtaxed memory fails,

And he yields to bewildering fate?

“Take care of the sense,” we are told,

“And the sounds will take care of themselves.” It is time to return to the fold,

O fillers of library shelves ! If man is a savage at heart,

Conventions may suddenly fail, And an auto da fe in the mart

Be the end of the dialect tale!

Margaret Vandegrift.

Teddy.

TEDDY 's been to seek his fortune,

Been a long, long way; Weary, foot-sore, and disheartened,

He'll be home to-day.

Handsome, winsome, lazy Teddy!

Boys and girls and old crones say With ne'er a penny in his pocket

He 'll be home to-day.

'T was for my sake that he wanted

Store of wealth without delay, 'T is for my sake that he 's coming,

Coming home to-day.

Shall I frown upon poor Teddy?

Let his luck his worth outweigh? Sure he needs a smile, I 'm thinking I 'll give him one to-day.

William Zachary Gladroin.

But now - oh, my!
She 's dressed so fine, ’nd growed so tall,
'Nd l'arnin'- she jes knows it all.
She's eighteen now, but I 'm so slow
I’m whar I wuz six year ago.

Six year! Waal, waal! doan't seem a week
Sence we rode Dolly to th' creek,
'Nd fetched th' cattle home at night,
Her hangin' to my jacket tight.

But now – oh, my!
She rides in Pickett's new coopay
Jes like she 'd be'n brung up thet way,
Nd lookin' like a reg'lar queen
Th' mostest like I ever seen.

She uster tease, ’nd tease, ’nd tease
Me fer to take her on my knees;
Then tired me out 'ith Marge'y Daw,
'Nd laffin' tell my throat wuz raw.

But now – oh, my!
She sets up this way — kinder proud,
'Nd never noways laughs out loud.
You w'u'd n't hardly think thet she
Hed ever see-sawed on my knee.

'Nd sometimes, ef at noon I'd choose
To find a shady place ’nd snooze,
I'd wake with burdocks in my hair
'Nd elderberries in my ear.

But now - oh, my!
Somebody said ('t wuz yesterday):
“Let's hev some fun w’ile Ned's away;
Let 's turn his jacket inside out!”
But Nell — she 'd jes turn red ’nd pout.

'Nd oncet when I wuz dreamin’-like,
A-throwin' akerns in th' dike,
She put her arms clean round my head,
'Nd whispered soft, “ I like you, Ned”;

But now – oh, my!
She curteseyed so stiff ’nd grand,
'Nd never oncet held out her hand,
'Nd called me “ Mister Edward !” Laws !
Thet ain't my name, ’nd never wuz.

)

'Nd them 'at knowed 'er years ago
Jes laughed t' see 'er put on so;
Coz it wuz often talked, ’nd said,
“Nell Pickett 's jes cut out fer Ned.”

But now — oh, my!
She held her purty head so high,
'Nd skasely saw me goin' by
I w'u'd n't dast (afore last night)
A-purposely come near her sight.

Last night! - Ez I wuz startin' out
To git th' cows, I heerd a shout;
'Nd, sure ez ghostses, she wuz thar,
A-settin' on ol' Pickett's mar';

'Nd then - oh, my!
She said she 'd cried fer all th' week
To take th' ol' ride to th' creek ;
Then talked about ol' times, 'nd said,
“Them days wuz happy, wa’n't they, Ned?”

I

THE DE VINNE PRESS, NEW YORK.

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