UNCLE JOHN, he makes me tired; Thinks 'at he’s jest so all—fired Smart, 'at he kin pick up, so, Ever’thing he wants to know. Tried to ketch me up last night,

IT’s all a farce, —these tales th… About the breezes sighing, And moans astir o’er field and del… Because the year is dying. Such principles are most absurd, —

Across the hills and down the narr… And up the valley where the free w… The earth is folded in an ermined… That mocks the melting mirth of my… Departed her disheartening duns an…

O LORD, the hard—won miles Have worn my stumbling feet: Oh, soothe me with thy smiles, And make my life complete. The thorns were thick and keen

LITTLE lady at de do’, W’y you stan’ dey knockin’? Nevah seen you ac’ befo’ In er way so shockin’. Don’ you know de sin it is

Ther’ ain’t no use in all this str… An’ hurryin’, pell—mell, right thr… I don’t believe in goin’ too fast To see what kind o’ road you’ve pa… It ain’t no mortal kind o’ good,

'TWAS three an’ thirty year ago, I When I was ruther young, you kn… I had my last an’ only fight About a gal one summer night. 'Twas me an’ Zekel Johnson; Zeke

IN de dead of night I sometimes, Git to t’inkin’ of de pas’ An’ de days w’en slavery helt me In my mis’ry —ha’d an’ fas’. Dough de time was mighty tryin’,

How shall I woo thee to win thee,… Say in what tongue shall I tell o… I who was fearless so timid have g… All that was eagle has turned into… The path from the meadow that lead…

When a woman looks up at you with… And her brows are half uplifted in… As you breathe some pretty sentenc… She is very apt to stun you with a… It’s a sublte combination of a sne…

Ashes to ashes, dust unto dust, What of his loving, what of his lu… What of his passion, what of his p… What of his poverty, what of his p… Earth, the great mother, has calle…

COVER him over with daisies whit… And eke with the poppies red, Sit with me here by his couch to—n… For the First—Born, Love, is dea… Poor little fellow, he seemed so f…

DE dog go howlin’ 'long de road, De night come shiverin’ down; My back is tiahed of its load, I cain’t be fu’ f’om town. No mattah ef de way is long,

Not they who soar, but they who pl… Their rugged way, unhelped, to Go… Are heroes; they who higher fare, And, flying, fan the upper air, Miss all the toil that hugs the so…

Bedtime 's come fu’ little boys. Po’ little lamb. Too tiahed out to make a noise, Po’ little lamb. You gwine t’ have to—morrer sho’?