Mylo Jones's wife she sews Carpet-rags and patches clothes Jest year IN and OUT!--and yit Whare's the livin' use of it? She asts Mylo that.--And he Gits back whare he'd ruther be, With his team;--jest PLOWS--and don't Never sware--like some folks won't! Think ef HE'D CUT LOOSE, I gum! 'D he'p his heavenly chances some! Mylo's wife don't see no use, Ner no reason ner excuse Fer his pore relations to Hang round like they allus do! Thare 'bout onc't a year--and SHE-- She jest GA'NTS 'em, folks tells me, On spiced pears!--Pass Mylo one, He says "No, he don't chuse none!" Workin'men like Mylo they 'D ort to have MEAT ev'ry day! Dad-burn Mylo Jones's wife! Ruther rake a blame caseknife 'Crost my wizzen than to see Sich a womern rulin' ME!-- Ruther take and turn in and Raise a fool mule-colt by hand' MYLO, though--od-rot the man!-- Jest keeps ca'm--like some folks CAN-- And 'lows sich as her, I s'pose, Is MAN'S HE'PMEET'--Mercy knows! HOW JOHN QUIT THE FARM Nobody on the old farm here but Mother, me and John, Except, of course, the extry he'p when harvest-time comes on,-- And THEN, I want to say to you, we NEEDED he'p about, As you'd admit, ef you'd a-seen the way the crops turned out! A better quarter-section ner a richer soil warn't found Than this-here old-home place o' ourn fer fifty miles around!-- The house was small--but plenty-big we found it from the day That John--our only livin' son--packed up and went away. You see, we tuk sich pride in John--his mother more'n me-- That's natchurul; but BOTH of us was proud as proud could be; Fer the boy, from a little chap, was most oncommon bright, And seemed in work as well as play to take the same delight. He allus went a-whistlin' round the place, as glad at heart As robins up at five o'clock to git an airly start; And many a time 'fore daylight Mother's waked me up to say-- "Jest listen, David!--listen!--Johnny's beat the birds to-day!" High-sperited from boyhood, with a most inquirin' turn,-- He wanted to learn ever'thing on earth they was to learn: He'd ast more plaguy questions in a mortal-minute here Than his grandpap in Paradise could answer in a year! And READ! w'y, his own mother learnt him how to read and spell; And "The Childern of the Abbey"--w'y, he knowed that book as well At fifteen as his parents!--and "The Pilgrim's Progress," too-- Jest knuckled down, the shaver did, and read 'em through and through.