JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY.COM

"Where we celebrate the child in us all"

RILEY'S PROSE: The Bear Story, I Was Thirty-One Last Spring,  Little Red Riding Hood, Obituary of Nellie Cooley, An Object-Lesson, An Old Soldier's Story, Unawangawa, The Use and Abuse of Poetic Theme.

THE BEAR STORY

That Alex "ist maked up his-own-se'f"

W'y, wunst they wuz a Little Boy went out
In the woods to shoot a Bear.1 So, he went out
'Way in the grea'-big woods - he did, - An' he
Wuz goin' along -an' goin' along, you know,
An' purty soon he heerd somepin' go "Wooh!"
Ist thataway - "Woo-ooh!" An' he wuz skeered,
He wuz. An' so he runned an' clumbed a tree -
A grea'-big tree, he did, - a sicka-more2 tree.
An' nen he heerd it ag'in: an' he looked round,
An' 't'uz a Bear - a grea'big shore-'nuff Bear!-
No: 't'uz two Bears, it wuz -two grea'big Bears-
One of 'em wuz -lst one's a grea'-big Bear. -
But they ist boff went "Wooh!" -An' here they come
To climb the tree an' git the Little Boy
An' eat him up!
An' nen the Little Boy
He 'uz skeered worse'n ever! An' here come
The grea'big Bear a-climin' th' tree to git
The Little Boy an' eat him up- Oh, no! -
It 'uzn't the Big Bear 'at clumb the tree-
It 'uz the Little Bear. So here he come
Climbin' the tree - an' climbin' the tree! Nen when
He git wite clos't to the Little Boy, w'y, nen
The Little Boy he ist pulled up his gun
An' shot the Bear, he did, an' killed him dead!
An' nen the Bear he falled clean on down out
The tree - away clean to the ground, he did -
Spling-splung! he falled plum down, an' killed him, too!
An' lit wite side o' where the Big Bear's at.

An' nen the Big Bear's awful mad, you bet! -
'Cause - 'cause the Little Boy he shot his gun
An' killed the Little Bear. - 'Cause the Big Bear
He - he 'uz the Little Bear's Papa. - An' so here
He come to climb the big old tree an' git
The Little Boy an' eat him up! An' when
The Little Boy he saw the grea'-big Bear
A-comin', he 'uz badder skeered, he wuz,
Than any time! An' so he think he'll climb
Up higher - 'way up higher in the tree
Than the old Bear kin climb, you know. - But he -
He can't climb higher 'an old Bears kin climb, -
'Cause Bears kin climb up higher in the trees
Than any little Boys in all the Wo-r-r-ld!

An' so here come the grea'-big Bear, he did, -
A'climbin' up - an' up the tree, to git
The Little Boy an' eat him up! An' so
The Little Boy he clumbed on higher, an' higher,
An' higher up the tree - an' higher - an' higher -
An' higher'n iss-here house is! - An' here come
The old Bear -clos'ter to him all the time! -
An' nen - first thing you know, - when th' old Big Bear
Wuz wite clos't to him - nen the Little Boy
Ist jabbed his gun wite in the old Bear's mouf
An' shot an' killed him dead! - No; I fergot, -
He didn't shoot the grea'-big Bear at all -
'Cause when he shot the Little Bear, w'y, nen
No load 'uz any more nen in the gun!

But th' Little Boy clumbed higher up, he did -
He clumbed lots higher - an' on up higher - an' higher
An' higher - tel he ist can't climb no higher,
'Cause nen the limbs 'uz all so little, 'way
Up in the teeny-weeny tip-top of
The tree, they'd break down wiv him ef he don't
Be keerful! So he stop an' think: An' nen
He look around -An' here come the old Bear!
An' so the Little Boy make up his mind
He's got to ist git out o' there someway! -
'Cause here come the old Bear! - so clos't, his bref's
Purt' nigh so's he kin feel how hot it is
Ag'inst his bare feet - ist like old "Ring's" bref
When he's be'n out a-huntin' an' 's all tired.
So when th' old Bear's so clos't - the Little Boy
Ist gives a grea'-big jump fer 'nother tree -
No! - no, he don't do that! - I tell you what
The Little Boy does: - W'y, nen - w'y, he- Oh, yes! -
The Little Boy he finds a hole up there
'At's in the tree - an' climbs in there an' hides -
An' nen th' old Bear can't find the Little Boy
At all! - but purty soon the old Bear finds
The Little Boy's gun 'at's up there - 'cause the gun
It's too tall to tooked wiv him in the hole.
So, when the old Bear find' the gun, he knows
The Little Boy's ist hid round somers there, -
An' th' old Bear 'gins to snuff and sniff around,
An' sniff an' snuff around - so's he kin find
Out where the Little Boy's hid at. - An' nen - nen -
Oh, yes! - W'y, purty soon the old Bear climbs
'Way out on a big limb - a grea'-long limb, -
An' nen the Little Boy climbs out the hole
An' takes his ax an' chops the limb off!...Nen
The old Bear falls k-splunge! clean to the ground,
An' bu'st an' kill hisse'f plum dead, he did!

An' nen the Little Boy he git his gun
An' 'menced a-climbin' down the tree ag'in -
No! no, he didn't git his gun - 'cause when
The Bear falled, nen the gun falled, too -
An' broked It all to pieces, too! - An' nicest gun! -
His Pa ist buyed it!- An' the Little Boy
Ist cried, he did; an' went on climbin' down
The tree - an' climbin' down - an' climbin' down! -
An' sir! when he 'uz purt' nigh down, - w'y, nen
The old Bear he jumped up ag'in - an' he
Ain't dead at all -ist 'tendin' thataway,
So he kin git the Little Boy an' eat
Him up! But the Little Boy he 'uz too smart
To climb clean down the tree. - An' the old Bear
He can't climb up the tree no more - 'cause when
He fell, he broke one of his - He broke all
His legs! - an' nen he couldn't climb! But he
Ist won't go 'way an' let the Little Boy
Come down out of the tree. An' the old Bear
Ist growls round there, he does - ist growls an' goes
"Wooh! -woo-ooh!" all the time! An' Little Boy
He haf to stay up in the tree - all night -
An' 'thout no supper neever!- Only they
Wuz apples on the tree! - An' Little Boy
Et apples - ist all night - an' cried - an' cried!
Nen when 't'uz morning the old Bear went "Wooh!"
Ag'in, an' try to climb up in the tree
An' git the Little Boy - But he can't
Climb t' save his soul, he can't! - An' oh! he's mad! -
He ist tear up the ground! an' go "Woo-ooh!"
An'- Oh, yes! - purty soon, when morning's come
All light - so's you kin see, you know, w'y, nen
The old Bear finds the Little Boy's gun, you know,
'At's on the ground. - (An' it ain't broke at all -
I ist said that!) An' so the old Bear think
He'll take the gun an' shoot the Little Boy: -
But Bears they don't know much 'bout shootin' guns:
So when he go to shoot the Little Boy,
The old Bear got the other end the gun
Ag'in' his shoulder, 'stid o' th' other end -
So when he try to shoot the Little Boy,
It shot the Bear, it did - an' killed him dead!
An' nen the Little Boy clumb down the tree
An' chopped his old woolly head off. - Yes, an' killed
The other Bear ag'in, he did - an' killed
All boff the bears, he did - an' tuk 'em home
An' cooked 'em, too, an' et 'em!
--- An' that's all.
1. The bear.
2. Sycamore tree. This was a humorous note since the audience
knew the sycamore tree was very slippery and almost
impossible to climb.

I WAS THIRTY-ONE LAST SPRING

"I was thirty-one years old last spring, - I am a blonde of
fair complexion, with an almost ungovernable trend for
brunettes. Five feet six in height -though last state fair I
was considerably higher than that -in fact I was many times
taken for old High Lonesome, as I went about my daily walk.
Used to make lots of money but never had any on hand. It all
evaporated in some mysterious way. My standard weight is a
hundred and thirty-five, and when I am placed in solitary
confinement for life, I will eat onions passionately, bird-
seed I never touch. I whet my twitterer exclusively on fish-
bone. My father is a lawyer, and lured me into his office
once for a three-months sentence. But I made good my escape,
and under cover of the kindly night, I fled up the Pike with
a patent medicine concert-wagon, and had a good time for two
or three of the happiest years of my life. Next, I struck a
country paper and tried to edit, but the proprietor he wanted
to do that, and wouldn't let me, and in about a year I quit
tryin' and let him have his own way, and now it's the hardest
thing in the world for me to acknowledge that he is still
editor and a most successful one. Later I went back home to
Greenfield, Ind., near Indianapolis, - east, and engaged in
almost everything but work and so became quite prominent.
Noted factions and public bodies began to regard me
attentively, and no grand jury was complete without my
presence! I wasn't, however, considered wholly lost til I
began to publish, poetry brazenly affixing my own name to
it...."

LITTLE RED RIDING HOOD

call adin - an - an- that's all of it."

OBITUARY OF NELLIE COOLEY

Died, at Belleville, Illinois, July 27, 1878, Nellie M.
Cooley, wife of George B. Cooley. Interred at Greenfield, her
old home, July 29, 1878. Her life was like a dreamy summer
day, made up of bright things only. Warm depths of azure
skies, where merry birds, afloat on waves of sunshine, poured
out their sweetest songs, and so baptized the world with
sweetest melody: where morning walked the dewy paths that led
through Nature's fairest haunts, and laid her shining hand on
all things loveable; where meadowlands lay basking in the sun
and clover-blossoms shook their fragrance out on every
passing breeze and flavored all the air with sweetness and
delight; where the laughing brook leaped from its shady
hiding-place, low-nestled in among the cool grasses growing
in the dusky woods, and, while the lilies leaned their
wondering face o'er the brink, and the weeping willows
trained their slender hands within the wave, went loitering
along its winding way, and babbling limpid music as it went.
Her life was like a dreamy sunny day; and, as always was
her wish, on such a day she laid aside the weary task of
life, and out across "the all-golden afternoon" she walked on
and on into her Father's open arms, and where fell upon her
brow the sister kiss of Heaven's happiest angel.
The fairest gifts of womanhood were hers - a child's
pure faith, a maiden's hope, a woman's charity. Her heart
was soundless in its depths of love; her soul was boundless
in its breadth of nobleness; she wore the bond of Friendship
loyally, and ever held a gracious hand of welcome to
distress. Her home was Joy's abiding place, and Patience,
Peace and Love walked ever at her side, as now they walk,
appareled in the raiment of the Lord's approving smile, and
waiting with her loved ones lingering here.

AN OBJECT-LESSON

Barely a year ago I attended the Friday afternoon
exercises of a country school. My mission there, as I
remember, was to refresh my mind with such material as might
be gathered for a "valedictory," which, I regret to say, was
to be handed down to posterity under another signature than
my own.
There was present, among a host of visitors, a pale
young man of perhaps thirty years, with a tall head and
bulging brow and a highly-intellectual pair of eyes and
spectacles. He wore his hair without roach or "part" and the
smile he beamed about him was "a joy forever." He was an
educator - from the East, I think I heard it rumored - anyway
he was introduced to the school at last, and he bowed, and
smiled, and beamed upon us all, and entertained us after the
most delightfully edifying manner imaginable. And although I
may fail to reproduce the exact substance of his remarks upon
that highly important occasion, I think I can at least
present his theme in all its coherency of detail. Addressing
more particularly the primary department of the school, he
said: -
"As the little exercise I am about to introduce is of
recent origin, and the bright, intelligent faces of the
pupils before me seem rife with eager and expectant interest,
it will be well for me, perhaps, to offer by way of
preparatory preface, a few terse words of explanation.
"The Object-Lesson is designed to fill a long-felt want,
and is destined, as I think, to revolutionize in a great
degree, the educational systems of our land. - In my belief,
the Object-Lesson will supply a want which I may safely say
has heretofore left the most egregious and palpable traces of
mental confusion and intellectual inadequacies stamped, as it
were, upon the gleaming reasons of the most learned - the
highest cultured, and the most eminently gifted and promising
of our professors and scientists both at home and abroad.
"Now this deficiency - if it may be so termed - plainly
has a beginning: and probing deeply with the bright, clean
scalpel of experience we discover that - "As the twig is
bent, the tree's inclined." To remedy, then, a deeply-seated
error which for so long has rankled at the very root of
educational progress throughout the land, many plausible, and
we must admit, many helpful theories have been introduced to
allay the painful errors resulting from the discrepancy of
which we speak: but until now, nothing that seemed wholly to
eradicate the defect has been discovered, and that, too,
strange as it may seem, is, at last, found emanating, like
the mighty river, from the simplest source, but broadening
and gathering in force and power as it flows along, until, at
last, its grand and mighty current sweeps on in majesty to
the vast illimitable ocean of-of-of- Success! Ahem!
"And, now, little boys and girls, that we have had by
implication, a clear and comprehensive explanation of the
Object-Lesson and its mission, I trust you will give me your
undivided attention while I endeavor - in my humble way - to
direct your newly acquired knowledge through the proper
channel. For instance: -
"This little object I hold in my hand - who will
designate it by its proper name? Come, now, let us see who
will be the first to answer. `A peanut,' says the little boy
here at my right. Very good - very good! I hold then, in my
hand, a peanut. And now who will tell me, what is the
peanut? A very simply question - who will answer? `Something
good to eat,' says the little girl. Yes, `something good to
eat,' but would it not be better to say simply that the
peanut is an edible? I think so, yes. The peanut, then, is -
an edible - now, all together, an edible!
"To what kingdom does the peanut belong? The animal,
vegetable or mineral kingdom? A very easy question. Come,
let us have prompt answers. `The animal kingdom,' does the
little boy say? Oh no! The peanut does not belong to the
animal kingdom! Surely the little boy must be thinking of a
larger object than the peanut - the elephant, perhaps. To
what kingdom, then, does the peanut belong? The v-v-veg-The
vegetable kingdom,' says the bright-faced little girl on the
back seat. Ah! that is better. We find then that the peanut
belongs to the - what kingdom? The `vegetable kingdom.' Very
good, very good!
"And now who will tell us of what the peanut is
composed. Let us have quick responses now. Time is
fleeting! Of what is the peanut composed? `The hull and the
goody,' in vulgar parlance, but how much better it would be
to say simply, the shell and the kernel. Would not that
sound better? Yes, I thought you would agree with me there!
"And now who will tell me the color of the peanut! And
be careful now! for I shouldn't like to hear you make the
very stupid blunder I once heard a little boy make in reply
to the same question. Would you like to hear what color the
stupid little boy said the peanut was? You would, eh? Well,
now, how many of you would like to hear what color the stupid
little boy said the peanut was? Come now, let's have an
expression. All who would like to hear what color the stupid
little boy said the peanut was, may hold up their right
hands. Very good, very good - there, that will do.
"Well, it was during a professional visit I was once
called upon to make to a neighboring city, where I was
invited to address the children of a free school - Hands
down, now, little boy, - founded for the exclusive benefit of
the little newsboys and bootblacks, who, it seems, had not
the means to defray the expenses of the commonest educational
accessories, and during an object lesson identical with the
one before us now - for it is a favorite one of mine - I
propounded the question, what is the color of the peanut?
Many answers were given in response, but none as sufficiently
succinct and apropos as I deemed the facts demanded; and so
at last I personally addressed a ragged, boy, as I then
thought, a bright-eyed little fellow, when judge of my
surprise, in reply to my question, what is the color of a
peanut, the little fellow, without the slightest gleam of
intelligence lighting up his face, answered, that `if not
scorched by roasting, the peanut was a blond.' Why, I was
almost tempted to join in the general merriment his
inapposite reply elicited. But I occupy your attention with
trivial things; and as I notice the time allotted me has
slipped away, we will drop the peanut for the present.
Trusting the few facts gleaned from a topic so homely and
unpromising will sink deep in your minds, in time to bloom
and blossom in the fields of future usefulness - I-I--I thank
you."

AN OLD SOLDIER'S STORY

"Since we have had no stories to-night I will venture,
Mr. President, to tell a story that I have heretofore heard
at nearly all the banquets I have ever attended. It is a
story simply, and you must bear with it kindly. It is a
story as told by a friend of us all, who is found in all
parts of all countries, who is immoderately fond of a funny
story, and who, unfortunately, attempts to tell a funny story
himself - one that he had been particularly delighted with.
Well, he is not a story-teller, and especially he is not a
funny story-teller. His funny stories, indeed, are
oftentimes touchingly pathetic. But to such a story as he
tells, being a good-natured man and kindly disposed, we have
to listen, because we do not want to wound his feelings by
telling him that we have heard that story a great number of
times, and that we have heard it ably told by a great number
of people from the time we were children. But, as I say, we
can not hurt his feelings. We can not stop him. We can not
kill him; and so the story generally proceeds. He selects a
very old story always, and generally tells it in about this
fashion: -
I heerd an awful funny thing the other day - ha! ha! I
don't know whether I kin git it off er not, but, anyhow, I'll
tell it to you. Well! le's see now how the fool-thing goes.
Oh, yes! - W'y, there was a feller one time - it was during
the army and this feller that I started in to tell you about
was in the war and - ha! ha! there was a big fight a-goin'
on, and this feller was in the fight, and it was a big battle
and bullets a-flyin' ever' which way, and bombshells a-
bustin', and cannon-balls a-flyin' 'round promiskus; and this
feller right in the midst of it, you know, and all excited
and het up, and chargin' away; and the fust thing you know
along come a cannon-ball and shot his head off - ha! ha! ha!
Hold on here a minute! no, sir; I'm a gittin' ahead of my
story; no; no; it didn't shoot his head off - I'm gittin' the
cart before the horse there - shot his leg off; that was the
way; shot his leg off; and down the poor feller drapped, and
of course, in that condition was perfectly he'pless, you
know, but yit with presence o' mind enough to know that he
was in a dangerous condition ef somepin' wasn't done fer him
right away. So he seen a comrade a-chargin' by that he
knowed, and he hollers to him and called him by name - I
disremember now what the feller's name was...
Well, that's got nothin' to do with the story, anyway;
he hollers to him, he did, and says "Hello, there," he says
to him; "here, I want you to come here and give me a lift; I
got my leg shot off, and I want you to pack me back to the
rear of the battle" - where the doctors always is, you know,
during a fight - and he says, "I want you to pack me back
there where I can get med-dy-cinal attention er I'm a dead
man, fer I got my leg shot off," he says, "and I want you to
pack me back there so's the surgeons kin take keer of me."
Well - the feller, as luck would have it, ricko'nized him and
run to him, and throwed down his own musket, so's he could
pick him up; and he stooped down and picked him up and kindo'
half-way helt him betwixt his arms like, and then he turned
and started back with him - ha! ha! ha! Now, mind, the fight
was still a-goin' on - and right at the hot of the fight, and
the feller, all excited, you know, like he was, and the
soldier that had his leg short off gittin' kindo' fainty
like, and his head kindo' stuck back over the feller's
shoulder that was carryin' him. And he hadn't got more'n a
couple o' rods with him when another cannon-ball come along
and tuk his head off, shore enough! - and the curioust thing
about it was - ha! ha!- that the feller was a-packin' him
didn't know that he had been hit ag'in at all, and back he
went - still carryin' the deceased back - ha! ha! ha! - to
where the doctors could take keer of him - as he thought.
Well, his cap'n happened to see him, and he thought it was
ruther cur'ous p'ceeding's-a soldier carryin' a dead body out
o' the fight -don't you see? And so he hollers at him, and
he says to the soldier, the cap'n did, he says, "Hullo,
there; where you goin' with that thing?" the cap'n said to
the soldier who was a-carryin' away the feller that had his
leg shot off. Well, his head, too, by that time. So he
says, "Where you goin' with that thing?" the cap'n said to
the soldier who was a-carryin' away the feller that had his
leg shot off. Well, the soldier he stopped -kinder halted,
you know, like a private soldier will when his presidin'
officer speaks to him - and he says to him, "W'y," he says,
"Cap, its a comrade o' mine and the pore feller has got his
leg shot off, and I'm a-packin' him back to where the doctors
is; and there was nobody to he'p him, and the feller would
'a'died in his tracks - er track ruther - if it hadn't a-been
fer me, and I'm a packin' him back where the surgeons can
take keer of him; where he can get medical attendance - er
his wife's a widder!" he says, "'cause he's got his leg shot
off!" Then Cap'n says, "You blame fool you, he's got his
head shot off." So then the feller slacked his grip on the
body and let it slide down to the ground, and looked at it a
minute, all puzzled, you know, and says, "W'y, he told me it
was his leg!" Ha! ha! ha!"

UNAWANGAWA

It was the noble red man, from the land of the setting
sun, in company with some half dozen members of his tribe,
under management of "Captain Rigby Knowles," who, as the big
bills went on to state, had been "nine years a captive among
the wild, untutored wanderers of the western wilderness," and
was now "a missionary, disseminating knowledge, and the
advantages of education, to his dusky brothers, as well as
enlightening the civilized world regarding the manners and
customs of the poor Indian."
They were billed to show "for one night only," at the
one church in our little village, the Thursday evening prayer
meeting having been postponed for their accommodation, and
"the clergy" complimented. I shall never forget their visit
to our school that afternoon, for I was then a lad of ten or
thereabout; so I leave you to infer the aching sense of my
own inferiority as they stalked stoically into the school
room, in full bloom of war-paint, wampum, bead moccasins and
feathers, and headed by the redoubtable "Captain Rigby
Knowles" himself, looking, for the world, like an enlarged
facsimile of the "Daniel Boone" in Monteith's geography, only
excepting the melancholy and the deceased deer at his feet.
The arithmetic class, in fractions, hurried to its seat,
and the silence of death fell upon the room, while the
blanched faces of the "scholars" contrasted vividly with
those of their tawny visitors as "the famed interpreter and
guide," after a wheezy conversation with the teacher, in
which the latter only nodded his head submissively at every
proposition - seized suddenly hold of a stalwart warrior, and
with the bloodcurdling remark of "Pombee steel-ah da be-bee
wah-wah!" or words to that effect, wheeled him before us with
the following introduction:
"He iss a big chief. He come to make some talk wiss
you. He iss a much, heap, smart man. He will make you big
Injun speech dot you don't could understand, and den we told
you w'as he say. He no talk white talk. He on'y talk much
very Injun. He talk Choctaw - he talk Mohawk - he talk
Chippavay - he talk effry all style of Injun talk, on'y he no
talk white talk. He iss awful smart! Me talk, like big
chief, effry all style of Injun-talk, on'y me talk United
States also. He iss - O, he iss awful smart, big, very,
posted Injun gentlemans. Now he iss go to speak big Injun
speech, unt den I say it explain, so dot you know wass he
say." Then, turning to the big chief, he touched him off with
the following fuse: "De ah-ghee-ghah bee-gah wah-way!" at
which the chief at once opened fire in deep, lazy guttural,
accompanying the utterance with that facial contortion
indicative of an acute attack of cholera morbus. This
incoherent mastication had occupied but a brief interval of
time when the interpreter jerked the tail of the warrior's
shawl, and with a spasmodic "Chow," and a "Ching-ching," he
stopped as abruptly as a German music-box. The interpreter
explained:
"He say dot you must oxcuse him - dot he don't know he
was go to speak. He say dot he ain't much fix on the de
subjec', but dot he try to drop some small, leedle, few
remarks dot come to hiss mind." Then, prodding the big chief
between the shoulders with a rigid thumb, the noble red man
lumbered off again in a complexity of verbal chow-chow that
put the listener's ears on edge, and thrilled the speculative
fancy with a nameless dread, as the ever-widening stream of
conglomerated eloquence dashed into savage meaning, fiercely
defined by gestures that swung invisible war-clubs, hurled
tomahawks, and manipulated the gory scalping-knife. And it
was sometime before the fearless interpreter could check this
impassioned burst. He had jerked at the tail of the warrior's
shawl like a school-boy at the string of a limber-jack, and
with pretty much the same result. The "scholars" were wild-
eyed, and pale with fright. The teacher had one leg thrown
carelessly over the window sill, and with an air of careless
indifference was pruning his trembling nails with the big
blade of his knife, while the girls in actual terror
hid their pallid faces behind their desk-lids, and pencils
and pen-holders rained from their places, some, piercing with
their barbed points the floor, stood bolt upright and
quivered with affright. It was a critical moment for us all;
but the daring interpreter, with a presence of mind worth a
Van Amburg, threw open his blouse, disclosing a magic
something lurking in an inner pocket which the savage reached
for with a pacified "Ugh! give some, me dry up!" while the
small boys whispered they bet it was a pistol! They bet he'd
killed lots o' Indians! They bet he wasn't afraid!, etc. etc.
And so we listened with unusual interest as the interpreter
explained:
"You mustn't don't get sceert: he won't hurt noting. He
wass on'y yoost say dot he for hissef iss sorry dot he don't
gone to school when he wass been a leedle childrens like you.
But he say when he was leedle like dot, he roll unt dumble in
de grass, unt go mitout hiss clothes, unt kick hiss heels
like a jaybird. He say dot he not got some advantages
ober he would gone to school now off he wass a leedle boy
wonce. He was yoost told you how he wass a leedle poor Injun
boy, unt don't gone to Sunday school. He say when he wass
leedle, heap, awful naughty Injun boy he wass one time play
mit hiss leedle brutters mit seesters in de big wasser, unt
he want to comed out unt dey wont let um, unt sling um wiss
mud, unt dot make um heap-much-brave, so dot he kill um unt
scalp um. Den when he goned home his folks dey said: "Where
iss your leedle brutters unt seesters?" Unt he say: "Dey at
de swimmin-hole." Unt when gone to found um, dey all was
scalped unt dead, unt dey hands cut off, unt dey nose cut
off, unt dey ears unt eyes cut off. Den hiss folks say: "Who
wass done it?" Unt he say: "I don't could lied about it; I do
it wiss my leedle hatchet!" Unt den his folks dey say:
"Dot's goot! Dot boy will been on de war-path ober he been
twelf moons of age!" Unt den he say dot make um feel like big
warrior, so dot he can't wait, unt got impulsiff, unt kill
also de rest of his folks, unt gone on de war-path unt kill
heap-much of ladies unt gentlemens. But he say dot he won't
done it now - dot he iss sorry cos off he would a saved his
leedle brutters unt seester he would took um to Sunday school
wiss um. "Ugh gee bebah wah-wah!" This concluding sentence of
the interpreter, abruptly addressed to the warrior, evidently
conveyed to him instructions to simmer down, and close his
peroration in some conciliatory and complimentary fashion,
for the noble savage smiled like a genial hippopotamus, and
thumped his breast like a bass drum.
His remarks now seemed to be particularly addressed to
the fairer portion of his audience, and his gesticulation at
was so palpably indicative of love and affection the big
girls blushed and giggled, and the small boys whistled aloud.
Only once did he cause a tremor of trepidation to thrill the
bosoms of his gentle auditors, when in a triumphant burst he
tossed his arms aloft, an, with a glory of inspiration
lighting up his dusky features, gave vent to the impassioned
utterance, "Shoot-pop-bang!" and then, shortly after, he
drew his shawl tightly about him, slapped his chest so
vehemently it jarred a feather from his head-gear, and, with
the pompous exclamation, "Me big chief, wah!" he folded his
arms, and stood stoical and silent.
The interpreter, quivering with an inward paroxysm,
after prefacing the interpretation with the chuckling
observation, "Bet you don't know whas he say!" went on in
this wise"
"Well he say dot he would like to marry a few off you
girls. You notice he hold up hiss hand like dot? Well, dot
mean five; he say he would like to marry five off you girls.
You notice he hold up de also both hands? Well, dot mean dot
he would have ten wife - off de both kind - five injun, unt
five white squaw. He say he tink dot make things lifely off
his domestics unt hiss leedle quiet wigwam. He say dot off
you marry him he make you all a good husband, unt dot he took
you to de land of de setting sun, where you to do nothing -
only yoost work. He say he will done all de huntin' hisself,
unt dot he will "shoot-pop-bang," like he say, de mussrat unt
possum, unt cath um by the tail unt bring um home; den all
you had to done wass build de fire, unt peel um, unt cook
yoost a leedle, unt he will eat um. Den he say he will give
you all de rest. He say you will suit de climate - he say it
iss so healdy dot you live more as a hundred years old off
you gone wiss him once, unt a tree don't fall on you. He say
it iss so healdy out dere dot hiss grandpa iss livin' yet,
unt he iss over four tousand year old, unt ain't a gray hair
in his head. He say dey also no hair in his head. He say he
chaw tobacker all hiss life unt don't hurt um. He say he is
healdy dot you wouldn't know um off you see um. He say dot
you got in for fifteen cent, unt de leedle children's five
cent tonight at de meetin' house."

THE USE AND ABUSE OF POETIC THEME (April 5, 1879)(with Riley's own revision of Longfellow's poem "The Chamber Over the Gate" to point out Riley's departure from earlier American folk poetry.)

"Poetry," said Johnson, "is the next best thing to
prose." And in my belief had Johnson lived on until the
present day and age, that utterance would now read, "Poetry
is the next best thing to nothing."
The poetry of to-day is altogether too lush - too
"sobby," I may say; too much sap, and not enough timber, you
understand. It's just as refreshing, perhaps, to those who
never use it as it ever was; but to those who liked myself
have the smoldering embers of poetic fire forever gasping
the fuel true genius alone can supply, the poetry of to-day
only serves to smother and depress the flickering flames
that otherwise would leap up roaringly, and illuminate the
whole heart like a torch-light procession.
Poets who will persist in writing the poetry of to-day
ought to be bucked and gagged, and rolled up like a ball of
stale pop-corn and thrown out of the car-window of modern
advancement. And yet how many unfettered hands do we daily
see lifted in this most unholy practice.
Nor is the Press of our land wholly guiltless of lending
furtherance to this most crying wrong; for it not only
passively submits to these constantly recurring atrocities of
rhyme, but - indirectly it may be - it aids and abets the
evil by publishing and reproducing the very "poems" which
otherwise would drop at once into the famishing oblivion
which pants for them in vain. Where is the boasted justice
of our broad Republic? Where is the Red-eyed Law we boast
of? And "where, may I ask, is the Grand Jury of our land?"
This train of thought has been most painfully inflicted
on my mind by a recent "poem," still going the rounds of the
press, entitled "The Chamber Over the Gate," and openly
claimed by its author, Henry W. Longfellow.
Now, personally, I have nothing but the kindliest
feeling toward Mr. Longfellow, but, in justice to the demands
of the strictly literary element of Howard county, and Kokomo
in particular, I must affirm that the really "suggestive and
inviting theme he has selected, has not only met with neglect
at his hands, but positive abuse. Yet like the thousands
like it that are daily flaunted in our faces by the public
press, it is copied, reproduced, and duplicated till the path
of progress is literally strewn and choked with the rank
dead leaves of poetical ruin and literary woe.
I cannot comment at length upon a subject so glutted
with disaster and so bleared and bloated with the highwires
of distress, but I will add, by way of admonition to Mr. L.
that an author, and poet in particular, cannot be too
cautions in his encroachments on the public weal. There
are, I am frank to admit, certain points in "The Chamber over
the Gate" that would warrant me in advising Mr. L. to
continue, for a time at least, in the exercise of his
poetical inclinations, but even this advice I must withhold,
unless, indeed, the audacious aspirant will curb his
ambition, and adopt in future for each succeeding effort of
his pen, a fresh nom de plume. This, in a measure, would
advance anything of worth he might chance to produce, while
it would shield him as well from the pain and humiliation he
must necessarily feel in reading such criticisms as the one
my duty now calls on me to lay before the world. And now that
I have gone so far in pointing out this glaring discrepancy,
and directing at least one wandering upon his pilgrimage to
the Great Perhaps, it becomes my further duty to illustrate,
both to the unfortunate poet, and to my many admirers, the
real principle involved in the poetical management of the
theme he has so ruthlessly distorted and abused.
I subjoin a hastily arranged though mainly perfect copy
of the poem as it should be treated by a master hand.