Eaton weekly Democrat. [volume] (Eaton, Ohio) 1866-1875, 1873-12-18
LUKE.
On the Colorado Park, Is7s)
BY BRET HARTE


BRET HARTE-
wot's that you're readin'?-a novel? A novel
well, darn my sklni
You, a man grown and bearded, and histin' such
stuff that in
Stuff about gals and their sweetheartsI No won
der you're thin ez a knifeI
Look at me !-cIar two hundred-and never read
one in my life!
That's my opinion o. novels. And, ez to their lynn
They belonged to the Jedges daughter-the Jedge
who came up last year
On account of his lungs, and the mountains, and
the balsam o. pine and FIR;
And his daughter-wen, she read novels, and that's
what's the matter with her.
Yet she sweet on the Jedge, and stuck by him
Alone in the cabin up yer-tin she grew like ghost
She was only slip of thing, light and up and
Ez rife-smoke blown through the woods, but she
wasn't my kind-no way!
speakin' o. gals, dye mind that house ez you rise
A mile and half from Whites and jist above Mat
You do Wei, now, thars gal? What, you saw
her? o, come now, thar, quit!
She was only bedeviin' you, boys, for to me she
don't cotton one bit.
Now, she's what call gal-ez pretty and plump e2
Teeth ez white ez hounds, and they'd go through
Eyes that can snap like cap. So she asked to know
g Whar was hid"
She did oh, it's just like her sass, for she's per-
as Katydid.
But what was talking of f?-OI the Jedge and hii
daughter-she read
Novels the whole day long, and reckon she read
And sometimes She read them out loud to the Jedgt
on the porch where he sat,
And twas how Z" Lord Augustus" said this, and how
I" Lady Blanche" she said that.
But the sickest of all that beerd was a yarn tina
Misunderstanding" by name, and a hunter chocl
full o. the greenest o. sap;
And they asked me to hear, but says, Miss Ma
bel, not any for me;
When likes can sling my own lies, and thet chaI
and shouldn't agree"
Yet somehow-or-other she was always sayin'
OF folks about whom she had read, suthin belike
And thar warnt no end o. the names that she gave
me thet summer up here
81 Robin Hood, " misunderstanding" !" Rob Roy y
o, tell you, the critter was queer.
And yet eff she hadn't been spilled, she was harm.
less enough in her way,
She could jabber French to her dad and they say
that she knew how to play,
And she worked me that shot-pouch up thar-whict
the lnan doesn't live ez kin use,
And slippers-you seer 'em down yer-ez would
cradle an Injun's pappoose.
Yet along o. them novels, you see, she was wastin
And then she got shy with her tongue, and at las
had nothin' to say;
And whenever happened around, her face 1t wal
And it warnt until she left that she gave me e,
much ez a look.
And this was the way it was: It was night when
To say to 'em ali " Good-by," for reckened to &c
At &c sun-lp' the day they left. So shook 'em al
round by the hand,
'Cept Mabel, and she was sick, ez they gave me Il
understand
T3T1ti iizt 7 he n
dawn some one,
Like little waver o. mist, got up the hill will
Miss Mabel it was, alone-an wrapped in a mantle
And she stood there straight in the road, with
touch o. the sun in her face.
When hunted wounded doe to the edge of the
And had my knee on its neck, and jist was raisin
my knife,
When it gave me look like that, and-wen, it goi
off with its life.
awe are going to-day she said, and thought 7
To you in your own house, Luke-these woods, ant
the bright blue sky
You've always been kind to us, Luke, and papa hal
AS good the air he breathes, and wholesome al
"And well always think of you, Luke, the thing
The Balsam that dwells in the woods, the rainbow
that lives in the spray,
And you'll sometimes think of me, Luke yoT
know you once used to say,
rifle-smoke blown through the woods, a moment
but never to stay"
And then we shook hands. She turned, but a-sud
dent she tottered and fell,
And caught her sharp by the waist, and held her
minit-wen,
1t was only minit you know, that cold and es
white she lay
Ez a snowflake here on my breast, and then-wen
she melted away
And was gone. = And thar are her books, but
say not any for me,
Good enough, maybe, for some, but them and !
mightnt agree.
They spilled decent gal might hev made sont
chap wife,
And look at me!-clar two hundred-and never
read one in my life ]
-Scribner's for December.