_Us farmers in the country, as the seasons go and come, Is purty much like other folks,--we're apt to grumble some! The Spring's too back'ard fer us, er too for'ard--ary one-- We'll jaw about it anyhow, and have our way er none! The thaw's set in too suddent; er the frost's stayed in the soil Too long to give the wheat a chance, and crops is bound to spoil! The weather's eether most too mild, er too outrageous rough, And altogether too much rain, er not half rain enugh!_ _Now what I'd like and what you'd like is plane enugh to see: It's jest to have old Providence drop round on you and me And ast us what our views is first, regardin' shine er rain, And post 'em when to shet her off, er let her on again! And yit I'd ruther, after all--considern other chores I' got on hands, a-tendin' both to my affares and yours-- I'd ruther miss the blame I'd git, a-rulin' things up thare, And spend my extry time in praise and gratitude and prayer._ ERASMUS WILSON 'Ras Wilson, I respect you, 'cause You're common, like you allus was Afore you went to town and s'prised The world by gittin' "reckonized," And yit perservin', as I say, Your common hoss-sense ev'ryway! And when that name o' yourn occurs On hand-bills, er in newspapers, Er letters writ by friends 'at ast About you, same as in the past, And neghbors and relations 'low You're out o' the tall timber now, And "gittin' thare" about as spry's The next!--as _I say_, when my eyes, Er ears, lights on your name, I mind The first time 'at I come to find You--and my Rickollection yells, Jest jubilunt as old sleigh-bells-- "'Ras Wilson! Say! Hold up! and shake A paw, fer old acquaintance sake!" My _Rickollection_, more'n like, Hain't overly too apt to strike The what's-called "cultchurd public eye" As wisdom of the deepest dye,-- And yit my _Rickollection_ makes So blame lots fewer bad mistakes, Regardin' human-natchur' and The fellers 'at I've shook theyr hand, Than my _best jedgemunt's_ done, the day I've met 'em--'fore I got away,-- 'At--Well, 'Ras Wilson, let me grip _Your_ hand in warmest pardnership! Dad-burn ye!--Like to jest haul back A' old flat-hander, jest che-whack! And take you 'twixt the shoulders, say, Sometime you're lookin' t'other way!-- Er, maybe whilse you're speakin' to A whole blame Courthouse-full o' 'thu- Syastic friends, I'd like to jest Come in-like and break up the nest Afore you hatched anuther cheer, And say: "'Ras, _I_ can't stand hitched here All night--ner wouldn't ef I could!-- But Little Bethel Neghborhood, You ust to live at, 's sent some word Fer you, ef ary chance occurred To git it to ye,--so ef you _Kin_ stop, I'm waitin' fer ye to!"