The Republican. [volume] (Oakland, Md.) 1877-current, 1905-08-31


WRITTEN"
wanted anything Of that sort. Most
that have written is obituary poetry,
and as you have not lost wife or chill
dren of course you have wanted moth
ing of the kind"
IT you'd asked me about it," he CON
tiEued rather sulkily, Il could have
told you that I lost an uncle about
twenty years ago. Il may be purity late
in the day. but IL all the folks along
here are goin' in for obituary poetry
why shouldn't we? That's what the
Old woman and the boys say, and that's
what l say. However. rs you are so
dreGul busy with all the others
You shall have your poetry in ten
minutes" l interrupted, and l got
down from my cart and went to the
house with him.
1t was my first poem for two DAYS.
and I had to kick myself three or four
times to get my muse on the move, but
when l struck my gait l ratified off the
following like a barrel humping down
hill:
We mourn for him, poor Uncle Joe,
Whose fate was full of sadness,
Vino took d PittsbUrg steamer and
Sailed down the stream in gladncss.
TO New Orleans poor Joe was bound
To see the Crescent City,
But if at Cairo he'd have stopped
ne cr had penned this ditty.
He walked aboard the Nancy Jane,
4 fq-I Ia 1r-y.T I,
But twenty miles below Cat point
The steamer up and busted.
Her boiler it was shattered. and
Her hull it was demolished,
And Uncle Joe was one of those
Whose future was abolished
He sleeps beneath Ohio's wave,
The trumpet call awaiting,
And that i" is Il busted man
Admits go debating.
"Thcle yo1 are, Uncle Billy" 1 said,
as finished reading the poem to him,
land what 10 YOU think of it,"
He took the paper with tender fingers
and gaZod at it until his tears blinded
him. 1t was long two minutes be-
fore he could control his voice to say:
abe, if I'd lost two hogs by the
cholera it wouldn't have teched my
feelin's as this thing has DONE All
can say to you now is that I'm ten
million times obleeged, but next time
you come along shall hope to prove
my gratitude"
At the blacksmith shop, two miles
below, had to stop to get a loose shoe
fastened, and l was sorting over my
letters when l looked up and saw that
the smith had tears in his eyes. 7
asked him if he was in pain, and told
him that l always carried Il bottle of
relief, but he made no answer until he
had fixed the shoe. Then he sat down
beside me and said:
abe, that letter you handed my wife
the other day was from her mother in
Illinois and it contained bad news"
Nobody dead, hope"
'Yes-her sister Sally. She died Of
the kick OF cow There isn't a hui
man bein' in the state of Illinois who
can write poetry, and Martha asked me
if l wouldn't ask you to get off some.
thing. Wen send copy out west, and
~ w al N4INGA Us al CiIlltlHIllSlD.
'Will it do next time 1 come along?"
I'm afraid not, Abe. Martha does
nothing but walk around and weep.
and if you put it off another day she
may drown herself in the cistern. You
write me something and I'll look over
the other shoes and see that they are
all right"
l had to use a piece of paper -four
sack and the stub Of pencil, but my
muse frolicked around and enabled me
to invent the following:
In certain western state, where the
beef trust makes the rate,
There did dwell a maiden aged twenty
years.
Her haMe was Sally Tripper, and to milk
she was ripper.
And it's on account Of that we're she'd
ding tears