ON ANY ORDENARY MAN IN A HIGH STATE OF LAUGHTURE AND DELIGHT As it's give' me to percieve, I most certin'y believe When a man's jest glad plum through, God's pleased with him, same as you. TOWN AND COUNTRY They's a predjudice allus 'twixt country and town Which I wisht in my hart wasent so. You take _city_ people, jest square up and down, And they're mighty good people to know: And whare's better people a-livin', to-day, Than us in the _country_?--Yit good As both of us is, we're divorsed, you might say, And won't compermise when we could! Now as nigh into town fer yer Pap, ef you please, Is the what's called the sooburbs.--Fer thare You'll at least ketch a whiff of the breeze and a sniff Of the breth of wild-flowrs ev'rywhare. They's room fer the childern to play, and grow, too-- And to roll in the grass, er to climb Up a tree and rob nests, like they _ortent_ to do, But they'll do _any_how ev'ry time! My Son-in-law said, when he lived in the town, He jest natchurly pined, night and day, Fer a sight of the woods, er a acre of ground Whare the trees wasent all cleared away! And he says to me onc't, whilse a-visitin' us On the farm, "It's not strange, I declare, That we can't coax you folks, without raisin' a fuss, To come to town, visitin' thare!" And says I, "Then git back whare you sorto' _belong_-- And _Madaline_, too,--and yer three Little childern," says I, "that don't know a birdsong, Ner a hawk from a chicky-dee-dee! Git back," I-says-I, "to the blue of the sky And the green of the fields, and the shine Of the sun, with a laugh in yer voice and yer eye As harty as Mother's and mine!" Well--long-and-short of it,--he's compermised _some_-- He's moved in the sooburbs.--And now They don't haf to coax, when they want us to come, 'Cause we turn in and go _anyhow_! Fer thare--well, they's room fer the songs and purfume Of the grove and the old orchurd-ground, And they's room fer the childern out thare, and they's room Fer theyr Gran'pap to waller 'em round! LINES FER ISAAC BRADWELL, OF INDANOPLIS, IND., COUNTY-SEAT OF MARION [Writ on the flyleaf of a volume of the author's poems that come in one of gittin' burnt up in the great Bowen-Merrill's fire of March 17, 1890.] Through fire and flood this book has passed.-- Fer what?--I hardly dare to ast-- Less'n it's still to pamper me With extry food fer vanity;-- Fer, sence it's fell in hands as true As _yourn_ is--and a _Hoosier_ too,-- I'm prouder of the book, I jing! Than 'fore they tried to burn the thing! DECORATION DAY ON THE PLACE