The Wit and Humor of America Volume III Part 19

_From the Princess Boo-Lally, at Gumbo Goo, South Sea Islands, to Her Brother, Prince Umbobo, a Soph.o.m.ore at Yale._

BY WALLACE IRWIN

"It is spring, my dear Umbobo, On the isle of Gumbo Goo, And your father, King Korobo, And your mother long for you.

"We had missionaries Monday, Much the finest of the year-- Our old cook came back last Sunday, And the stews she makes are _dear_.

"I've the _loveliest_ string of knuckles Which dear Father gave to me, And a pair of s.h.i.+n-bone buckles Which I _so_ wish you could see.

"You remember Mr. Booloo?

He is coming over soon With some friends from Unatulu-- We all hope they'll call at noon.

"Mr. Booloo's rather slender, But we'll fix him up with sage, And I think he'll be quite tender For a fellow of his age.

"Genevieve O-loola's marriage Was arranged so _very_ queer-- Have you read 'The Bishop's Carriage'?

Don't you think it's just _too dear_?

"I am hoping next vacation I may visit you a while.

In this out-of-way location It's _so_ hard to know the style.

"Will you try and match the sample I enclose--be sure it's green.

Get three yards--that will be ample.

Velvet, mind, not velveteen.

"Gentle mother worries badly, And she thinks it is a shame That a man like Dr. Hadley Lets you play that football game.

"For the way they hurt each other Seems so barbarously rude-- No, you've not been raised, dear brother, To do anything so crude.

"And those horrid meals at college-- Not what you're accustomed to.

It is hard, this quest for knowledge, But be brave.

"Your sister, Boo."

"P.S.-- "If it's not too great a bother And a mental overtax, Would you send your poor old father, C.O.D., a battle-axe?"

[Footnote 4: From "At the Sign of the Dollar," by Wallace Irwin.

Copyright, 1905, by Fox, Duffield & Co.]

THE COURTIN'

BY JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL

G.o.d makes sech nights, all white an' still Fur 'z you can look or listen, Moons.h.i.+ne an' snow on field an' hill, All silence an' all glisten.

Zekle crep' up quite unbeknown An' peeked in thru' the winder, An' there sot Huldy all alone, 'Ith no one nigh to hender.

A fireplace filled the room's one side With half a cord o' wood in-- There warn't no stoves (tell comfort died) To bake ye to a puddin'.

The wa'nut logs shot sparkles out Towards the pootiest, bless her, An' leetle flames danced all about The chiny on the dresser.

Agin the chimbley crook-necks hung, An' in amongst 'em rusted The old queen's-arm that Gran'ther Young Fetched back f'om Concord busted.

The very room, coz she was in, Seemed warm f'om floor to ceilin', An' she looked full ez rosy agin Ez the apples she was peelin'.

'T was kin' o' kingdom-come to look On sech a blessed cretur; A dogrose blus.h.i.+n' to a brook Ain't modester nor sweeter.

He was six foot o' man, A 1, Clear grit an' human natur'; None couldn't quicker pitch a ton Nor dror a furrer straighter.

He'd sparked it with full twenty gals, He'd squired 'em, danced 'em, druv 'em, Fust this one, an' then thet, by spells-- All is, he couldn't love 'em.

But long o' her his veins 'ould run All crinkly like curled maple; The side she breshed felt full o' sun Ez a south slope in Ap'il.

She thought no v'ice bed sech a swing Ez hisn in the choir; My! when he made Ole Hundred ring, She _knowed_ the Lord was nigher.

An' she'd blush scarlit, right in prayer, When her new meetin'-bunnet Felt somehow thru its crown a pair O' blue eyes sot upun it.

Thet night, I tell ye, she looked _some_!

She seemed to 've gut a new soul For she felt sartin-sure he'd come, Down to her very shoe-sole.

She heered a foot, an' knowed it tu, A-raspin' on the sc.r.a.per-- All ways to once her feelin's flew Like sparks in burnt-up paper.

He kin' o' l'itered on the mat, Some doubtfle o' the sekle; His heart kep' goin' pity-pat, But hern went pity Zekle.

An' yit she gin her cheer a jerk Ez though she wished him furder, An' on her apples kep' to work, Parin' away like murder.

"You want to see my Pa, I s'pose?"

"Wal ... no ... I come dasignin'--"

"To see my Ma? She's sprinklin' clo'es Agin to-morrer's i'nin'."

To say why gals act so or so, Or don't, 'ould be presumin'; Mebby to mean _yes_ an' say _no_ Comes nateral to women.

He stood a spell on one foot fust, Then stood a spell on t' other, An' on which one he felt the wust He couldn't ha' told ye nuther.

Says he, "I'd better call agin"; Says she, "Think likely, Mister"; Thet last word p.r.i.c.ked him like a pin, An' ... Wal, he up an' kist her.

When Ma bimeby upon 'em slips, Huldy sot pale ez ashes, All kin' o' smily roun' the lips An' teary roun' the lashes.

For she was jes' the quiet kind Whose naturs never vary, Like streams that keep a summer mind Snowhid in Jenooary.

The blood clost roun' her heart felt glued Too tight for all expressin', Tell mother see how metters stood, An' gin 'em both her blessin'.

Then her red come back like the tide Down to the Bay o' Fundy, An' all I know is they was cried In meetin' come nex' Sunday.