There was once a little man, and his rod and line he took,
For he said, "I'll go a-fishing in the neighboring brook."
And it chanced a little maiden was walking out that day,
And they met in the usual way.
Then he sat him down beside her, and an hour or two went by,
But still upon the grassy brink his rod and line did lie;
"I thought," she shyly whispered," you'd be fishing all the day!"
And he was in the usual way.
So he gravely took his rod in hand and threw the line about,
But the fish perceived distinctly he was not looking out;
And he said, "Sweetheart, I love you," but she said she could
not stay,
But she did in the usual way.
Then the stars came out above them, and she gave a little sigh As they watched the silver ripples like the moments running by; "We must say good-by," she whispered by the alders old and gray,
And they did in the usual way.
And day by day beside the stream, they wandered to and fro,
And day by day the fishes swam securely down below,
Till this little story ended, as such little stories may,
Very much in the usual way.
And now that they are married, do they always bill and coo?
Do they never fret and quarrel, like other couples do?
Does he cherish her and love her? does she honor and obey?
in the usual way.
One morning, fifty years ago,
When apple trees were white with snow
Of fragrant blossoms, and the air
Was spellbound with the perfume rare,-
Upon a farm horse, large and lean,
And lazy with its double load,
A sun-browned youth and maid were seen
Jogging along the winding road.
Blue were the arches of the skies;
But bluer were that maiden's eyes.
The dewdrops on the grass were bright;
But brighter was the loving light
That sparkled 'neath the long-fringed lid,
Where those bright eyes of blue were hid;
Adown the shoulders brown and bare
Rolled the soft waves of golden hair,
Where, almost strangled with the spray,
The sun, a willing sufferer, lay.
It was the fairest sight, I ween,
That the young man had ever seen;
And with his features all aglow,
The happy fellow told her so!
And she without the least surprise
Looked on him with those heavenly eyes;
Saw underneath that shade of tan
The handsome features of a man;
And with a joy but rarely known
She drew that dear face to her own,
And by her bridal bonnet hid
I cannot tell you what she did!
So, on they ride until among
The new-born leaves with dewdrops hung,
The parsonage, arrayed in white,
Peers out, - a more than welcome sight.
Then, with a cloud upon his face,
"What shall we do," he turned to say,
"Should he refuse to take his pay
From what is in the pillow-case?"
And glancing down his eye surveyed
The pillow-case before him laid;
Whose contents reaching to its hem,
Might purchase endless joy for them.
The maiden answers, "Let us wait,
To borrow trouble where's the need?"
Then, at the parson's squeaking gate
Halted the more than willing steed.
Down from the horse the bridegroom sprung; The latchless gate behind him swung.
The knocker of that startled door,
Struck as it never was before,
Brought the whole household pale with fright;
And there, with blushes on his cheek,
So bashful he could hardly speak,
The farmer met their wondering sight.
The groom goes in, his errand tells,
And, as the parson nods, he leans
Far o'er the window-sill and yells,
"Come in! He says he'll take the beans!"
Oh! how she jumped! With one glad bound,
She and the bean-bag reached the ground.
Then, clasping with each dimpled arm
The precious product of the farm,
She bears it through the open door;
And, down upon the parlor floor,
Dumps the best beans vines ever bore.
Ah! happy were their songs that day,
When man and wife they rode away.
But happier this chorus still
Which echoed through those woodland scenes:
"God bless the priest of Whitinsville !
God bless the man who took the beans!"
G'way an' quit dat noise, Miss Lucy-
Put dat music book away;
What's de use to keep on tryin'?
Ef you practice twell you're gray,
You cain't sta't no notes a-flyin'
Lak de ones dat rants and rings
F'om de kitchen to de big woods
When Malindy sings.
You ain't got de nachel o'gans
Fu' to make de soun' come right,
You ain't got de tunes an' twistin's
Fu' to make it sweet an' light.
Tell you one thing now, Miss Lucy,
An' I'm tellin' you fu' true,
When hit comes to raal right singin'
'Tain't no easy thing to do.
1 By permission of Dodd, Mead & Co., publishers. From "Lyrics of the Hearthside," 1899.
Easy 'nough fu' folks to hollah,
Lookin' at de lines an' dots,
When dey ain't no one kin sense it,
An' de chune comes in, in spots;
But fu' real melojous music,
Dat jes' strikes yo' hea't and clings,
Jes' you stan' an' listen wif me
When Malindy sings.
Ain't you nevah hyeahd Malindy?
Blessed soul, tek up de cross!
Look hyeah, ain't you jokin', honey?
Well, you don't know what you los'.
Y'ought to hyeah dat gal a-wa'blin',
Robins, la'ks, an' all dem things,
Hush dey moufs an' hides dey faces
When Malindy sings.
Fiddlin' man jes' stop his fiddlin',
Lay his fiddle on de she'f;
Mockin' bird quit tryin' to whistle,
'Cause he jes' so shamed hisse'f.
Folks a-playin' on de banjo
Draps dey fingahs on de strings -
Bless yo' soul - fu'gits to move 'em,
When Malindy sings.
She jes' spreads huh mouf and hollahs, "Come to Jesus," twell you hyeah Sinnahs' tremblin' steps an' voices,
Timid-lak, a-drawin' neah;
Den she tu'ns to "Rock of Ages,"
Simply to de cross she clings,
An' you fin' yo' teahs a-drappin'
When Malindy sings.
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