Newspaper Page Text
OLD HAYSEED'S FIRST LOVE.
Why, howdy, Bill! git down an' hitch.
For Martha gone ter see
Old Sister Gibbs—she's purty sick—
I'her's no one here but me;
An' Si, he's gone ter singing' skule,
Down yonder 'bout er mile;
Cum in, an' make yerself at home,
Set down an' stay awhile.
V'on ast me how I got my wife;
I'll tell y*r how it wuz:
We fell in love when w'eu wuz young,
Jes like two children duz.
The more we growed, the more we loved;
The older that we'd git,
The happier our lives 'onld be,
Au' we love like children yet.
We of'en talk about the time
I n.st her for her han';
Then we wuz young an' green ez gourds;
We didn'c onderstao'
The little tricks o' Cupid then,
The fun at us he poked,
While she would set thar sawiu' wood,
I'd set thar nearly choked.
1 went thar seven times ter ast,
An' every lime I went
I thought I'd pop the question then
An' get her swtet consent.
Somehow I couldn't fix my mouth,
My legs would have the shakes;
I'd break out in a dead cold sw'et,
My In Kits git full o' snakes.
One night I screwed ruy courags up
Ter make the job complete;
I'd ast he.- ef she would be mine
Or drap dead at her feet.
We sneaked out in the garden, Bill.
An' on a bench we sot;
We slid towards each other then
Ez ef thet oench wuz hot.
I put my arm around her waist
An' then I kissed her, too.
She sed: "The moon io lookin'—don't"
"I don't keer ef she do."
I ast her ef she'd marry me;
She didn't say a thing,
But sot thar like she'd lost her voice
An' chawed her apron string.
The stars wur w:nkin' at the moon,
The night wuz sorter still;
She leaned agin' me an' she sed:
"I sorter guess I will."
I told her tw'arn't no time to doubt,
Au' me live on the guess,
She put her sweet, fresh lips ter mine
An' softly whispered "Yes!"
Gee whiz! my heart went ter my boot*,
A snake crawled up my sleeve,
I felt my spine a turnin' cold,
I wuz too weak ter leave.
It wazn't long before I went
Back to that house to git
Thfc only gal I ever loved.
An' Bill, I've got her yit.
Ah! here she is- don't go yit, Bill,
When she cuins back down stars
We'll read the Bible for awhile,
An' then kneel down in pra'rs;
An' in them pra'rs we'll not forgit
That you are kneelin' near,
An' Gxi an' angels will be glad
To know that you wnz here.
—Will Hays in Courier-Journal.
The value of the future depends entirely
upon the value attached to today; there is
no magic in the years to come; nothing can
bloom in those fairer fields save that which
is sown today. The great aim of Christian
ity is not to teach men the glory of the life
to come, hut the sacredness of the life that
now is: not to make men imagine the
beauty of heaven, but to make them realize
the divinity of earth; not to unveil the
splendor of the Almighty, enthroned aimmg
angels; but to reveal deity iv the Man ot
Nuzereth. He has mastered the secret of
life who has learned the value of the pres
cut moment, who sees the beauty of present
surroundiug*, and who recognizes the possi
bility of sainthood in his neighbors. To
make the most and the best out ot today is
to command the highest resources of the fu
ture. For there is no future outside of us;
it lies within U3, aud we mike it for our-
LIVING UP TO THEIR REPUTATION.
By firmeutiae Young.
In all Michaelville no family had quite
the standing of the O'Rourkes. It had
been so ever since Mr. O'Rourke's mother
died, and they had given her "sich a
foine sind off," as Bridget Murphy ex
The good whiskey freely distributed at
that time still fondly lingered in the
memories of the Michaelvillians.
"Sure an there's nothin' mane about
Dinnis O'Rourke," boasted that individ.
ual. "'Me mither herself, saints rist her
Bowl, would be plased wid this little af
fair of hers."
The funeral procession was the longest
that had ever been seen upon a like occa
sion in that town. What mattered it
that the rear was brought up by Pat
Murphy's old broken down chaise, that
must have been twin-sister to that re
nowned one horse chaise? It counted
one in the number of vehicles.
Thus the family reputation was estab
lished. Now all the O'Rourkes had to
do was to live up to it.
Mrs. O'Rourke felt it incumbent upon
herself to give some kind of an entertain
ment. In pursuance of this idea she in
vited her second cousin, a maid at the
great house on the hill, to a little after
noon treat. From her she learned that
the last entertainment given there had
been a five o'clock tea.
"Sure, Mary Ann, what does ye do at
a foive o'clock tay?" asked Mrs. O'Rouke,
determined to astonish her friends with a
"Do!" answered Mary Ann, "ye don't
'do' a-tall, a-tall. Ye jist stand still
loike, and shakes ivery sowl by the hand.
Astanding up there in full driss, and ye
says: 'A foine day, this; so glad yez
could come.' For by it's a bad day, ye
says 'rainy' for foine. I paked in at the
door an seen it all"
Mrs. O'Rouke made a mental note of
"Full driss, is it," she said, "an' is it
full driss all over?"
"Faix, an I should say it was full
driss, friiui the bare arms and neck to the
long trail behint," answered her cousin.
"An does they all come in full driss?"
inquired Mrs. O'Rourke, determined to
get as much information as possible with-
out showing too much ignorance.
"In course not," said Mary Ann, with
a superior toss of the head. "It's their
strate close they cone in, an they jtst
spakes wid ye, shakes hands wid ye,
conwarses wid ye, take tay an goes. An
ye, in full driss all the toitne, a dazzlin'
thim wid yez foine close."
"Is it only tay ye has to ate? A very
unsatisfactory trate that," remarked Mrs.
"Tay an sandwhiches, an waferses, an
small cakes trown in, if ye plases."
The day following this conversation, a
notice like the following appeared in the
front window of the O'Rouke mansion:
"I invites all me frinds to me house to
a foive o'clock tay at half past four nixt
Thursday. I sees no one till thin.
Great excitement prevailed among Mrs.
O'Rouke's friends when the news was
spread. Not having cousins who worked
at the "great house," the significance of
"Foive o'clock tay" was unknown and
consequently the words were freighted
with mystery. That it was to be some
thing unusual they had no doubt. For
the next few days the feminine minds
were busy concocting suitable costumes
for the occasion. The prevailing excite
ment at last reached the male portion of
the community, and one and all they de
termined to accompany the "leddies."
Many were the treats Dennis enjoyed
during these days, but he never so far
forgot himself as to enlighten his friends
upon the all-absorbing subject.
The days were busy ones tor Mrs.
O'Rouke, for she had made up her mind
to fairly paralyze the ladies of her ac
quaintance by the fulness of her dress.
Yards and yards, not of silk, but a bril
liant red calico, checked off with yellow
stripes, were used. Poor little Nora sat
up nights till she would fairly tumble off
her stool, sewing the seams, while her
mother made bows of yellow ribbon that
were to adorn her ample bust and shoul
ders. One, longer than the others, was
to find a resting place in her hair.
At four o'clock Thursday afternoon the
"leddies and gintlemen" of Michaelville
thronged the street, sidewalk and yard in
front of the O'Rouke's, but no one ven
tured to enter the house till the signal
should be given that the proper time, 4:30,
had i. rrived.
Jimmy Lynch had been stationed at
the corner of the street where lie could
see the town clock, and was to blow his
fish horn at exactly half-past four While
waiting for the signal they partook of a
relishing dish of gossip, preparatory to
the tea drinking that was to come later.
Betsy Nolan's wedding and Bill Flynn'a
•'throuble wid the boas" were beiug dis
cussed when a loud blast front the horn
was heard, and with one accord they
started for the door. For a few moments
confusion reigned, but finally Dennis ap
peared in the doorway and shouted: