THE CALL OF THE HOMESTEAD There's a dear, little spot, near my Hoosier hometown, Where the mortgage runs up as the buildings run down, That I love to return to, a restful retreat, Just to slush around there with the mud on my feet. There's the forked, wormy apple-tree, dead to the bark, And the sickle and grindstone, brought out of the Ark; And the Shed, where I fled, with my illicit pipe, To assuage stomach-aches when green apples were "ripe." There's the collar and churn, _worn_ by Dash day by day, And the chain that prevented his running away; And the yoke for the oxen--Haw, Buck! and Gee, Bride! And the Troth for the Squealers the hen-house beside. There's the Dovecote, unroofed, and the sweep by the well, And the ooze in the barnyard and natural-gas smell: There's the hayrake and silo; the tin weathervane, And the two, moss-grown graves where the Old Folks were lain. And the milk-stools are there, and the cowpath and stile; And a few hardy scarecrows remain yet awhile; And the taxes, unpaid, still appear on the book Of the County Collector, Nathaniel U. Crook. So I keep coming back, to my old Hoosier shack, To inhale the sweet mildew of hay in the stack, And to drink from the spring where the bull-frogs abound That protect the young cowslips that grow all around. Now the mortgage is due and the int'rest unpaid, And I can't get a cent for the place, I'm afraid; But I love to return here, at vacation time, Just to revel again in the mud and the slime. DECIMAL POINTS The Paleface undertook, with sword and gun, To civilize the Redskins one by one; And Lo attempted, with his bow and arrow, To sap the Paleface of his very marrow. As fast as one, on either side, was slain Another took his place to fight again; Thus both the warring tribes said--"What's the use?" And straightway called a halt and signed a truce. Then Paleface planned and dug--and _well_ of course-- A pit for Lo, without resort to force; And Lo, in turn, a counter plan invented To clear the forests where the Paleface tented. And so the Paleface, from his fullness, gave A cask of Laughing Water to each Brave; And Lo, whose giving was an artful knack, Took up the scent and sent tobacco back. So, Time discloses how each plan availed; Which won, at last, and which, in order, failed, For now in _Peace_ the Paleface moves about, While Lo and Laughing Water _fight it out_. He was the first to fly--Darius Green! But Green had trouble with his _crude_ machine And failed to make a mark for lofty flying, And so he just _dropped out_ and gave up trying.