Part 5 (1/2)

Boys takes to it natchurl, and I like to see 'em eat-- A slice of wortermelon's like a frenchharp in theyr hands, And when they ”saw” it through theyr mouth sich music can't be beat-- 'Cause it's music both the sperit and the stummick understands.

Oh, they's more in wortermelons than the purty-colored meat, And the overflowin' sweetness of the worter squshed betwixt

The up'ard and the down'ard motions of a feller's teeth, And it's the taste of ripe old age and juicy childhood mixed.

Fer I never taste a melon but my thoughts flies away To the summertime of youth; and again I see the dawn, And the fadin' afternoon of the long summer day, And the dusk and dew a-fallin', and the night a-comin'

on.

And thare's the corn around us, and the lispin' leaves and trees, And the stars a-peekin' down on us as still as silver mice, And us boys in the wortermelons on our hands and knees, And the new-moon hangin' ore us like a yeller-cored slice.

Oh! it's wortermelon time is a-comin' round again, And they ain't no man a-livin' any tickleder'n me, Fer the way I hanker after wortermelons is a sin-- Which is the why and wharefore, as you can plainly see.

UP AND DOWN OLD BRANDYWINE

Up and down old Brandywine, In the days 'at's past and gone-- With a dad-burn hook-and line And a saplin' pole--swawn!

I've had more fun, to the square Inch, than ever ANYwhere!

Heaven to come can't discount MINE Up and down old Brandywine!

Hain't no sense in WIs.h.i.+N'--yit Wisht to goodness I COULD jes ”Gee” the blame' world round and git Back to that old happiness!-- Kindo' drive back in the shade ”The old Covered Bridge” there laid 'Crosst the crick, and sorto' soak My soul over, hub and spoke!

Honest, now!--it hain't no DREAM 'At I'm wantin',--but THE FAC'S As they wuz; the same old stream, And the same old times, i jacks!-- Gim me back my bare feet--and Stonebruise too!--And scratched and tanned!

And let hottest dog-days s.h.i.+ne Up and down old Brandywine!

In and on betwixt the trees 'Long the banks, pour down yer noon, Kindo' curdled with the breeze And the yallerhammer's tune; And the smokin', chokin' dust O' the turnpike at its wusst-- SAt.u.r.d'YS, say, when it seems Road's jes jammed with country teams!--

Whilse the old town, fur away 'Crosst the hazy pastur'-land, Dozed-like in the heat o' day Peaceful' as a hired hand.

Jolt the gravel th'ough the floor O' the old bridge!--grind and roar With yer blame percession-line-- Up and down old Brandywine!

Souse me and my new straw-hat Off the foot-log!--what _I_ care?-- Fist shoved in the crown o' that-- Like the old Clown ust to wear.

Wouldn't swop it fer a' old Gin-u-wine raal crown o' gold!-- Keep yer KING ef you'll gim me Jes the boy I ust to be!

Spill my fis.h.i.+n'-worms! er steal My best ”goggle-eye!”--but you Can't lay hands on joys I feel Nibblin' like they ust to do!

So, in memory, to-day Same old ripple lips away At my ”cork” and saggin' line, Up and down old Bradywine!

There the logs is, round the hill, Where ”Old Irvin” ust to lift Out sunfish from daylight till Dewfall--'fore he'd leave ”The Drift”

And give US a chance--and then Kindo' fish back home again, Ketchin' 'em jes left and right Where WE hadn't got ”a bite!”

Er, 'way windin' out and in,-- Old path th'ough the iurnweeds And dog-fennel to yer chin-- Then come suddent, th'ough the reeds And cat-tails, smack into where Them--air woods--hogs ust to scare Us clean 'crosst the County-line, Up and down old Brandywine!

But the dim roar o' the dam It 'ud coax us furder still To'rds the old race, slow and ca'm, Slidin' on to Huston's mill-- Where, I'spect, ”The Freeport crowd”

Never WARMED to us er 'lowed We wuz quite so overly Welcome as we aimed to be.

Still it 'peared like ever'thing-- Fur away from home as THERE-- Had more RELISH-like, i jing!-- Fish in stream, er bird in air!