Tildy Taylor chewed huh hank'cher twell she 'd chewed it in a hole,-- All de sinnahs was rejoicin' 'cause a lamb had lef de fol', An' de las' I seed o' Lucy, she an' 'Lish was side an' side: I don't blame de gal fu' dancin', an' I could n't ef I tried. Fu' de men dat wants to ma'y ain't a-growin' 'roun' on trees, An' de gal dat wants to git one sholy has to try to please. Hit's a ha'd t'ing fu' a ooman fu 'to pray an' jes' set down, An' to sacafice a husban' so 's to try to gain a crown. Now, I don' say she was justified in follerin' huh plan; But aldough she los' huh 'ligion, yit she sholy got de man. Latah on, w'en she is suttain dat de preachah 's made 'em fas' She kin jes' go back to chu'ch an' ax fu'giveness fu' de pas'! LYRICS OF LOVE AND LAUGHTER TWO LITTLE BOOTS Two little boots all rough an' wo', Two little boots! Law, I 's kissed 'em times befo', Dese little boots! Seems de toes a-peepin' thoo Dis hyeah hole an' sayin' "Boo!" Evah time dey looks at you-- Dese little boots. Membah de time he put 'em on, Dese little boots; Riz an' called fu' 'em by dawn, Dese little boots; Den he tromped de livelong day, Laffin' in his happy way, Evaht'ing he had to say, "My little boots!" Kickin' de san' de whole day long, Dem little boots; Good de cobblah made 'em strong, Dem little boots! Rocks was fu' dat baby's use, I'on had to stan' abuse W'en you tu'ned dese champeens loose, Dese little boots! Ust to make de ol' cat cry, Dese little boots; Den you walked it mighty high, Proud little boots! Ahms akimbo, stan'in' wide, Eyes a-sayin' "Dis is pride!" Den de manny-baby stride! You little boots. Somehow, you don' seem so gay, Po' little boots, Sence yo' ownah went erway, Po' little boots! Yo' bright tops don' look so red, Dese brass tips is dull an' dead; "Goo'-by," whut de baby said; Deah little boots! Ain't you kin' o' sad yo'se'f, You little boots? Dis is all his mammy 's lef', Two little boots. Sence huh baby gone an' died. Heav'n itse'f hit seem to hide Des a little bit inside Two little boots. TO THE ROAD Cool is the wind, for the summer is waning, Who 's for the road? Sun-flecked and soft, where the dead leaves are raining, Who 's for the road? Knapsack and alpenstock press hand and shoulder, Prick of the brier and roll of the boulder; This be your lot till the season grow older; Who 's for the road? Up and away in the hush of the morning, Who 's for the road? Vagabond he, all conventions a-scorning, Who 's for the road? Music of warblers so merrily singing, Draughts from the rill from the roadside up-springing, Nectar of grapes from the vines lowly swinging, These on the road.