ARTIST AND PEASANT. "I wish, Mr. Painter, a picter— So joyous she held up thet hand, sir, Sayin', 'Papa, I've dot 'oo some f'owers!' "I think, my good man, I can do it, "What! bring her 'round here? Why, I can't, sir! She lies with flowers clasped to her breastClasped loose, in that little dead hand, sir, The way we have laid her to rest; We thought p'r'aps ye might easy do it, Well-a-day! there are things we would have, sir, Fannie L. Fancher. MARSE PHIL. Well, well, you is Marse Phil's son-yo' favor 'm might'ly too; We wuz like brothers, we wuz-me an' him; You tried to fool d' ole nigger, but marster, 'twould n' do Not ef you is done growed so tall an' slim. Hi! Lord! I'se knowed you, honey, sence long befo' you born I mean I'se knowed be fambly dat long; An' dee's all white-folks, marster, dee hands white as young corn; An' ef dee want to—could n' do no wrong. You' gran'pa buyed my mammy at Gen'l Nelson's sale; An' Deely she come out de same estate; An' blood is jes like pra'r is, hit tain' gwine nuver fail- Hit's sutney gwine to come out soon or late. When I was born, you' gran'pa gi' me to young Marse Phil, To be his body-servant like, you know; An' we growed up togerr, like two stalks in one hill, Bofe tasslin' an' den shootin' in de row. Marse Phil was born in harves', an' I dat Christmascome, My mammy nussed bofe on we de same time; No matter what one got, suh, de urr one sho git some, We wuz two fibe-cent pieces in one dime. We cotch ole hyahs togerr, an' 'possums, him an' me; We fished dat mill-pawn over night an' day, Rid horses to de water, treed coons up de same tree; An' when you see one, turr warn' fur away. When Marse Phil went to college, 't wuz, "SamSam's got to go "--Ole marster say, "Dat boy's a fool 'bout Sam." Ole Mistis jest say, "Dear, Phil wants him." An', you know, Dat Dear hit use to sooth' him like a lamb. So we all went to college, way down to Williamsbuʼg, An' ef he didn't study dem Latins an' sich things De ladies use' to call him a'" angel widout wings," You see he wuz ole marster's on'y chile-besides, An' wid dat big plantation dee'd all like to be brides, 'Twuz dyah he meet young mistis,--she is you' ma, of co'se! I disremembers now which mont' it wuz; One night he come, an', says he, "Sam, I need new clo'es; " An' I says, "Marse Phil, yes, suh, so you does." Well, suh, he made dat tailor meck ev'ything bran' new; He would n' wear one stitch he had on han' Jes th'owed 'em in de chip-box, an' says, " Sam, dem's for you Marse Phil, I tell you, wuz a gentleman! So Marse Phil cotes de mistis, an' Sam he cotes de maid We al'ays sot we traps upon one parf; [say'd, An' when ole marster hear we bofe was gwine, he "All right; we'll have to kill de fatted calf." An' dat wuz what dee did, suh; de Prodigal was home ; Dee put de ring an' robe upon you' ma; Den you wuz born, young marster, an' den de storm hit come-- An' den de darkness settled from afar. De storm hit comed, an' wrenchted de branches from de tree, De war-you' pa-he's sleep dyah on de hill; An' dough I know, young marster, de war hit sot me free, I jes says, "Yes, but tell me whar's Marse Phil?" "A dollar"-thankee, marster, you sutney is his son; His ve'y spi't-an-image, I declar'! What say, young marster? Yes, suh, you say, it's "fibe, not one." You favors, honey, bofe you' Pa an' Ma! Thomas Nelson Page. A LITTLE MISTAKE. St. Nicholas was resting From his Christmas work at last, The gifts had all been given, The good Saint smoked his honest pipe, A soldier bold, a maiden fair. When you left me in the stocking I've been nursed and kissed and coddled, "Ah!" mused the good St. Nicholas, And he smiled a merry little smile, This doll was given to a boy, And then aloud he gravely said, "I wonder where my soldier is!" Cried gentle little Moll, And Bobby gazing round him sobbed, "Where is my baby-doll?" But though they hunted high and low, The maiden and the soldier bold J. McDermott, in "Youth's Companion.” |