tories -in- Rhyme "Uncle Ho" Homer P. Branch z_. Stories -in- Rhyme by "Uncle Ho" Homer P. Branch PUBLISHED BY THE AUTHOR SUMNER, IOWA No literary news has gained such Statewide interest in Iowa for years as has the story that Homer P. Branch (Uncle Ho) of Sumner is re- vising his poems for the purpose of publishing a new book, and commit- ting to memory for platform rendition those best fitted for this purpose. Now that the "booster" renaissance is up- on the fair state of Iowa, friends are urging Uncle Ho to rewrite his fam- ous Indian legends and stories in rhyme, the work of his youth, and give them the master touch of his noonday skill. Such improvement on the work launched in the glorious morning of his poesy would make a product that Iowa is ripe to receive. The special interest aroused by Mr. Branch's new plans is caused by the fact, most likely, that in a large measure his poetical writings have been in praise of Iowa, her sunny dells, her shady nooks, her teeming fields, her pretty features of nature, her pioneers, her great people of today, and the more pleasant and romantic of the traditions of her aboriginal days. Ho- mer P. Branch is a booster poet; not a dreamer, but a poet of rich red blood whose works are bound to stay and be liked better and better. — Register and Leader, Des Moines, March 31, 1912. ' Copyright, 1912 By Homer P. Branch 0848805 (tattling park's Sinn\ us lie TnTri it tn Tte Srxmi Had a fight last night with the Injuns? Well, 'Twas a savage night to be out, And the rain was as heavy as ever fell — Sayl ain't you a gover'ment scout? Thought so! I used to be a scout myself, Then got into the ranging way, And stick to it ez I make more pelf, And am free to go or to stay. Your speakin' of the rain, the wolves, the fight, An* the numerous Sioux about, Puts me in mind of jest sich a night Some years ago and I was out. The thunders roared and the lightnin's flashed, And the wind blew a hurricane, The elements rastled and tore and clashed Ez if the night had gone insane. I was ridin' well armed along the range, Mounted snug on a broncho stanch, But I felt somew'at narvous and jest a bit strange, For I'd lost the trail to the ranch. The night it was cold and jet black dark, The wolves howled along my trail Like a hundred demons let loose on a lark, And I felt jest a trifle pale. To complicate things, I heard a war- whoop, A fierce yell, that echoed and broke Like the Wild Witch's shriek up on old North Loup, And nigh startled mo out of my •'yoke." I sat still and dumb, like a chap that's scared, And didn't know what to do next, And Spry, my broncho, jost squatted and reared Fershe, too, was scared and perplexed. A boom o' guns and a white man's shout, Ea he cheered his pards to fight, Aroused me in a jiff to turn about, And we plunged back into the night. The yells and the shootin' kept us in line, And we made for it quick ez we could, I pulled my revolver and old carbine, They were spunky and loaded good. We landed plunk into a hundred Sioux, Bloody varmints, all painted and stark; Spry jumped and I shot and we made our way through, Without loosin' a bit of bark. We came to a halt in a mover's camp. And was given a hearty cheer; We all j'ined hands and gave the braves the cramp, So they skuddled and left us clear. The night and the rain went off with the Reds, for We had fought till the gray of morn; We was mighty glad we had closed the war, Not feelin' a bit forlorn. None of us was hurt, but a dozen Sioux Had been carried away so lame Ez to show clear' 'nough 'at they'd got their dues, And with none but 'emselves to blame. We was s^akin' hands like pard and friend, When a scream startled us, so wild That the hair on our heads just stood on end — , 'Twas the cry of a little child! A sneakin' Red had come up on the sly, And had captured a little tod, And was ridin' swift toward the north- ern sky — whizzeel how he traveled the sod! The rest of 'em j'ined him, and off they went A scuddin' toward Old Camp Meade, And't seemed's though the Old Nick himself had lent 'Em especial powers o' speed. The mother cried that little Marie Would be burned to death at the stake, And the father was as crazy as she. And the boys was all in a shake. I threw off my coat, jumped into the yoke, And pulled my hatchet from the sack; Afore you could wink I was goin' like smoke, Stoutly settled on Old Spry's back. And 'fore I knew jest what we was about We was among them pesky reds, And I got the child from the clutch of a lout And broke in a half dozen heads. Then Spry sprung about (oh, she knew the trick 1 She learnt it while herdin' cows For she was trained for the range) and right quick We left 'em 'thout any farewell bows. The Reds turned for us, but Spry was a goer, And we led 'em a crazy chase, Till after a while they gave us floor, For we had the best of the race. I rode into camp like a knight of old, With Beauty hung faint on my arm. And I felt like a hero, brave and bold, With & heart boatin' strong and warm, The boys pulled me down soon as I said "whoa!" The mother hugged me tight an' kist Me jest as my mother did years ago — In the years gone back into mistl I cried like a child, sir, yes sir, boss, When that mother's arm twined my neck — It was as a life-line thrown out across The hulk of a foundered wreck. For I had been tough in my cowboy lif e, Hadn't always stuck to the right; Had mixed up a good deal in frontier strife. Which is seldom exactly white. And then wo en the old man came for'ard and stood Pale ami tremblin' and seemin' faint, And shook my bad hand as if I was good, And blessed me as one would a saint- Well, I had to surrender right there and then! Said I: "Kind friends, I'm Cowboy Jack; Hain't been no account since I can't tell when, And run with a dare-devil pack. "I'm known here 'bouts as a mighty tough case, A bad one, when it comes to fight — A fellow what's got a purty hard face When looked at by civilized light. "But if God stays by me and helps in the chore, I'll swear off, and brace up, right; I'll kick my bad habits out of the door, And fight 'em with all my might. "If the mother here, God bless her good heart! She is surely a Christian true, Will give me a lift with a pra'r for a start, I'll swear to be a man, true-blue. " The mother knelt on the buffalo grass, And in accents tender and low, Thanked God that the life of her blue- eyed lass Had been saved, that the cruel blow Had been warded off. Then she prayed for Jack; Call (;d me brave, big-hearted and good, Asked God in his kindness to take me back — And she told him she knew he woul d Into the walls of his wondrous fold, Into the arms of his great love; That my name as a convert be enrolled On the big book there above. This was all I heard, for objects grew dim, And I seemed to float — float — away In a cold, dizzy dream, to the dark brim Of a storm-beaten ocean bay — To a cottage small on a hillside bare, The picture of my boyhood home, And I seemed to dwell for a moment there, In the warmth of mother's room. Then I felt no more — was like one dead— But when I roused from the spoil, I found myself in a warm, cozy bed, Feoiin' weaklike, but midlin' well. My pard, Big Bill, was sottin' by my side, Fannin' me with his old slouch hat, And when I "come to" I thought he'd a died With his laughin, prancin' and that. "Whist!" said he, "Ye fainted, old boy, yer hurt — A gash in the back of yer head — Wonder it hadn't laid ye in tho dirt Instid of a snug feather bed. "The redskins gave ye an ugly slit In yer scrajjwith V;n down the <:reek» 8 But as good luck has it yer right here yit, Andll be all right in a week." Then he went to the door and called the folks And capered so he'd clear gone daft, Jest started in fer stories and Jokes, And hollered, and sung and laughed. And I thought the rest as loony as he, When they dashed in, every one, And the lass I saved bounced up and hugged me, And the rest did as she had done. Yelled Bill: "Old pard. ye lit in the right nest When ye struck that mover's camp — See yer mammy, sister, dad and the rest, Aint ye tickled, ye wuthless scamp V ^Twas mother, sure as your alive, And sweet little sister, too, That was born long after I came to strive In the land of the savage Sioux. Twas dad and the boys that I helped that night In the fight on the open plain, And sister, dear, I saved (bless her sight) From the fire stake's horror and pain. They had come out west in search of good times; They was purty hard up back there, But they'd all been dead as old Pap Grimes, If 't hadn't been for me'n the mare. The folks settled down here on my old ranch, And here we all live today, Right on the old trail to Camp Oom- manch', Blighty mite from there, so they B&y. ■ - We're as happy as can be the whole year through; Say! it's gettin' nigh about noon, Better picket your hoss down there in the slough, We'll have dinner now purty soon. There's blood on yor arm, boy! they winged ye — hey? Dead sure! only a flesh wound, though; Come into the house — the woman folks they Will doctor you up so-so. Tonight we're goin' to have a party here, A weddin' if I may say; Taint often you scouts fall in with such cheer, So you had better stay. It's goin' to be quite a time, you see, For Cap'n JoeTumms, of Fort Knapp, Is goin' to be j'ined with little Mai'ie — They say ho's a fine young chap. She met him at Denver a year ago, And they've been courtin' ever since? She's the pet of the ranch, and, don't you know, Her goin' sort of makes me wince. She's the sweetest angel under the sky, And if Joe don't use her as such, Hfc'll have to tell me the reason why, I'm free to predict that much. He was here last fall with Buffalo Bill, Then again this spring with his troop To meet General Sherman at Baldwin's Hill And escort him down tho Loup. But I was away both times he camet Hain't even seen his picture, so Wouldn't know him from any other game Passin' as you might say, to and fro. 10 From hear say he must be about your size, And — what's that? Well! you're Cap'n Tummsl And here comes Marie on the run! My eyes! They're a huggin' like two old chums! Bunting Sxmrj Dipping, dipping, dipping, As we lightly row, Gaily through the water lipping Goes our boat like fairy tripping. Floating, floating, floating, Out upon the stream, Go we, drift we, at our boating, Half a dozen pleasures noting. Musing, musing, musing, Sit we restfully, While our drowsy boat is cruising Listlessly without our choosing. Sighing, sighing, sighing, Talking carelessly, Loving looks our words belying, Cupid blindly o'er us flying. Dreaming, dreaming, dreaming, Are sweetheart and I, While the sunlit sides are beaming, On our love with joyous seeming. ®U Step's Wzlmmz From "Josh's Questions." Did yew ever in the darkness stop at the farmyard gate, Lights a blinkin' in the winders, time jest a trifle late, And hear Old Shep come snarlin' tew the fence and rushin' threw, Jest tew wag his tail in welcome when he found taht it was yew? II A party of twenty stalwart Sacs, With never a thought of foe's at- tacks, Went hunting and trapping within the bounds Of their long accustomed hunting grounds, In the primal days before the whites Usurped the red man's ancestral rights. They left their village amid the cheers Of gay groups of their warrior peers. And happy children that played about In many a wild, delighted rout; Some carried the smile of wife or child Away in their hearts, others the mild, Coy glance of a maiden's fond dark eyes — And they rowed away 'neath sunny skies. On the upper Wapsipinicon Their midsummer hunting has be- gun; Far away from noises of the camp, Far away from sound of horse's stamp. They went to the dark and solemn wood Where game was less wary, hunting good, Beside the river where they could use Their handy and strong dug-out canoes. The plump brown bear was a splen- did prize For the hunting Sac's bold enter- prise; The stately elk and the browsing moose, The stalking crane and the fat wild goose, 12 Were easy prey to the marksman true Who was ambitious to dare and do. They hunted and slaughtered, day by day, A toothsome, nourishing array Of fowl and venison, and all the game Known to aboriginal fame. In the open day they hung their meat To dry in the summer sun's fierce heat, And some they cured with coarse rock salt, During their famous hunting halt, Until with hampers and sacks all full They began their way down stream to pull, Merry at heart, toward home with vim, Passing the long days with chant and hymn. At night they camped on the grassy bank 'Neath the waving basswoods green and dank, And dried in the early morn the damp Of dew from their clothing in their camp By cheerful fires, and with pleasure looked On their ample breakfast as It cooked. Thus three days passed on their homeward ride, And they camped upon the riverside On the evening of the third day Under a hill that was just half way From their erstwhile campground up the stream, And they raised their lodge's green crossbeam Just as the darkness began to creep Up the rugged hillside tall and steep. They raised the lodge, for the weather's face 13 Wore a scowling, angry, dark grim- ace; Great, billowy clouds, in wierd un- rest, Chased across the sky in crazed be- hest, And lightnings scattered their zigzag light In wicked glee up and down the night; The earth beneath seemed to sob and moan, With once in a while a louder groan, And birds and animals seemed to feel A general dread upon them steal. The gray wolf snappingly made reply To the prowling panther's savage cry; Mournfully whistled the whip-poor- will, The screech-owl's note arose wild and shrill, The night wind sighed with reluctant ease Through the dark boughs of the for- est trees, While e'er and anon with sullen zest Deep thunders muttered far down the west. Soon a tornado in frenzy broke Like a creature of madness from Nature's yoke; The contending elements roared and clashed, The thunders bellowed, the light- nings flashed, And the angry winds with clammor tore The lodge to shreds, and, exultant, bore Away the treasured provisions gained, All the camp's effects, and then com- plained In loud-howling fury down the vale, Gradually dying in a wail; And then a smothering calm came down— 14 Like a sluggish, dreamless sleep came down! of strength, And the frightened braves, despoiled Prone on the ground cast themselves at length, To sleep away their terror and grief, For wildmen's troubles are mostly brief. It was the last sleep for all but one, For from the rise till the set of sun The sharp warcry of the fierce Paw- nees Would echo among the hills and trees, For a warband from the farther plains Had sworn to drink from the proud Sac's veins The blood that made them brave and strong And ever prompt to avenge a wrong. These, skulking in ambush close at hand, Like hungry wolves watched the lit- tle band, Till at a command, low-spoken, brief, From Scowling Bear, their ferocious chief, Each Pawnee moved forward with steps as light As the falling dew of the pulseless night. Slowly, stealthily, as creeps the snake, With scarce a weed moving in his wake, Crept each wild warrior up the glen, Each of the Pawnees' two hundred men; And as the stupor of restful sleep Held the doomed Sacs within Its keep, A warwhoop around about them broke That the very echoes of hell awoke With dread of its demoniac sound, And even shuddered the pulseless ground. 1") In all the disorder of surprise The terrified Sacs awoke with cries Of inexpressible dread and rage, And grasped their weapons and be- gan to wage War to the death with the surging foes That like waves of devils fell and rose Bearing them down with the giant weight Of superior numbers to their fate; Like cats with mice, in this cruel raid, With their dazed victims the Paw- nees played, Permitting them to almost escape, Then flaying them until they would gape With anguish, and in the wretched throes Of madness would hurl upon their foes, In the fury of despair, the stones From the rough river side, and with groans, Shrieks and mutterings, would try to rush Through the jeering Pawnees to the brush, And in their bewildered, frenzied might, Felled many a Pawnee in the fight, Until in rage the Pawnee chief Ordered the Sacs shot, with the be- lief That in the excitement of the fray Some beleaguered Sac would get away. Then fell the sharp arrows like the rain Upon unprotected heart and brain, And the strong Sac hunters, one by one, Fell ere the setting of the sun. Fiercely they had struggled all the day Through the cruel torment of the fray. Did any escape? Was there not one? 16 Ah, yes! In the Wapsipinicon, Good stream, a warrior fell, Just as the Pawnees' clamorous yell Sang out the death of the hunting band On the Wapsi's rough and bloody strand. He swam to safety amid the rank, Tall rushes of the opposite bank, And sank to rest on the yielding mire, Nursing the while a warrior's ire. There he stayed until the shades of night Lent their still gloom to his home- ward flight; Down the shore he crept with bated breath, While the gaunt wolves on the scene of death Snarled among the stark dead and tore With hungry fangs at the flesh and gore. At length by the lapping waterside He saw where a small canoe was tied. A quick thought leaped to his throb- bing brain — In this canoe ere the night should wane He could with extra exerted force Be far away on his homeward course, And as he unloosed and stepped into The light-tipping, basketlike canoe, He heard the warsongs of the Paw- nees, Camped up the river among the trees. Heard! Ah, with venomed hatred heard! His soul was sick and his eyes were blurred From scenes of massacre and blood On the bank of good old Wapsi's flood. He made reply with the fierce war» whoop 17 Of the outraged Sacs, and with a swoop Of his tomahawk above his head, Vowed by the ghosts of the mangled dead Strewn through his ancestral woods, that he And his family and tribe should be Revenged for the life blood wanton- ly spilled By the war-fiends — for the brave men killed. The ripples danced in the pale moon- light On the storied river, and the night, Restful and calm as a summer's dream, Slumbered upon the whispering stream. Rapidly coursed the canoe along As he plied the paddle fast and strong. The twinkling eyes of the firmament Their countless glittering glances lent To cheer the brave hunter on his way To the camp of Puckawatama. Puckawatama, the warchief grave, Was stalwart, hardy, determined, brave, A warrior of experience, Versed in all the arts of quick de- fence, And in the strategies of attack — Woe to the foeman who crossed his track ! He heard the messenger's story through; His brow grew dark, and his tribe- men knew That a dreadful vengeance he would shed On every Pawnee's craven head; The medicine man forthwith he called, And gave the command to glean and Maid A largo supply of the strong smart- weed, 18 And bade his warriors prepare with speed To give their enemies rightful scath Mid the glories of the fierce warpth. Five hundred warriors, tried and true, To the warcall of their leader flew; Armed with tomahawk, bow and spear, Boldly they plunged into the wood- land drear, And 'neath the forest's sheltering arch, Though the days were hot, made a forced march, And reached the camp of the dark Pawnees On the second day, as the cool breeze Of the evening began to rise O'er the Wapsi's virgin paradise. Quietly creeping around the camp On the level greensward soft and damp, The Sacs closed in on their enemies, Pounced into their midst with an- gry cries, And soon had every Pawnee bound, Prone and struggling on the ground By command of Puckawatama; Now would he in sullen vengeance slay The brutes that had killed his brave young men? No! such slaughter was beyond his ken! He could spare their lives and better sate His utter vengeance and tribal hate. The medicine man his smartweed drug Had brought along In an earthen jug. This drug was sprayed Into the Pawnees' eyes, Causing them horrible agonies. When maddened with pain they were set free To blindly roam in their misery. 19 The Sacs to their towns returned again, As many as came, five hundred men. Never again were the Sacs distressed By Pawnee warbands from the west. gags nf %jax'S Down the peaceful happy, shore, Of the dreaming thoughts of yor% Through the olden, Aye, and golden, Recollections of the past, To-day my soul is roving— Eoving 'neath the rosy skies. Of those blissful memories — Beguiled in transport, moving Thro' the vaulted, vague and vast Region of youth's early bower, Baaking in its sun and shower. Bless the memory of those days, Bless their warm, recurring ray* ^ast nxvA. Future How wo cherish the old treasures, How we dream of the old pleasures Of the golden happy days long gone; How we peer into the future — ! The grand mirage of the future!— \ For the treasures and pleasures com- ing on. ^fllbxtt %tx sflJammg Said From "Josh's Questions." Did yew ever unexpected come back home tew stay a spell, And tew eat of mother's cookin' and tew see the folks, and — well, It sorty teched ye, didn't it, when yer mammy said, "My boy!" The tears a kindy shinin' in her eyes fer very joy? 20 bill's SrlrtroTma^m INTRODUCTION Bill was a diamond in the rough, Made of the proper kind of stuff, But lacked the lustre and the sheen That in the polished gem is seen. Absorbed he had been heretofore With work afield and barnyard chore; To plow and sow, to reap and mow, To plant things and see them grow, Not only grasses, corn and grain, But garden truck, and sugar cane, And every kind of vine and root, And trees for shade, or looks or fruit, To him were life and joy and pride Above all other things beside. The care of horses, cattle, swine, From common grades to breeding fine, And rural tasks of every kind, Day in, day out, engaged his mind; An occupation noble, good, And one that builds up hardihood, And makes man a manlier man, (Has done so since the world began), But if the worker in the fields Lacks culture that the schoolroom yields, Lacks mingling with his fellow men, His lonely, plodding toil will then Leave him without the grace he needs When lover's cause forsooth he pleads; Especially when Cupid's dart Has hit him squarely in the heart From eyes refined and smiles that twine Round lips of learned maiden fine. From circumstances when a lad, Bill's early education had Been spare indeed, and only such As gave to him the smallest clutch On ways polite and gentle speech, And left them mostly out of reach. But a new dawn upon him shone, A morning fair, with rare ozone 21 Refreshing all the atmosphere, And bringing new ambitions near To Bill, wide opening his eyes To scenes, as 't were, in paradise; For see! we here him amply tell His married sister, Anabel/ Who has just arrived by wheel and hoof For a visit 'neath the old home roof, His great love for the good and fair School teacher who has been boarding there. BILL'S EULOGY Sis, the nicest gal on the girth Of this great old whirlin' earth, Is Miss Van Dyke, And I jest feel manly like When she's around — Feel bound To brace up and strike out, Be somebody and rustle about! Why! though I didn't know the work, I run for town clerk, Jest to please her, and got elected, Which was more than I expected. Jim Moore Was the clerk before, And he could write Nuff sight Better'n me, But she Helped me with the books, So that their their gin'ral looks Was improved quite a bit, And Jim, he nigh had a fit. Sis, upon my word, She doesn't look stronger than a bird, And when she came to teach our school, One that bucked agin every rule, And had teachers round about All of 'em purty well scart out, Folks allowed That the rantankerous crowd Of urchins would play Havoc with her very first day; 22 But she didn't have no trouble, Though the attendance it was double. Y'see, the news had gotten out That her certif'cate was first-class, And they had come from far about, But every lad and lass, Even tough young Bud McBrewer, First thing sorty took right to her, And they're all a learnin' fast, Twict as much as in the past. Her strength lays in her heart, And in the edicatn' art She's jest invincible, For she know's every principle, Got them all into her head And knows how youngsters should be led. When she came here to board, I said, "Mother, I'll eat out in the shed; I'm too rough and humly To set at the table with so comely A little gal as that — I am, or I'll swaller my hat." But schoolma'am said she'd go, If I kept on actin' so, Which was the reason why, That, by and by, I brushed up slick and good, Combed my ha'r as fine's I could, And went in and set down to the table, And did the best that I was able To be jest right and proper, But I blushed as red as copper, While the blood it pricked and ting- led in my skelp, The which I couldn't help; But I soon forgot my fright, She was so amiable and perlite, And we got acquainted right away, Thar, actually, or I'll eat hay. Friday nights I took her home, Down the river road, by Eagle Dome, And Monday mornin's brought her back, With sorrel geldin's, that have paced the track, And can take buggy or cutter over 23 the road In a three minute clip, with two for a load. When other company wasn't here, We've read and visited under tho cheer Of the hangin' lamp in the settin' room, Night after night, in the winter time, Till the hall clock struck the mid- night chime — ■ I could stay with her there till the day of doom! Many's the things I've learnt of her, Of people and countries near and fer; Many of the stars I know by name, And nigh every animal, wild and tame And of plants, insects, and microbes, too, A thousand and one things I never knew, Till she, bless her heart, came here to board; But Sis, old pard, I'll jest be floored If even she can help me out In the awful grammar you know about; And in manners grand, and etti- quette, Things like them, I hain't got 'em yet. Is she purty? Well, I should say! Purty as the break of day! Why, her hands is jest like lillies, and her eyes, They are pictures from the skies — And them teeth! You should see 'em shine beneath Her lips, when they're slightly part- ed, Jest when a smile has started On that face that Heaven lent her, Face fashioned by some inventer 'Mong God's angels up above — W'y Sis, 'twould make you love Every inch of her. 'Mazin' grace! But she has the sweetest face Ever I see; Hear me? 24 And them little feet of her'n, They jest make me yearn To hold 'em in my hands, They are so cunnin* — Joshua! but they are stunnin'! Don't see how she stands So handy On sich dainty bits of candy As them feet! Is she neat Bless you, yes! j .-•. And the bewitchin'est dress That ever was, she wore Last Sunday; you'd a swore That she jest floated like a fay In it, 'stead of walkin'; it's a way She has that makes her seem Like somethin' seen in a dream One has had, but don't jest recollect, 'Cept the lingerin* nice effect. Job and Moses! She jest moves in flounces, lace and roses, Like they was air and she a spirit — I can't describe it nor come near it. And grit! Say I haven't told you yit, Bless her soul! How she pulled me from the hole Down in "Wolf Creek pond last winter; Sis, I can't begin ter Tell in a likely way about it, But mustn't 'tempt to pass without it. We'd been out fer a skate, And 'twas gittin 'kindy late, For the supper bell had rung, And our skates jest sung As we came around the bend Down at the end Of Catamount Holler, when zip! I made a slip, Somehow, and like a chunk Came down kerplunk Whar the ice was thin, And it broke and let us In. I tell you it wasn't no joke a goin' under, 25 And the broken ice a punchin' And a munchin' and a crunchin' In the water, makin' thunder Round our ears! Fears? I had a thousand, but they was for for the girl, And when we went down in the whirl, Thinks I She '11 die In this awful muss, But no use to make a fuss, And when we arose, Soaked, chokin' and almost froze, I jest grabbed her to my breast, And did my level best To help her out onto safe ice, Which I did, soon and nice; But the effort made me sink, And when agin I heard the clink Of the ice above my head, I said, Bill, this time You're dead; But once more I riz up to the top And managed thar to stop, But I couldn't get no hold On the ice, I was so cold. I was so numb and weak That I could'nt hardly speak, But I managed some how thar To ask the gal to say a prar, For she's a prime Christian, if I do say, And a ust to prayin' — every day; But in the Bible she had read That faith without works is dead, And afore I knew what she was doin', 'Stid o' screamin' or boohooin' As some would've done, She took a little run, And yanked a rail from the fence, And with stiddy common sence, Hooked the end that had the nail Firmly onto my coattail, Braced with her skate heels in the ice, Pulled, and in a trice I was out, 26 On my feet, Slick and neat, Both of us enroute For the house, Soaked and drippin* from the douse. Wish I was handsome and a scholar; I'd give every dollar I've got, On the spot, If I wan't so rough, Mainly, And ungainly; If I was refined enough I could talk to Miss Van Dyke Handy like 'Bout the angels and sich things, 'Bout fairies and their golden wings, 'Bout the moon and glowin' sunsets, and, Silver clouds and mountains grand, And flowery dells and shady nooks, And all the purty things that poets tell of in their books. Stid of bein' a bashful dunce, I'd go at once, And in the eloquentest purty talk, Without a balk, I'd explain how I feel, Bring it woe or bring it weal. But you and me, Y'see, Didn't have the chance some has had, For when you was a slight miss and me a lad, You know how father died, And how we tried To help mother lift the mortgage from the farm, And keep the younger ones from harm, And how the mortgage it was paid From the money that we made, Workin', stayin' home from school, But makin' it the rule That the little tads must go; Now Dick and Joe Are both at the varsity Makin' up for the scarcity 27 Of learnin' in the family group, And may they never have to stoop, But keep a goin' up and up, Till they can drink from Learnin's highest cup. I'm proud of them boys! They're no toys, But strong limbed, stiddy headed. big hearted Lads, and I'm glad we started Them as we did. Mother is so proud That she has many times allowed That father couldn't have done bet- ter By 'em anyhow, Even if he'd lived till now, For we've carried out the letter Of his wishes as he told 'em fore he died. Now thar's 'nough for mother and plenty to divide, And, Sis, I've jest a notion to Leave the farm with Uncle Lou, Take a little breathin' spell, And jump into learnin' — pell mell! Sis, tain't too late, Is it, at the age of twenty-eight? "Wish Miss Van Dyke could love me, But she kindy feels above me, Bein' learned and refined — Say! Sis, it's an awful grind To be ignorant and awkard, and to know That one's drawbacks they all show When one gits into a crowd Where the people they are proud Of their wealth, fine clothes, their handy talk, And easy manners, without a balk. But I'm bound To quit a crawlin' on the ground, So to speak, And I'm a goin' next week Away to school, to study up a little, And if I can whittle Away at books with good success, I guess I'll study to be a doctor, or a — preacher, For I'm a goin to reach, her, I vum! jest as sure as never fail — If I have to go through Yale. THE HAPPY OUTCOME Somebody in the hammock swung, Outside the window, where it hung Beneath the maple's dappled shade, And every jesture that Bill made Was seen by her, and every word He spoke, with raptured heart she heard. A noble little women she, Who entered in right heartily To William's plans to drill his mind, And higher fields in life to find, But, ah! she was a pilot, too, A wiser one than me or you. She safely steered him past the shoals Where wrecked have been ten thous- and souls Who yearned to wear a cleric's gown, Or lead the medics of the town, Or be admitted to the bar, Or musically pose, a star; Professions that are overdone, Aspired to by every one, Or there about, who strives to climb Atop of learned heights sublime. A farmer he, already skilled, Foundation good on which to build An education high and grand, Much needed in this granger land. Why spoil a farmer true and sound, Possessing knowledge only found In contact with the simple life, By crowding him into the strife Ignoble that abounds among M. D.'s and Clergy, old and young? So Miss "Van Dyke and Dick and Joe Persuaded Bill straightway to go To a school of agriculture that 29 Would put him where he should he at; And after study, long and deep, And scientific stunt a heap Experiments in fields and stalls, And four long years in learning's halls, Some travel and experience That you and I would call immense, Friend William he became renown- ed, The very best that could be found, In scientific husbandry, Adept and capable, you see. His services are in demand All over our beloved land, E'en to the islands of the sea, As expert in agronomy, And all its allied sciences, And their varied appliances. We call him now "Professor Bill," And cheer him with a hearty will; He has an angel at his side — The little schoolma'am is his bride. 3Ug HmTrtzA Falter From "Josh's Questions." Did yew ever at the depot look around with homesick twang A "pickin' at yer heartstrings, no one thar t' meet ye? — bang! A slap upon yer shoulder nearly bruk yer shoulder blade! Yew looked up, and it was father, come with "Doll" and "Sorrel Maid." And the old man, not much at talkin', grasped yew warmly by the hand, So glad tew see ye he forgot the words of welcome he had planned, And in a ketchy voice said only, as he helped ye o'er the wheel, "Ma jest dotes on your home comin', ah, how good it makes her feell" 80 Farmer %mxt& nni th* (Exrottirg griitur Wife and me — her name is Sarah — We live jest out on North Pa-rairie, On the purtiest quarter section That ever showed a green complexion When the skies of June was open And the winds of spring was lopin' Over medder, glebe and field, Prophesyin' of the yield Soon tew come in plenitude Of succulant and gracious food; On the purtiest lay of land That ever showed a golden stand Of grain jest ripe and fit fur cuttin' — That farm, sir, it jest takes the mutton. We lived there fur twenty year, It was that or mighty near, Afore we paid any 'tention That is suitable fur mention 'Bout takin' of the hum newspaper; I say, sir, 'twant the proper caper, But many folks dew jest the same, Borrowin' papers is their game; No boosters, they, by the eternal! Them that borrows the local journal— I see it now plain as a mountain, And it goes without the countin'. Wife and me we started small, We didn't have nothin' at all, When we j'ned hands, so we fell tew skimpin', And got along kindy lame and limpin', And kindy got intew the habit When we could git a thing tew grab it, Until by savin' and by schemin' We fetched tewgether a beseemin' Comf 'table little livin', Always gettin', never givin', 'Cept tew send our boys tew college Fur tew brush 'em up in knowledge, And our gal, Almeda (bless her heart!), She was expensive from the start: But that don't count, we must allow, Fur they was ours anyhow. ^Boof? J\arg J SUMNER BOOSTER JINGLES By Homer P. Branch There's pleasure in the air For summer days are fair In Sumner, And maidens' hearts are true, If their eyes be dark or blue, — Tis the place for me and you, In Sumner. You will find a busy place With content on every face, In Sumner; Here with welcome you are met, Here prosperity you get — You will like it in "our set," In Sumner. You see fairy gardens bloom And inhale their sweet perfume In Sumner; Here the streets are always clean, Here the folks are never mean, And ugly women are not seen In Sumner. We tender you a health resort, One of the right kind of sort, In Sumner; You get the peachbloom on your cheek, And sprightly grow from week to week, We have the spot for which you seek, In Sumner. Now, listen, folks! here is, forsooth, The long, long sought for fonnt of youth, In Sumner; The waters from our deep town well Make grandpa prance like a gazelle And grandma look like a village belle, In Sumner. Supplement to "Stories in Rhyme by Uncle Ho." 1912 ^o^J^J IOWA BOOSTER JINGLES By Homer P. Branch Seek ye the fabled fount of youth? We have it here, right sure, forsooth. In Iowa; Just start the windmill, use the pump, Drink, and your pulse begins to jump; Old and lean grow young and plump, In Iowa. This is the land of corn and wine! I tell you what! we're feeling fine In Iowa; We raise the bumpest bumper oats, The sleekest steers, the fattest shoats, And find it easy to pay notes In Iowa. Seek ye the "star of empire," dear? Seek no farther — it is here, In Iowa; Our educators top the stack. Our politicians leal the pack, We forge ahead, we have the knack, In Iowa. "Where are the fairest of the fair?" Why do you ask? They're everywhere, In Iowa; You have to shut your heart up tight, Just keep it boxed up day and night, Or lose it to come fairy wight, In Iowa. Would you like to gaze on Paradise? Then, look around! Just use your eyes, In Iowa; Our fields abound with stacks of gold, Our hillsides gleam with wealth untold, Gardens of Eden here unfold, In Iowa. Supplement to "Stories in Rhyme by Uncle Ho.'" 1912 31 We bought more land from time tew time, And I was feelin' peert, sublime, And one day in divine September I thought I'd like tew be a member Of the Board of County Dads, sir, And thought the office could be had, sir, Fur I felt jest a little weighty As I'd jest bought another eighty. I didn't like the way things run, Thought they could be better done, Tho't things looked somewhat alarmin' Fur poor fellers that was farmin', Fur the taxes they was high, And the Board didn't seem to try Tew reduce 'em much of any. Well, I thought I'd be one tew many Fur the trickin' county ring, So I took a little swing Out among the politicians Airin' of my new ambitions. Without a thought of circumvention I 'nounced myself fer the convention, And in the paper I expected Tew see my good p'ints all reflected In a editorial lengthy, Praisin' of me full and strengthy; But, by gum! it made me mad Tew see what that dumb paper had: It jest said that "Jones the miser He wants tew run fur supervisor." I jumped intew my one horse wagon, And yew bet, there was no laggin' On the road. We went a pumpin' I kept the old grey mare a jumpin', And drove right tew the printer's place, Swearin' that I would punch his face. There set the editor a writin'— U-g-m! it jest made me feel like fightin'! And says I: "Yew rank old carkas, Yew scalawag, you bleatin' Barkis, What dew yew mean by this here item? Yew don't know beans, not when yew sight 'em'." He didn't act as I expected, He jest looked cool, calm, and collected, And asked mo perlitely tew be seated, 32 Jest as if that I had greeted Him with good day, or howdydew, sir, Instid of actin' like a bruiser. But jest then in bounced a happy Bright young woman, who asked the chappy In the sweetest elocution Fur a little contribution Fur a poor family in distress; I thought of five cents, that or less, But, by Goliah's big brass collar, That chap he handed out a dollar! More'n I had gi'n in all my life, Fact, sir 'twas more'n me and wife Had both together gi'n the needy, We had been so tarnal greedy; I felt as small as new pertaters, Or little runty green termaters. Then came my neighbors, Smith and Johnson And my nephew, Billy Bronson, Tew pay up their subscription, And they most had a conniption Tellin' how they liked the journal, Sayin' it was jest supernal, Full of news, right tew the p'int, Complete and seldom out of ji'nt. An old man, kind faced and grey headed, Whose winsome daughter had jest been wedded, Called and thanked that Mister Printer — Well, sir, fact, sir, I can't begin ter Tell how nice that old man talked As around the floor he walked, Thankin' the scribbler good and fittin' Fur the fine piece that he had written. Well, then a man cameain^with copy Fur an advertisement big and whoppy, Said he wanted half a page, And wanted said space to engage Fur sixgmonths and maybe more Fur his double-breasted store; And he said he laid his risin' In the world tew advertisin' — Said ho oouldn't thrive without it, And that was all there was about it, Then in rushed a flock of childr'n, Noisy, jolly and bewild'r'n', With a big bouquet of roses, Smellin' it with their little noses, And after the editor had 'risen To greet 'em, they told him itwashis'n; He said a kiss must be the pay, And they run laughin'ly away. Then he turned tew talk tew me, But in walked a commit-tee, Of merchants, bankers, money loaners. Labor in' fellers and property owners, Tew git the editor tew agree Tew dew a little puffin' (free) 'Bout a new factory tew be started. And he j'ined in with a good hearted Ready will that was elatin, ' And they went on without abatin', Talkin' up the shapes and sizes Of all sorts of enterprises, And all j'ined in the same conclusion That advertisin' was no delusion; That the paper had helped the town, All around and up and down, They talked there fur half an hour 'Bout the newspaper and the power Of good that it was always doin, ' Say in' that utter blank and ruin, Beyend all hopes fur tew repair, Would befall if it wan't there. Next tew come in was a good lookin' Sweet-faced woman, with a book in Her hand — it was a Bible — A little red-bound, thumb- worn Bible! She opened tew a blank leaf fair, With childish comments written there. He read, and tears came in his eyes, sir: "I love this book, it makes me wiser, I also love our local paper May be better," signed "Lilly Draper." Since writtin' that the child had died, Had gone over on the other side; Of the earthly ties now broken, The editor had spoken In the warmest hearted words, sir, That anybody ever heard, sir, And of her winsome girlhood graces, And of tho love that interlaced Earthly hocrts with those up yonder 36 Neighbors that we long had slighted, And many's the wrong that we have righted. Folks quit callin' of me a miser, And now I'm County Supervisor, And the editor he's our frien' sir, He is one of the best of men, sir, When you come to know him well, Though at his work, goin' pell mell, Hewin' right straight close tew the line, He is apt to make yew whine When a big chip of truthful blame Flies and hits yew where yew 're lame. Like others he may have his failin's, But don't yew try to give him whailin's; If yew want to win him over, Turn him loose into the clover Of your good and kindly graces And yew will taste him in the places Where he is jest as sweet and meller, Fact, sir, as any other feller. %inti Harris An angel-serenade To hearts that are broken Is" the gentle love-raid Of words kindly spoken. is ^Hxrritr From "Josh's Questions." Did yew everypass^the schewl house jest as schewl was out, ye know, Take the schewlma'am in yer buggy, and then let "Old Fanny" go, And drive four miles while talkin' tew the best schewlma'am on earth 'Fore yew druv back tew where she boarded? Then yew know what lifo is worth. - 8T 'Vxmx'xz Htfiurr nf itiE Vznxus On the prairies of the sunset, By a clear and sparkling river, By the River of Big Fishes, Little Sioux, the white men named it, Lived the maiden, Prairie Flower, In the lodge of Beak, her father, In the old chief, Grey Wolf's village, Long before the paleface trespassed On the virgin western prairies. Eyes that twinkled like the star- beams, Tresses black and silken, flowing Like the drooping wings of angels, Fingers like the touch of morning As it lifts the waking eyelids, Feet that trod the velvet grasses Like the breathing of a spirit, Voice as sweet and softly charming As the birdnotes of the daybreak; Thus was blessed the good Beak's daughter, And her features and her figure Were so comely that the Poncas Fondly named her Prairie Flower. Loved was she by all the people, Young and old, both male and fe- male, Warriors grave and prattling child- ren, And she loved the world she lived in, Loved her kindred and her neigh- bors, Loved the broad and pretty prairies, Loved the wigwams of her village, Loved the sky that hung above her, Loved the daylight and the darkness, All the wild delights she noted, Pets to her all beasts and birds were; And the "ha ha" of the river As it babbled o'er the ripples, And the note of lonely plover, Nervous yelping of the gray wolf Solitary in the distance, And the night-hawk's plaintive whistle, Gutt'ral call of lonesome ground owl 88 Answered faintly by the echoes, And the trebble of the frog notes, And their tenor, bass and alto, Coming from the sloughs and river, Were to her a pleasant chorus, Filling every night with music. Let us look now for a moment At the country of the Poncas; Let us look upon the beauty Of the land of Prairie Flower. Broad and rolling was the prairie, Green it was in happy June time, Smiling 'neath the summer sun- beams. On the mounds and sloping hill- sides, On the levels and the ridges, Roamed antelope and wild horses, Roamed the buffalo and roebuck, And big deer with spreading ant- lers, Grazing all the joyous summer. On the uplands in the morning Crowed the strutting prairie roost- er, Proudly crowed and musically, Underneath the blue joint grasses On mounds built by pocket gophers, And the hens and younger chickens Looked with pride upon his glory. Roamed the large game o'er the prairie, Unmolested by the Indians, Only when for food they hunted For the frigid days of winter, As they lived on small game mostly, In the hot months of the summer, When venison and beef would sour If at once they were not eaten; And the small game, which was plenty, Could be taken just as needed. Here and there a slough pond nes- tled, Where the muskrat, coy and simple, Built his house of reeds and rushes, Shapen like a haycock built it, With its base down in the water, 30 And its rounded top erected With a snug nest fixed within it, Just a step up from the water. Some ponds, larger than the others, Had an open space of water In the center where the rushes Could not grow in the deep water, Where the mallard, teal and whistler Passed the days in constant swim- ming, Catching frogs, tadpoles and min- nows, Now and then on sweetflag dining; And the snipe and plover waded In the shallows of these duck ponds Where the moss and water grasses Made the footing soft and springy. Through a bottom wide and level In a winding course the river Laughed and prattled over rapids; Here and there in pools it rested, Where a sharp bend, called a pocket, Checked the water's onward prog- ress, Or where beaver had cut willows From the river's willowed margin And dammed up the rushing water, So their little ones could paddle Without danger from the current. In the freshet flow of springtime, In the time of the high water, Came the muskalunge and catfish, Came the buffalo and sturgeon, And the bass and pike and redhorse, From the great Missouri river, From the turbulent Big Muddy, Seeking in great schools the shal- lows Of the brooklike upper waters, Ere the spawning season opened, And were captured in great numbers As they struggled up the rapids. Mink and otter, ducks and wild geese, Game of water, birds of passage, Nested there in great profusion, So that feathers, meat and peltries Of the finer sorts were plenty, Making all the Poncas happy. 40 On the prairie's round abutment, Which walled in the river bottom With a line abrupt, distinctive, Boldly marking upland edges, Groves of poplar and of basswood Could be seen occasionally, Saved by some good freak of nature From the yearly prairie fires — Camping places goodly sheltered From the biting winds of winter And the fierce sunrays of summer. Like a harmony of nature Was the undulating prairie, Reaching off to kiss the mirage Of the glimmering horizon, And the simple, rugged Poncas, Without luxuries or riches, Without statesmanship or logic, Lived in tribal peace and plenty, Thankful to the Ghost of Heaven. All were happy but Big Antlers, Gray Wolf's son, pride of the Pon- cas. Antlers loved the Prairie Flower, But he awkward was before her, Awkward was before all women, And he moaned about his passion, Had the will but not the courage To propose to Prairie Flower, Brooding o'er his love in silence. Could a woman with such graces That the chiefs of other nations Came to look upon her beauty, Love an awkward man like Antlers? Could a girl like Prairie Flower, With a voice like unto angels, And a tender ear for music, And a heart that made a playmate Of every helpless little creature, Love a rough man like Big Antlers? Ah, but no one knows a woman, With herself she's not acquainted; Long the dainty Prairie Flower Had admired awkward Antlers, But she neither spoke nor looked it, And he daily went despairing, Until the Omahas one day Appeared near unto the village, With a warwhoop and a challenge i 41 That sent the old war blood to coursing Through the veins of every Ponca. Rushed the braves unto their weap- ons, Donned their warpaint and their feathers, And by brave Big Antlers headed Were about to meet the foemen, When Big Antlers, in his war dress, Felt a slight form clinging to him, Heard a sweet-toned voice implor- ing That he rush not into danger — 'Twas the form of his sweet angel, 'Twas the voice of Prairie Flower. Proud and happy was Big Antlers, And with words assuring left her And led out the Ponca forces; With strong heart he charged the foemen Who had come to cause disturbance And bring sorrow to his village. Fled the Omahas before him He came at them with such ardor, And the victory completed, Back came Antlers and his brave men. All his awkwardness had left him, And he made the maiden happy, And himself made happy also, On the prairies of the sunset, By the River of Big Fishes, By the clear and sparkling river, Little Sioux, pale faces call it. ^CXXtett &bx SwiBBtlg Said "(Emrce in" From "Josh's Questions." Did yew ever meet yer sweetheart on the farmhouse steps, as she Came out a smilin', anxious like, yet a little bashfully, And yew follered, heart a thumpin', as she sweetly said, "Come in;" V. r hile her mammy spoke a welcome, and her daddy shuk yer fln? 42 %u%\Cs ©Id Oaken Sam buck How frought with dear scenes are the days of my childhood When memory's phantom brings them in to view, The swim hole and fish pond away down in the wildwood, Resortin' tew which I ne'er could eschew; The wide-spreadin' green where we pastured Old Brindle, Our kind-eye old bossie, whose milk was as sweet As the thoughts that a fellow's first love letters kindle; But tew offset said charms was that awful old cheat, Our old oaken sawbuck, our rickety sawbusk, Our X Y Z sawbuck, with its loose, wabbly feet. That battle-scarred relic I hailed with displeasure When grieved tew the heart I was called from my play Tew contend with the woodpile's hard high-corded treasure, At morning, at night, in the heat of the day, Or when in the winter the wild- roaring blizzard Sawed away at the air in demoniac glee, Then I got — 'tis no dream — just as mad as a lizzard, And in angry rebellion I wanted tew flee From that old oaken sawbuck, that rickety sawbuck, That X Y Z sawbuck, yew bet, yes- sir-ree! I fondly remember when I was a youngster How I loved tew go down tew the old poplar grove And visit Dame Nature, dear heart, there amongst her 43 Wild flowers and vines and around there to rove With chipmunks and squirrels and other wee creatures, Until I was called tew the woodpile again, That bane of my childhood's else- wise happy features, With its sawbuck that filled my young life with pain; The old oaken sawbuck, the rickety sawbuck, The X Y Z sawbuck that made me complain. In those boyhood days I used tew play marbles, Gather in draggon flies and other bugs, And whistle like skylark that joyous- ly warbles As its small heart into the heaven it lugs; I used tew climb trees, and ride the grey pony, And wade in the streamlet that flowed from the spring, And clamber the hillsides with Billy, my crony, Until choretime, which ever was sure to bring The old oaken sawbuck, the rickety sawbuck, The X Y Z sawbuck, which was still in the ring. That sawbuck stands out like an aw- ful excrescence From the frolics and joys of my sweet boyhood days, For right in the midst of the grand efflorescence Of memories happy like a griffin it stays, For whether I played with the boys at a neighbors', Or with the wee girlies coquetted awhile, I was called back, O sure, tew my onerous labors 44 With the dull ax and saw on that hated woodpile, And the old oaken sawbuck, the rickety sawbuck, The X Y Z sawbuck that filled me with guile. Since those days of old I've toiled and I've wandered, Been in beautiful places and some that were drear, Have earned lots of cash and con- sid'able of it squandered, Dewrin' my tame, uneventful career; But whether in woodland or out on the prairie, Whether up north or in warm south- ern clime, In the land of the canebrake or the buffalo berry, In a region of swamps or in lands dry as lime, The old oaken sawbuck, the rickety sawbuck, The X Y Z sawbuck, it was there ev- ery time. Yes, dear tew my heart are the days of my childhood, As they sometimes saunter around in tew view, With their jam and preserves made of fruit from the wildwood — And the cookies and doughnuts my infancy knew — But my! oh my! can't I ever forget it? The wretched old sawbuck, always out of repair, Still in fancy appears just where I first met it, And when in my dreams I have the nightmare, Old oaken sawbucks, old rickety sawbucks, Old X Y Z sawbucks, loom up every- where! 46 ^g yitt* TOrpsiz's Stxtum They may talk about great mountains, capped with eternal snows, About fair southern valleys, where the sweet magnolia grows, Niagara Falls, and Mammoth Cave, or rapids, lakes aud seas, About cold Arctic splendors, or the California breeze, But give me a day of leisure, and a chance to stroll and dream In peerless, grand old Iowa, by Little Wapsie's Stream. The world is full of beauty and I've often wished to stand By Afric's golden river or on India's coral strand, Or see old France or Italy, or climb the Matterhorn, Or walk the streets of Bethlehem where the Son of Man was born, But to travel is denied me — yet I can stroll and dream 'Neath the blue sides of Iowa, by Little Wapsie's Stream. There's nothing quite so pretty as the beauty that one sees When the blossoms hang in glory on the wild crabapple trees, Or the goldenrod glows richly from the banks along the road. Or the cornfields are in tassel, or the meadows being mowed, Or when startled bob-whites fly up from the pathway's sunny gleam, In summer-sweetened Iowa, by Little Wapsio's Stream. They may talk about the moonlight on the ocean wild and deep, Or about the gentle breezes that through the pine woods creep, But for mo the cauipfire's comfort, where the embors, glowing red, Now and then send stray sparks upward through the oak boughs overhead, j And the darkness settles round about* 46 and quiet reigns supreme Beneath the dappled, moonlit clouds, by Little Wapsie's Stream. For me a tent or wigwam on a hot night in July Or a "sleep" out in the open, under- neath the summer sky, With the hoot-owl scolding sleepily the saucy whippoorwill, And a loan wolf, far out, howling, now, and then, until Silence comes, and wrapped in thought I fall asleep and dream Of shadows, stars, and wild wood sounds by Little Wapsie's Stream. For me a story telling group around the campfire's glow, With tales of prowess, fairy lore, Indian fights, and so, And recollections of the past, and frolics of the young, With here and there a pun or joke just at the right time sprung, Till time to "turn in," or to sleep in open air, and dream The jolly stories o'er again, by Little Wapsie's Stream. For me, the chipmunk's caper and the twitter of the birds, And the tinkle of the cowbells out among the pasture herds, And the rustle of the maple leaves atremhle overhead, And the murmur of the ripples in the narrow river bed, Sunlight dimpling through the elms like pictures in a dream, And over all the clear blue sky, by Little Wapsie's Stream. For me a picnic in the woods beneath the grateful shade, With luncheon, good and ample, spread out upon the glade, And, round about, a bunch of romping, shouting girls and boys, And lovers passing to and fro, eyes speaking untold joys, 47 And elders talking cheerily on every sort of theme, In glorious old Iowa, by Littlo Wapsio's Stream. Many a romance has sprung from Little Wapsie's shade, Many a stalwart swain has won the love of winsome maid, Many a winsome maid has snared the heart of stalwart swain, "While strolling down the woodland paths where flowers and wildbirds reign. These kindred souls, where'er they be, O how they fondly dream Of happy days in Iowa, by Littlo Wapsie's Stream. Did you ever take a plunge bath in the sand- rimmed swimming hole? Did you ever wade the shallows, filled with glee your boyish soul? Did you ever cast a hook and line for bullhead or for pike, From bridge or bank or bar or stump? Ah, it was something like! Now wasn't it? Ah, something like! And don't you sometimes dream Of those golden days in Iowa, by Little Wapsie's Stream? Did you ever gather hickory nuts or hunt the cotton-tail, Dig for woodchucks, climb for squirrels, or scare the timid quail, Drown out gophers, or get lost, when but a half grown lad? Did you explore the underbush, and scamper free and glad Along the cowpaths through the woods, and look and think and dream Such dreams as boyhood only can, by Littlo Wapsie's stream? Then I envy you your memories, for I have only seen The sylvan beauty thereabout, the gold, the red and green The groves and pools, the sward, the banks, through eyes of the adults JAN 3 1913 48 With less" than half the pleasure that to youthtide would result; But ne'ertheless, my hearty, I can stroll down there and dream A poet's dream in Iowa, by Little Wapsio'a stream. Ws TOW Hb Hfe I maintain as a nil© Man's a fool; Always in a stew and fret, When it's dry he wants it wet, When it's wet he wants it dry, Setting up a big ki-yi; When it's hot he wants it cool. When it's cool he wants it hot, Always wanting what it is not; I maintain as a nils, Man's a fooL O when we are picnickin', '.••/• Tis joy to hear, The right good cheer Of knives and forks a khckin' Mongst pies and cakes and chicken. Love Is a sweet and radiant flower That holds our senses for many an houx Enthralled within its bewitching power. ^tckitt' (terries From "Josh's Questions." Did yew ever play at forfeits at a party out of town, Fire crackin' in the wood stove, outside snow a comin' down. And yew paid yer forfeit, blushin', "pickin' cherries" with a girl That was so tarnal pretty that she set yer heart awhirl? 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Stories -in Rhyme "Uncle Ho" Homer P. Branch A SOUVENIR OF SUMNER, IOWA Seek ye the -star of empire," dear? Seek no further it is here, In Iowa: Our educators top the stark. Our politicians lead the pack. We forge ahead, we have the knack. In Iowa. —Uncle Ho. The Des Moines "Register and Leader" says that Mr. Branch has written more nice things about Iowa than has any other poet about any locality. This is the land of corn and wine! 1 tell you what' we're feeling fine In Iowa: We raise the lmmpest bumper oats. The sleekest steers, the fattest shoats. And rind it easy to pay notes In Iowa. — Uncle Ho Uncle Ho's "Entertainment" is Unique HOMER P. BRANCH is an Iowa country editor who for a quarter of a cen- tury has been writing "booster poetry" of great merit for the Hawkeye state. The several papers he has edited have contained thousands of lines of "rhymed glory" about the excellencies of Iowa. In addition to his booster jingles, Mr. Branch has from time to time written rhymed stories of a kind peculiar to himself, and published them in his own paper. These are full of heart=throb, depicting scenes of interesting every day life. Droll, beautiful, pure, strong, intensely human, are the various characters portrayed. No one ever forgets big hearted, brave "Cowboy Jack," or neighborly, droll "Josh," or the experiences of "Farmer Jones," or the sweet and beautiful Indian girl "Prairie Flower," or her brave but awkward lover "Big Antlers," or tragic old "Puckawatamie;" and to know "Bill" and his "little schoolma'am" is to have acquaintances who grow into your friendship and get a grip on your heartstrings like the best of your own kin. Mr. Branch delivers these stories in a voice that is as musical as the ripple of his rhymes, with the compelling force and thrill of a skilled actor, and the winning manner of a born story teller. Not a dry minute in his program. Time flies. You forget about everything but the people and their doings in the story being told. SOUTHERNERS LIKE "UNCLE HO" lf „ „ _ Rustburg, Vol., April 25. 1912 Jn: ( . />. Cunningham, Sec'// Retail business Men's Assn. Farmville, I a. Drur Sir: II, >n. Homer /'. Branch, of Iowa., the noted port mid essayist, who trill /,<■ with you tomorrow night, gave us u delightful occasion at School Fair Hull last evening, ,n dramatic readings from Ins lyrics and rhymed stories, for the benefit o/ the School Fair. His verse abounds with human interest, ably com- posed, and of true port i, - spirit. We were especially pleased with his "Bill's bchoolmaam and Farmer Jones and the Country Editor." You will find I, mi u I that Mr. LaBaume has promised. ''Uncle Ho" is a charming per- sonality, whose return to Rustburg at any time will be greeted with u cordial welcome. Yours huh,. S. C. GOGGIJV, ('I iik Campbell County. LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 018 603 552 5 «