Bridgeton pioneer., 1916-07-27

hhSW AdtueI, anu L WOu1u Line
to speak with him."
"Oh, speak with him, yes. But he
is deaf, and you want to speak loud"
So the farmer went over to him and
said in loud voice:
us this Mr.. Rney?"
"Er-what?"
SIS this Mr.. RiIeyT'
what did you sayT'
is this Mr.. Riley?"
sRiley, yes"
y knew your father"
mo bother"
Il knew your father"
.What?"
Il knew your father"
"Oh, so did l."
In few moments the farmer heard
him talking in an ordinary tone Of
voice.
Riley's popular poems are so numer-
Gus that catalogue of them would
be volume In itself. ~Little Orphant
ANNIE" once called "The Elfln Child"
has been detained from every school
platform IN the country and Is never
falling success today from almost any
elocutionist. Another, typical Of his
beloved Indiana, Is when the Frost
Is on the Punk1n," embraced In his
volume of poems entitled "The Old
Swimmin' Hole and 'Leven More
Poems." It is as follows:
When the frost is on the punkin and the
folders in the shock.
And you hear the kyouck and gobble OF
the struttin' turkey cock,
And the claclSin' of the guineys, and the
cluckin' of the hens,
And the ROSTERS hallylooyer as he tip
toes on the fence
oh, it's then's the times feller is a-feel-
In at his best,
With the risin' sun to greet him from a
night Of peaceful rest,
AS he leaves the house bareheaded and
goes out to feed the stock.
When the frost is on the punkin and the
| folders in the shock!
Theys something kind O. h'arty-like about
the atmosphere
! When the heat Of summers over and the
coolin' fall is here.
OF course we miss the flowers and the
blossoms on the trees
And the humble Of the hummin' birds
and buzzin' of the bees,
But the airs so appetizin'. and the land
oCdpe tiIOu6n tue LSZe
OF a crisp and sunny mornin' of the airly
autumn days
Is pictur' that no painter has the COL
orin' to mock,
When the frost is on the punkin and the
folders in the shock.
| The husky, rusty rustic Of the tossels Of
the corn
And the raspin' of the tangled leaves as
golden as the morn,
| The stubble in the furries. kind O. lone
some-like, but still
| A-preachin' sermons to US Of the barns
they growed to fill;
The strawstack in the medder and the
reaper In the shed,
The hosses in their stalls below, the clo-
yer overhead %~
Oh, 1t sets my heart a-clickin' like the
| tickin' of a clock
When the frost Is on the punkin and the
! folders in the shock!
To the public his dialect verse Is bet
ter known. and "Goodby, Jim; Take
Keer Of Yourself" "The Raggedy Man"
and "Griggsby's Station" will be long
remembered But Riley was also a
poet who could write serious, beauti-
ful things that brought tears to the
eyes, and Of such the one entitled
"Bereaved" is typical. It runs:
Let me come in where you sit weeping
aye,
Let me. who have not any child to die,
| Weep with you for the little one whose
love
have known nothing of.
The little arms that slowly, slowly loosed
Their pressure round your neck, the hands
you used
To kiss-such arms, such hands, never
knew.
| May not weep with you?
Fain would I be of service-say some
thing
Between the tears that would be comfort
| But, oh, so sadder than yourselves am ]
Who have no child to diei
| OF the sentimental variety perhaps
"An Old Sweetheart of Mine" attained
the greatest popularity, but there are
others of merit, and "The Song" is
| one Of them. 1t reads:
A SONG.
By JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY.
| copyright. 1887. 1898. by James Whitcomh
| Riley.l
| There is ever song somewhere, my dear;
| There is ever a something sings alway-
| There's the song of the lark when the
skies are clear,
| And the song of the thrush when the
skies are gray.
The sunshine showers across the grain.
| And the bluebird trills in the orchard
tree,
| And in and out when the caves drip rain
The swallows are twittering ceaselessly,
There Is ever song somewhere. my dear.
| Be the skies above or dark or fair:
| There is ever song that our hearts may
| hear
| There is ever song somewhere, my dear
There Is ever a song somewhere!