klin' pears and BUTCHERN, too,
And a-rendern lard, and then
Cookin' fer a pack of men
To come trackin' up the flore
SHE'S scrubbed TEL she'll scrub no MORE!--
Yit she'd keep things clean ef they
Made her scrub tel Jedgmunt Day!
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 dayligh
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