The bone-player clicks it, The banjoist picks it, It 'livens the clog-dancer's heels; The bass-viol moans it, The bagpiper drones it, They play it for waltzes and reels. I shall not mind quitting The earthly, and flitting Away 'mid the heavenly throng, If the mourners who come To my grave do not hum That horrible popular song. * * * * * MATILDY'S BEAU I hain't no great detective, like yer read about,--the kind That solves a whole blame murder case by footmarks left behind; But then, again, on t'other hand, my eyes hain't shut so tight But I can add up two and two and get the answer right; So, when prayer-meet'ns, Friday nights, got keepin' awful late, And, fer an hour or so, I'd hear low voices at the gate-- And when that gate got saggin' down 'bout ha'f a foot er so-- I says ter mother: "Ma," says I, "Matildy's got a beau." [Illustration: Matildy's Beau] We ought ter have expected it--she's 'most eighteen, yer see; But, sakes alive! she's always seemed a baby, like, ter me; And so, a feller after _her_! why, that jest did beat all! But, t' other Sunday, bless yer soul, he come around ter call; And when I see him all dressed up as dandy as yer please, But sort er lookin' 's if he had the shivers in his knees, I kind er realized it then, yer might say, like a blow-- Thinks I, "No use! I'm gittin' old; Matildy's got a beau." Just twenty-four short years gone by--it do'n't seem five, I vow!-- I fust called on Matildy--that's Matildy's mother now; I recollect I spent an hour a-tyin' my cravat, And I'd sent up ter town and bought a bang-up shiny hat. And, my! oh, my! them new plaid pants; well, wa'n't I something grand When I come up the walk with some fresh posies in my hand? And didn't I feel like a fool when her young brother, Joe, Sang out: "Gee crickets! Looky here! Here comes Matildy's beau!" And now another feller comes up _my_ walk, jest as gay, And here's Matildy blushin' red in jest her mother's way; And when she says she's got ter go an errand to the store, We know _he_ 's waitin' 'round the bend, jest as I've done afore; Or, when they're in the parlor and I knock, why, bless yer heart! I have ter smile ter hear how quick their chairs are shoved apart. They think us old folks don't "catch on" a single mite; but, sho! I reckon they fergit I was Matildy's mother's beau. * * * * * "SISTER'S BEST FELLER" My sister's best feller is 'most six-foot-three, And handsome and strong as a feller can be; And Sis, she's so little, and slender, and small, You never would think she could boss him at all; But, my jing! She do'n't do a thing But make him jump 'round, like he worked with a string! It jest makes me 'shamed of him sometimes, you know, To think that he'll let a girl bully him so.