Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Diane Monico, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net NEGHBORLY POEMS AND DIALECT SKETCHES JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY INDIANAPOLIS THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY PUBLISHERS Copyright 1883, 1891 and 1897 By JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY PRESS OF BRAUNWORTH & CO. BOOKBINDERS AND PRINTERS BROOKLYN, N. Y. TO MY BROTHER HUMBOLDT RILEY PREFACE As far back into boyhood as the writer's memory may intelligently go, the "country poet" is most pleasantly recalled. He was, and is, as common as the "country fiddler," and as full of good old-fashioned music. Not a master of melody, indeed, but a poet, certainly-- "Who, through long days of labor, And nights devoid of ease, Still heard in his soul the music Of wonderful melodies." And it is simply the purpose of this series of dialectic studies to reflect the real worth of this homely child of nature, and to echo faithfully, if possible, the faltering music of his song. In adding to this series, as the writer has, for many years, been urged to do, and answering as steadfast a demand of Benj. F. Johnson's first and oldest friends, it has been decided that this further work of his be introduced to the reader of the volume as was the old man's first work to the reader of the newspaper of nearly ten years ago. Directly, then, referring to the Indianapolis "Daily Journal,"--under whose management the writer had for some time been employed,--from issue of date June 17, 1882, under editorial caption of "A Boone County Pastoral," this article is herewith quoted: Benj. F. Johnson, of Boone county, who considers the Journal a "very valubul" newspaper, writes to enclose us an original poem, desiring that we kindly accept it for publication, as "many neghbors and friends is astin' him to have the same struck off." Mr. Johnson thoughtfully informs us that he is "no edjucated man," but that he has, "from childhood up tel old enough to vote, allus wrote more er less poetry, as many of an albun in the neghborhood can testify." Again, he says that he writes "from the hart out"; and there is a touch of genuine pathos in the frank avowal, "Thare is times when I write the tears rolls down my cheeks." In all sincerity, Mr. Johnson, we are glad to publish the poem you send, and just as you have written it. That is its greatest charm. Its very defects compose its excellence. You need no better education than the one from which emanates "The Old Swimmin'-Hole." It is real poetry, and all the more tender and lovable for the unquestionable evidence it bears of having been written "from the hart out." The only thing we find to--but hold! Let us first lay the poem before the reader: Here followed the poem, "The Old Swimmin'-Hole," entire--the editorial comment ending as follows: