By James Whitcomb Riley
It`s a mystery to see me–a man o` fifty-four,
Who`s lived a cross old bachelor fer thirty year` and more–
A-lookin` glad and smilin`! And they`s none o` you can say
That you can guess the reason why I feel so good to-day!
I must tell you all about it! But I`ll have to deviate
A little in beginnin`, so`s to set the matter straight
As to how it comes to happen that I never took a wife–
Kindo` “crawfish” from the Present to the Springtime of my life!
I was brought up in the country: Of a family of five–
Three brothers and a sister–I`m the only one alive,–
Fer they all died little babies; and `twas one o` Mother`s ways,
You know, to want a daughter; so she took a girl to raise.
The sweetest little thing she was, with rosy cheeks, and fat–
We was little chunks o` shavers then about as high as that!
But someway we sort a` SUITED-like! and Mother she`d declare
She never laid her eyes on a more lovin` pair Than WE was! So we growed up side by side fer thirteen year`,
And every hour of it she growed to me more dear!–
W`y, even Father`s dyin`, as he did, I do believe
Warn`t more affectin` to me than it was to see her grieve!
I was then a lad o` twenty; and I felt a flash o` pride
In thinkin` all depended on ME now to pervide
Fer Mother and fer Mary; and I went about the place
With sleeves rolled up–and workin`, with a mighty smilin`
face.–
Fer SOMEPIN` ELSE was workin`! but not a word I said
Of a certain sort o` notion that was runnin` through my head,–
“Some day I`d maybe marry, and a BROTHER`S love was one
Thing–a LOVER`S was another!” was the way the notion run!
I remember onc`t in harvest, when the “cradle-in` ” was done,
(When the harvest of my summers mounted up to twenty-one),
I was ridin` home with Mary at the closin` o` the day–
A-chawin` straws and thinkin`, in a lover`s lazy way!
And Mary`s cheeks was burnin` like the sunset down the lane:
I noticed she was thinkin`, too, and ast her to explain.
Well–when she turned and KISSED ME, WITH HER ARMS AROUND
ME–LAW!
I`d a bigger load o` Heaven than I had a load o` straw!
I don`t p`tend to learnin`, but I`ll tell you what`s a fac`,
They`s a mighty truthful sayin` somers in a` almanac–
Er SOMERS–`bout “puore happiness”–perhaps some folks`ll laugh
At the idy–”only lastin` jest two seconds and a half.”–
But it`s jest as true as preachin`!–fer that was a SISTER`S
kiss,
And a sister`s lovin` confidence a-tellin` to me this:–
“SHE was happy, BEIN` PROMISED TO THE SON O` FARMER BROWN.”–
And my feelin`s struck a pardnership with sunset and went down!
I don`t know HOW I acted, and I don`t know WHAT I said,–
Fer my heart seemed jest a-turnin` to an ice-cold lump o` lead;
And the hosses kind o`glimmered before me in the road,
And the lines fell from my fingers–And that was all I knowed–
Fer–well, I don`t know HOW long–They`s a dim rememberence
Of a sound o` snortin` horses, and a stake-and-ridered fence
A-whizzin` past, and wheat-sheaves a-dancin` in the air,
And Mary screamin` “Murder!” and a-runnin` up to where
_I_ was layin` by the roadside, and the wagon upside down
A-leanin` on the gate-post, with the wheels a-whirlin` roun`!
And I tried to raise and meet her, but I couldn`t, with a vague
Sort o` notion comin` to me that I had a broken leg.
Well, the women nussed me through it; but many a time I`d sigh
As I`d keep a-gittin` better instid o` goin` to die,
And wonder what was left ME worth livin` fer below,
When the girl I loved was married to another, don`t you know!
And my thoughts was as rebellious as the folks was good and kind
When Brown and Mary married–Railly must `a` been my MIND
Was kind o` out o` kilter!–fer I hated Brown, you see,
Worse`n PIZEN–and the feller whittled crutches out fer ME–
And done a thousand little ac`s o` kindness and respec`–
And me a-wishin` all the time that I could break his neck!
My relief was like a mourner`s when the funeral is done
When they moved to Illinois in the Fall o` Forty-one.
Then I went to work in airnest–I had nothin` much in view
But to drownd out rickollections–and it kep` me busy, too!
But I slowly thrived and prospered, tel Mother used to say
She expected yit to see me a wealthy man some day.
Then I`d think how little MONEY was, compared to happiness–
And who`d be left to use it when I died I couldn`t guess!
But I`ve still kep` speculatin` and a-gainin` year by year,
Tel I`m payin` half the taxes in the county, mighty near!
Well!–A year ago er better, a letter comes to hand
Astin` how I`d like to dicker fer some Illinois land–
“The feller that had owned it,” it went ahead to state,
“Had jest deceased, insolvent, leavin` chance to speculate,”–
And then it closed by sayin` that I`d “better come and see.”–
I`d never been West, anyhow–a`most too wild fer ME,
I`d allus had a notion; but a lawyer here in town
Said I`d find myself mistakend when I come to look around.
So I bids good-by to Mother, and I jumps aboard the train,
A-thinkin` what I`d bring her when I come back home again–
And ef she`d had an idy what the present was to be,
I think it`s more`n likely she`d `a` went along with me!
Cars is awful tejus ridin`, fer all they go so fast!
But finally they called out my stoppin`-place at last:
And that night, at the tavern, I dreamp` I was a train
O` cars, and SKEERED at somepin`, runnin` down a country lane!
Well, in the morning airly–after huntin` up the man–
The lawyer who was wantin` to swap the piece o` land–
We started fer the country; and I ast the history
Of the farm–its former owner–and so forth, etcetery!
And–well–it was interESTin`–I su`prised him, I suppose,
By the loud and frequent manner in which I blowed my nose!–
But his su`prise was greater, and it made him wonder more,
When I kissed and hugged the widder when she met us at the
door!–
IT WAS MARY: . . . They`s a feelin` a-hidin` down in here–
Of course I can`t explain it, ner ever make it clear.–
It was with us in that meetin`, I don`t want you to fergit!
And it makes me kind o`nervous when I think about it yit!
I BOUGHT that farm, and DEEDED it, afore I left the town
With “title clear to mansions in the skies,” to Mary Brown!
And fu`thermore, I took her and the CHILDERN–fer you see,
They`d never seed their Grandma–and I fetched `em home with me.
So NOW you`ve got an idy why a man o` fifty-four,
Who`s lived a cross old bachelor fer thirty year` and more
Is a-lookin` glad and smilin`!–And I`ve jest come into town
To git a pair o` license fer to MARRY Mary Brown.
Riley, a native of Indiana (1849-1916), known as the “Hoosier Poet” and the “Children’s Poet, wrote verse that tended to be humorous or sentimental and approximately one-half of the thousand poems he wrote were in dialect. He was a best selling author in the early 1900s and traveled extensively to give public readings. He never married.