The Topeka state journal. [volume] (Topeka, Kansas) 1892-1980, 1904-04-15
HONEST ABE. U. s. NJ.
He Continues to Deliver the Rural
Mail and to Write Poetry.


Mail and to Write Poetry.
When I stopped at Uncle Reuhe
Scott's the other day to leave him a
letter, I found him looking very anX-
ious, and when asked if anything had
gone wrong with the spring lambs he
replied:
ABE, I'm afraid our gal Lucy is go
in to de-"
"Shool What seems to be the trou-
ble?"
Lost her appetite-sits and signs
and weeps-pays no attention to any
thing going on. We can't even inter-
est her in a peddler's pack no more.
She's certainly going into a decline.
Don't you want to talk with her a few
I said I did, and it wasn't five min
utes before 1 found out that she was
worrying about Joe Saunders, who was
as good as engaged to her, but VINO
was paying attentions to red-headed
Sue Whitman to make her feel bad.
What do yoa want to dO?" I said,
as she wiped her weepin' eyes, is 20
hit Joe square between the eyes with
a poem. A poem beats a club five
than a brickbat.'
But 1 can't write poetry" she vail
ed.
but I can. Get me some paper
butcher knife"
When all was ready I sat down and
produced the following
my lover has gone, and my heart it
And no longer I MARBLE my song;
I sigh and 1 weep as the days drag
But / Know that it won't be for long
Il loved my Joe with a true, tender
And rsioiced as he called me his
But alas he has left me all sad ana
And took up with red-headed girl.
my tears they are falling-I cease not
I care not to live with this sorrow;
So I'll swallow some poison when to
bed I doth go
And be found a dead girl on the
morrow
Abe said lucy, as she finished
reading the verses, I've read Para
disc Lost and Uncle Toms Cabin,
but neither of them begin to touch
send 'em over to Joe, and if his knees
don't wobble I'm no broken-hearted
maiden"
I heard from the case next day. Joe
read the verses and had to sit down
and gasp for breath. and within two
hours he had Lucy clasped in his arms
and was urging to be married within a
month.
A day or two later it was the widow
Skinner who was in trouble. She lost
her husband three years ago, and peo-
pie had begun to talk because she had
reared no stone at his grave. Some
even went so far as to say that she
had never cared for him anyhow. She
had cured very much, she asserted, but
had neglected the stone in order 10
get time to prepare a fitting epitapn.
@47Ir had ri a6 a md crqiF h11f n
ways made a failure of it.
ABE she said, as she lifted her
apron to her eyes, Pm depending en-
you to help me out. What makes mat
tiers worse just now is I'm as good as
engaged to Mr.. Fox, the windmill man.
I want an epitaph that will do my
dear James justice, but it mustn't hurt
Mr.. Foxs feelings. I've been trying
for three whole days. but I can't hit
anything"
It was a quarter of an hour ahead
of my time, and after drinking a glass
of cider and eating a fried cake I sat
which follows:
Beneath this stone James Skinner
So upright and kind-hearted;
That still his widow grieves for him,
And thinks of her departed.
tsIIe never spoke an unlxind word
When on this earth beside her;
And he was known for miles around
As a first-class provider.
.aThe widow Skinner, she may love,
And give her hand in marriage;
And ride away to Liverpool
In her own family carriage.
'sBut her lost James she'll ne'er forget.
Nor cease for to lament him;
And she lays down her pen in hopes
These verses will content him.
When finished the verses and hand
cd them to the waiting widow she read