It's mighty good to git back to the old town, shore, Considerin' I've be'n away twenty year and more. Sence I moved then to Kansas, of course I see a change, A-comin' back, and notice things that's new to me and strange; Especially at evening when yer new band-fellers meet, In fancy uniforms and all, and play out on the street-- . . . What's come of old Bill Lindsey and the Saxhorn fellers--say? I want to hear the _old_ band play. {122} What's come of Eastman, and Nat Snow? And where's War Barnett at? And Nate and Bony Meek; Bill Hart; Tom Richa'son and that- Air brother of him played the drum as twic't as big as Jim; And old Hi Kerns, the carpenter--say, what's become o' him? I make no doubt yer _new band_ now's a _competenter_ band, And plays their music more by note than what they play by hand, And stylisher and grander tunes; but somehow--anyway, I want to hear the _old_ band play. Sich tunes as "John Brown's Body" and "Sweet Alice," don't you know; And "The Camels is A-comin'," and "John Anderson, my Jo"; And a dozent others of 'em--"Number Nine" and "Number 'Leven" Was favo-_rites_ that fairly made a feller dream o' Heaven. And when the boys 'u'd saranade, I've laid so still in bed I've even heerd the locus'-blossoms droppin' on the shed When "Lilly Dale," er "Hazel Dell," had sobbed and died away-- . . . I want to hear the _old_ band play. {123} [Illustration: I want to hear the old band play] {125} Yer _new_ band ma'by beats it, but the _old band's_ what I said-- It allus 'peared to kind o' chord with somepin' in my head; And, whilse I'm no musicianer, when my blame' eyes is jes' Nigh drownded out, and Mem'ry squares her jaws and sort o' says She _won't_ ner _never_ will fergit, I want to jes' turn in And take and light right out o' here and git back West ag'in And _stay_ there, when I git there, where I never haf to say I want to hear the _old_ band play. [Illustration: The old band--tailpiece] {126} [Illustration: My friend--headpiece] MY FRIEND "He is my friend," I said,-- "Be patient!" Overhead The skies were drear and dim; And lo! the thought of him Smiled on my heart--and then The sun shone out again! "He is my friend!" The words Brought summer and the birds; And all my winter-time Thawed into running rhyme And rippled into song, Warm, tender, brave, and strong. {127} And so it sings to-day.-- So may it sing alway! Though waving grasses grow Between, and lilies blow Their trills of perfume clear As laughter to the ear, Let each mute measure end With "Still he is thy friend." [Illustration: My friend--tailpiece] {128} [Illustration: The traveling man--headpiece] THE TRAVELING MAN I