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My child, ob-serve the use-ful Ant,
See the Gi-raffe; he is so tall
An' aftah he jes look at her wunst, he lit out de he wuz mad and laughin' too, an' Tadgeous he
, anyhow,' says he, “it 's gwine to hab a Tadgeous jes bu'st een de do', like he done for- white name, 'cause Marse Stevens gwine name got all his manners, an' he say: 'Oh, Marse her.' So we axed Marse Stevens to name her, an' Stevens!' says he, 'dey 's a big accident down at he says: 'Why, you done name her yo'se'f. Call my house!
her Accident.' And we calls her Axy for short. "Great Cæsar!' says Marse Stevens; an'wid dat “It wah n't so long befo' dey wuz a boy; an' he jumps outen his cheer like he been shot, an' Tadgeous wuz as proud 'bout him as he wuz 'bout he run to de telephone, an' he holler fo' 'em to Accident, an' he wanted to name him outen a sen' up all de injuns, an' he turn round to Tad- book dat Miss Em'ly been readin' to him in. She geous, an' he say, says he: 'Go git de gyahden-hose, wuz readin' him 'bout a man named de Crafty an' skeet on it quick as ebah you can!'
Yulicee; but when he tol me 'bout how dis man “Den, Tadgeous say, he wanter laugh dat bad made a horse swallow live mens, an' den change he 'mos' bu'st, an' he say to Marse Stevens: hisse'f to wood, an' walk right troo a stone wall,
“'Lawdy, Marse Stevens!' says he, I ain' nebbah I wuz skeered he wuz a hoodoo man, an' I did n’ said it wuž a fire accident. It's a gal, de onliest wanter name de baby dat. But Tadgeous said he one I's got, an' I don' want to drown her like she knowed better, an' he had a big baptizzamul. wuz cat's chillens!' Den Marse Stevens seem like An' it 's jes like I t'ought, cause dat chile is allus
gitten' een trouble, wid de best of retentions. It wuz on account of Crafty Yulicee allus crawlin' een de cistern whey Marse Stevens kep' de drinkinwatah dat we moved ’way from de school an' come out heah to lib.
“De nex' one wuz a gal, an' Tadgeous sayed how I could name her, an' I gabe her a real fancy name. We baptized her Violetta Marietta Evelina Rose Christina, 'n' she allus did real well.
"Den dey wuz a boy, an' Tadgeous called him aftah anuddah man een dat same book. I warned Tadgeous 'bout doin' dat way, but he would hab his own way, an' he named dis one Napoleon Bonefidey Waterloo Prophet; an' he wuz allus unfortunate, too, same like I sayed. When he wuz little, I gabe him to Axy to wash his laigs real clean, one day; an' when I come to find her, hearin' de baby cryin' so, she had tooked white sand an' de scrubbin'-brush, an' had scoured all de skin an’ mos' ob de meat offen his laigs, tryin' to git um white. Sence den he hab allus wobbled when he walked, bein' as his laigs is weak.
“I named de nex’ one, which wuz a gal, Belladonna California Mississippi Idaho, an' she nebbah gabe nobody no trouble. But Tadgeous sayed how he wuz tired ob gals, an' when de nex' one come we could n' decide on no name to suit us. She wuz de fines' an' de bes' baby we ebah had, an' it seem like, 'cause Tadgeous' heart kindah turned away fom her, dat mine kindah hankered aftah her, an' I nebbah could bear to let her tumble round like de res'. So I set Crafty Yulicee to min' her, which kep' him outen muschief. But one day, when she wuz cuttin' her little teef, an' kindah fretful-like, he fed her a han'ful ob yellow jessamines, an' it kilt her dat same day. All day long I helt her een my arms, an' she kindah cuddled up an' moaned an' cried out; but at sundown she died, an’ we buried her obah yondah een de pines beyon' de branch, fo' I could n'hab her out ob my sight, eben when she wuz dead. When ole mis' gabe me de tombstone, I axed her please to put de name on it, ‘Little Jessamine'; an' she promised me dat when she come home f'om de sea-sho' she 'll bring me some white shells to make a bordah roun' Little Jessamine's grabe.
Sence dat day I ain' had no mo' heart for chillen; an' when twins come las' yeah, - bofe boys, -an' Tadgeous had turned ag’inst de books, I jes named um Had-a-plenty an' Wan’-no-mo'.
“Yes, ma’am; dey is likely chillen, but not like she wuz. An' sometimes, dese summah nights, when I lay by de open do,' an' heah de pines mo’nin' beyon' de branch, it seems like my baby calls me; an' I leabes dese chillen an' Tadgeous, an' goes an’ lies down dyah by her; an' I wisht to Gawd I 'd nebbah had but one chile, an' dat wuz Little Jessamine!”
Marion Alexander Haskell.
So easy seems it as you read,
What matters whither he would speed,
Aye, would he so! For him, indeed, What did the Celt and Saxon care? Should he of rhymes a dozen need, He 'll find, perhaps, a paltry pair. With aching head and clutched hair, Still must he scan the meager list. He has of woes, I wot, his share Who'd be a modern balladist!
The Old Story. He was a pious saint of old,
Who dwelt within a hermit's cell; He had forsworn the face of Love,
And thought he knew him well.
Friend of the editorial chair,
Yet may another ill exist: Should you bestow a frigid stare,
Who'd be a modern balladist?
Annie Steger Winston.
THE DE VINNE PRESS, NEW YORK.