But still, all their cackle unheedin’,
  She goes, in her ladylike way,
A-givin’ the poor what they’re needing
  And helpin’ the church every day: 
Our numbers each Sunday is swelling
  And real, true religion is rife,
And sometimes I feel like a-yellin’,
  “Three cheers fer the minister’s wife!”

* * * * *

[Illustration:  “’Well, now, I vum!  I know, by gum!  I’m right because I be!’”]

THE VILLAGE ORACLE

* * * * *

“I am Sir Oracle, and when I ope my lips let no dog bark!”

* * * * *

Old Dan’l Hanks he says this town
  Is jest the best on earth;
He says there ain’t one, up nor down,
  That’s got one half her worth;
He says there ain’t no other state
  That’s good as ourn, nor near;
And all the folks that’s good and great
  Is settled right ’round here.

      Says I “D’jer ever travel, Dan?”
        “You bet I ain’t!” says he;
      “I tell you what! the place I’ve got
        Is good enough fer me!”

He says the other party’s fools,
  ’Cause they don’t vote his way;
He says the “feeble-minded schools”
  Is where they ought ter stay;
If he was law their mouths he’d shut,
  Or blow ’em all ter smash;
He says their platform’s nawthin’ but
  A great big mess of trash.

      Says I, “D’jer ever read it, Dan?”
        “You bet I ain’t!” says he;
      “And when I do; well, I tell you,
        I’ll let you know, by gee!”

He says that all religion’s wrong
  ’Cept jest what he believes;
He says them ministers belong
  In jail, the same as thieves;
He says they take the blessed Word
  And tear it all ter shreds;
He says their preachin’s jest absurd;
  They’re simply leatherheads.

      Says I, “D’jer ever hear ’em, Dan?”
        “You bet I ain’t!” says he;
      “I’d never go ter hear ’em; no;
        They make me sick ter see!”

Some fellers reckon, more or less,
  Before they speak their mind,
And sometimes calkerlate or guess,—­
  But them ain’t Dan’l’s kind. 
The Lord knows all things, great or small,
  With doubt he’s never vexed;
He, in his wisdom, knows it all,—­
  But Dan’l Hanks comes next.

Says I, “How d’ yer know you’re right?”
“How do I know?” says he;
“Well, now, I vum!  I know, by gum! 
I’m right because I be!”

* * * * *

THE TIN PEDDLER

Jason White has come ter town
  Drivin’ his tin peddler’s cart,
Pans a-bangin’ up an’ down
  Like they’d tear theirselves apart;
Kittles rattlin’ underneath,
  Coal-hods scrapin’ out a song,—­
Makes a feller grit his teeth
  When old Jason comes along.