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The Commoner.
OCTOBER 14, 1910
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- Xjettcrs From Far-Away Friends
Fredonia, Ky., September 22. I
am sending you a copy of u poem I
heard-a' school girl recite more than
twenty years ago. It is entitled "His
Mother's Song," but I do not know
tho author, nor have I over seen the
verses in print. It is a beautiful
poem, and a great favorite of mine.
I would like to see It published in
The Commoner.
- MRS. ROSA HAMILTON.
(The poem in question is pub
lished in another column. W.M.M.)
Deckersville, Mich., September 6.
' Here is a temperance story that
was told from the platform of a
country Sunday school moro than
fifty yearg ago: A woman living In
one of the old cathedral towns of
England was sorely addicted to
drink. Of a Saturday she was often
so drunk that she would be seen on
Sunday morning sleeping off her de
bauch by one of the tombstones in
the churchyard. This became very
annoying to the respectable people
going to church and finally the arch
deacon took means to stop it. Cal
ling the sexton to him he told him
that when the incident occurred
again to take the offending woman
and put her into a certain old vault,
locking tho doors upon her and se
creting himself nearby to take note
of what happened; also giving him
various questions to ask of the of
fending woman. The opportunity
soon came, and the drunken woman
was carried into the vault. After a
time the woman roused up and look
ing about her asked: "Where am
I?" The sexton answered, "You're
dead." "An' how lang hae I bean
dead?" asked the woman. "Two
years," replied the sexton. "An hae
lang hae ye bean dead?" again asked
the woman. "Two years," replied
the sexton. The woman fumbled in
her pockets for a moment and then
said: "Here, Hinney; here's a
shillin'; gang alang an' git some
whusky. Ye ken mair aboot this
place than I dae."
Maybe this demonstrates that
while a man may be cured of the
drink habit a but I forbear.
JACOB TRUMBULL.
Wittenberg, 'IVIs., August 31. I
have no voice for singing, but I like
a good song. I can not tell a story,
but I like to hear one with a point.
'And one of the best I ever heard
was told by Mr. Bryan, it being
about a young lad fresh from college
who got a job in a' lumber camp and
was put on one end. of a cross-cut
saw with an old-timer. After a
while the old-timer paused and said:
"Young man, I don't care how much
you ride on this saw just so you keep
your feet off the ground." The moral
of that story may be applied In a
thousand ways. I would like to have
a copy of a "stump speech" I often
heard recited by a man named Bar
row when wo were working on the
railroad in the early 80's. It began:
"Ladles and felly Sdiggigans I will
now be the undertaker to address you
this evenin', confinin myself to these
points which are already allumlnat-ed.-
I stand here like a pigeon tied
to a rlcket henroost; like a wigwam
shattered and torn; like a shadow In
a bush fence, etc., etc." If any one
can supply me with the complete
address I will be under obligations.
My favorite song Is "Silver Threads
'Among the Gold." I also like
"Kathleen, I'll take you home again,"
"Michael Snyder's Party," "Down on
the Farm," "Tho Shanty Boy," and
"Ben Bolt." Bv JONNESCH.
Chelan, Wash., Soptember 15.
Hero are a couple of stories about
Irishmen the IriBh being never fail
ing subjects for stories. I heard my
father tell tho second one forty years
ago, and tho first one I heard a Pres
byterian minister tell fully as long
ago. These wore days, you know,
when you could find an occasional
Irishman who would indulge in a
dram, and now and then a good old
Scotch Presbyterian minister who
would take a' little tansy bitters for
the stomach's sake. But to tho sto
ries: An Irishman awoke one morn
ing with a thirst, penniless and with
the knowledge that while his credit
might be good for a twopence worth
of crackers it was not good for two
pence worth of whisky. So ho went
into tho grocery and called for the
crackers. They were tied up and
handed to him and he made for tho
door. Suddenly he stopped and said:
"I'd rather have whisky than crack
ers; will you exchange?" Tho grocer
agreed, ffTTd handing tho crackers
back, Pat took his whisky straight.
When he Btarted for tho door tho
grocer said: "You didn't pay me for
the whisky." "I gave you the crack
ers for the whisky," said Pat. "Then
pay for tho crackers," said tho gro
cer. "But I gave you back the
crackers," said Pat. "That's right,"
said tho grocer; and Pat went away
smiling. The other is about an Irish
man who was fooling with a snap
ping turtle and suddenly found his
thumb in the turtle's mouth. After
trying vainly to release his thumb
Pat drew back his clenched fist and
exclaimed: "If yez don't let go me
t'umb I'll knock yez out o' tho box
yo're in." H. B. MILLER.
Webster CUty, la., October 1. I
told you some" time ago I thought the
old times better than the present.
Why? Because everybody was
friendlier, more sociable; people vis
ited more and In general were hap
pier. It is true they did not wear aB
good clothes or smoke as many cigars
or cigarets don't forget the cigarets.
Nor did they ride in such fine car
riages or in automobiles. But for
genuine hospitality they were there
with the goods. Then the winter
night visits after the evening chores
were done. We hitched the team to
tho sled anti hiked over"'to some
neighbor's house and were joyfully
received. After the first excitement
was over the hostess started up the
cookin' stove and say, such a sup
per! Hot biscuits and honey, sas
sidge, coffee, preserves, apple butter
-well, It made us sing like Bob
Bragg, "O, for a thousand tongues,
trad a throat a mile long!" And after
supper the hoBt would get out hi3
fiddle and the way he sawed off the
tunes set every foot to tapping. "Old
Zip Coon," "Arkansaw Traveler,"
"Rye Straw" In those days I want
to tell you the fiddlers played tunes!
Now violinists render music. Then
the old school house meetings. Oh,
what times we used to have! Every
body went no one stayed away on
account of poor clothes. If one had
good clothes he, or she, wore them,
but was no better than the other fel
low. And if a man was there in his
work clothes, why he was not
shunned because df a patch on the
trest end of his pants. Everybody
welcomed everybody and about one
half wont homo with the othor half
for dinner. Then tho old songs
good old tunos that wo all know, and
all could sing and did. Of courso
thoro was no orchestra, pianos or
organs, but for all that wo had plenty
of noise. Thero was no choir, or
beating tho air with a stick, but thero
was always someone to start tho tune
and get thero with It. But for fear
that I am taking too much space for
one Issue, will close for tho proHent,
and if you think this worthy of
space, will finish on (ho old songs
in tho future. O. P. KARR.
Enid, Okla., September 10. Like
inoBt people I would like to seo somo
of my thoughts in print, so here goes
my conception of a funny story. Tho
new minister had found it necessary
to go to tho postofllco early Sunday
morning; not being acquainted with
tho town he mado inquiry of some
boys who were engaged playing
maTbles as to whoro tho postofllco
was. Tho information was readily
given, but before proceeding on his
way the minister felt it a duty to
lead the boys away from their gamo
on tho Sabbath day, so he Hays:
"Boys, don't you go to Sunday
school?" "Naw!" said tho boys.
"Woll, I wish I could induce you to
come to my church this beautiful
Sunday morning and I would showj
you tho way to neavon. tuo reu
headed boy spoke right up: "Yes,
like thunder you will; you don't even
know the way to tho postofllco,"
Speaking of the good old songs that
were so full of melody and harmony,
they would fill you with such peace
you wanted to love everybody. I
think Joe Emmett's lullaby Btands at
the head. Certainly thero were many
sweet songs in tho good old days.
And never did they sound sweeter
than on a moonlight night when a
quartette were out serenading their
best girls. Having been a reader of
Tho Commoner since Its first number
I have certainly enjoyed tho page
"Whether Common or Not." No
writer has ever taken me back over
tho old stamping ground like tho edi
tor of that page has done. When I
was younger I recall how wo children
eight in number used to laugh at
father for always quoting tho New
York Witness as authority on all sub
jects. Of late years they compare
mo and The Commoner with "Pap"
and tho Witness.
J. F. HUNTZINGER.
Milaca, Minn., September 1. Per
haps it is wrong to tell stories having
religion as a topic, 'but here are a
couple, one I heard "fo' de wah." It
was about a deacon who had some
thing wrong with the end of his
noso and applied a plaster. The
plaster dropped off on Sunday morn
ing and the deacon by mistake ap
plied a bit of paper instead of tho
plaster. As he passed the contribu
tion box everybody snickered, for the
bit of paper on his nose bore in plain
letters tho words: "Warranted to
hold out 200 yards." A minister
new to the parish was inquiring of a
good looking woman as to the where
abouts of her husband. "He's down
there in that field," said the woman,
pointing. The minister looked the
wrong way and saw a negro. "My
good woman," gasped the new min
ister; "couldn't you do better than
that?" "Nope," replied the woman;
"but my sister done worse. Sho mar
ried a MIssourian." As it was told
me by a MIssourian I suppose the
story will not offend any natives of
the old state. Of all the old songs
"Home, Sweet Home'11 is tho sweet
est. Next to that Is "Happy Day."
Another sweet old song is "Sister,
thou were wild and lovely, gentle as
the summer breeze; and thy words
were sweetly spoken and thy paths
were strewn with peace." I have not
heard it since the funeral of a girl
chum of mlno away back In 1868,
What great times thero will bo over
on tho other shore when from old ac
quaintances wo will part no moro.-
L. L. P.
Ma I. F M
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