At the last Old Settlers' Meetin' we went j'intly, you and me-- Your hosses and my wagon, as you wanted it to be; And sence I can remember, from the time we've neghbored here, In all sich friendly actions you have double-done your sheer. It was better than the meetin', too, that 9-mile talk we had Of the times when we first settled here and travel was so bad; When we had to go on hoss-back, and sometimes on "Shanks's mare," And "blaze" a road fer them behind that had to travel thare. And now we was a-trottin' 'long a level gravel pike, In a big two-hoss road-wagon, jest as easy as you like-- Two of us on the front seat, and our wimmern-folks behind, A-settin' in theyr Winsor-cheers in perfect peace of mind! And we pinted out old landmarks, nearly faded out of sight:-- Thare they ust to rob the stage-coach; thare Gash Morgan had the fight With the old stag-deer that pronged him--how he battled fer his life, And lived to prove the story by the handle of his knife. Thare the first griss-mill was put up in the Settlement, and we Had tuck our grindin' to it in the Fall of Forty-three-- When we tuck our rifles with us, techin' elbows all the way, And a-stickin' right together ev'ry minute, night and day. Thare ust to stand the tavern that they called the "Travelers' Rest," And thare, beyent the covered bridge, "The Counterfitters' Nest"-- Whare they claimed the house was ha'nted--that a man was murdered thare, And burried underneath the floor, er 'round the place somewhare. And the old Plank-road they laid along in Fifty-one er two-- You know we talked about the times when the old road was new: How "Uncle Sam" put down that road and never taxed the State Was a problem, don't you rickollect, we couldn't _dim_onstrate? Ways was devius, William Leachman, that me and you has past; But as I found you true at first, I find you true at last; And, now the time's a-comin' mighty nigh our jurney's end, I want to throw wide open all my soul to you, my friend. With the stren'th of all my bein', and the heat of hart and brane, And ev'ry livin' drop of blood in artery and vane, I love you and respect you, and I venerate your name, Fer the name of William Leachman and True Manhood's jest the same! MY FIDDLE My fiddle?--Well, I kindo' keep her handy, don't you know! Though I ain't so much inclined to tromp the strings and switch the bow As I was before the timber of my elbows got so dry, And my fingers was more limber-like and caperish and spry; Yit I can plonk and plunk and plink, And tune her up and play, And jest lean back and laugh and wink At ev'ry rainy day!