The trees like big umbrellas,

Hide the hot sun from yer view-
Dip their green leaves in the river,
Till they drip with crystal dew!

Fish, fish, fish,

An' the line a-goin' "Swish!"

(Oh, the perch just fits the palate,
When he's fried an' in the dish!)

So I sorter look away off,

Where the river bank I see;

An' the Wind says: "Take a day off,
An' go loafin' roun' with me!"

Fish, fish, fish,

An' the line a-goin' "Swish!"
(Oh, the perch he is just so purty
When he's fried an' in the dish!)

Permission of "Forest and Stream."

-Frank L. Stanton.

THE LAD AND THE DAD

My friend, Johnny Jones, once played hookey from school,

(A quite reprehensible thing!)

In plain contradiction of precept and rule,

(A most inexcusable thing!)

Played hookey with many a sly, backward look,
Till he found him a seat by the bank of the brook,
Where he skilfully wriggled a worm on a hook,
(A most inexcusable thing!)

THE LAD AND THE DAD 37

His desk was deserted, his slate lay there spurned, (A clearly intolerable thing!)

His books all unread and his lessons unlearned,

(A quite impermissible thing!)

He fished with some qualms when he thought of his sin, And the schoolroom where properly he should have been

But Oh, what his joy when he drew a fish in!

(A terrible, terrible thing!)

My friend, Johnny Jones, smelled of fish at the eve, (Quite truly a dangerous thing!)

There was mud on his trousers and some on his sleeve, (A quite unexplainable thing!)

So when he got home Father Jones crisply said:

"I'll see you a minute or two in the shed,"

And he whipped Johnny soundly and put him to bed, (A parentally admirable thing!)

My friend, Jones the elder, one hot Summer day, (A natural, natural thing,)

Pulled down his desk-top, put his papers away, (A very explainable thing,)

And said as he pulled his desk shut with a jerk:

"I'm off for some place where the game fishes lurk, I'm blessed if this life should be made just for work!" (A really quite sensible thing.)

So he left all his books and his papers and bills, (You'll agree an excusable thing,)

And took himself off to the woods and the hills, (A truly forgivable thing!)

He fished with some qualms when he thought of the

bills

And the papers and books, but the joy of the rills In the brooks and the call of the woods and the hills! (A quite understandable thing!)

He didn't play hookey! Oh no, not at all,
('Twas a really quite sensible thing!)
But Johnny Jones did, as perhaps you recall
That quite reprehensible thing.

But the spirit of vagrancy Johnny Jones had

Was much the same spirit as that of his Dad,

And I say there's small choice between Dad and the Lad,

(A really heretical thing!)

-James W. Foley.

From "Friendly Rhymes." Copyrighted by and permission from E. P. Dutton & Co.

DARKY'S RAINY DAY

W'en I git up in de mo`nin' an' de clouds is big an' black, Dey's a kin' o' wa'nin' shivah goes a-scootin' down my back;

Den I says to my ol' ooman ez I watches down de lane, "Don't you so't o' reckon, Lizy, dat we gwine to have some rain?"

"Go on, man," my Lizy answah, "you cain't fool me, not a bit,

I don't see no rain a-comin', ef you's wishin' fu' it, quit;

DARKY'S RAINY DAY

39

Case de mo' you t'ink erbout it, an' de mo' you pray

an' wish,

Wy, de rain stay 'way de longah, speshul ef you wants to fish."

But I see huh pat de skillet, an' I see huh cas' huh eye Wid a kin' o' anxious motion to'ds de da'kness in de sky; An' I knows whut she's a-t'inkin', dough she tries so ha'd to hide.

She's a-sayin', "Wouldn't catfish now tas'e mon'trous bully, fried?"

Den de clouds git black an' blackah, an' de thundah 'mence to roll,

An' de rain, it 'mence a-fallin'. Oh, I's happy, bless my soul!

Ez I look at dat ol' skillet, an' I 'magine I kin see Jes' a slew o' new-ketched catfish sizzlin' daih fu' huh an' me.

'Taint no use to go a-ploughin', fu' de groun'll be too

wet,

So I puts out fu' de big house at a moughty pace, you

bet,

An' ol' mastah say, "Well, Lishy, ef you t'ink hit's gwine to rain,

Go on fishin', hit's de weathah, an' I 'low we cain't complain."

Talk erbout a dahky walkin' wid his haid up in de aih! Have to feel mine evah minute to be sho' I got it daih;

En' de win' is cuttin' capahs an' a-lashin' thoo de trees, But de rain keeps on a-singin' blessed songs, lak “Tek yo' ease."

Wid my pole erpon my shouldah an' my wo'm can in my han',

I kin feel de fish a-waitin' we'en I strikes de rivah's san'; Nevah min', you ho'ny scoun'els, need'n' swim erroun' an' grin,

I'll be grinnin' in a minute w'en I 'mence to haul you in.

W'en de fish begin to nibble, an' de co'k begin to jump, I'se erfeahed dat dey'll quit bitin', case deh hyeah my hea't go "thump,"

'Twell de co'k go way down undah, an' I raise a awful shout,

Ez a big ol' yallah belly comes a gallivantin' out.

Needn't wriggle, Mistah Catfish, case I got you jes' de same,

You been eatin', I'll be eatin', an' we needah ain't to

blame.

But you needn't feel so lonesome fu' I's th'owin' out

to see

Ef dey ain't some of yo' comrades fu' to keep you com

pany.

Spo't, dis fishin'! now you talkin', w'y dey ain't no kin' to beat;

I don' keer ef I is soakin', laigs, an' back, an' naik, an'

feet,