in Heaven—­till I come, by an’ by:—­
  Far she’s so ust to all my ways, an’ ever’thing, you know,
  An’ no one there like me, to nurse, an’ worry over so!—­
  ‘Cause all the little childerns there’s so straight an’ strong an’
    fine,
  They’s nary angel ’bout the place with ‘Curv’ture of the Spine!’”

The old Professor’s face was in his handkerchief; so was my friend’s in his; and so was mine in mine, as even now my pen drops and I reach for it again.

I half regret joining the mad party that had gathered an hour later in the old law-office where these two graceless characters held almost nightly revel, the instigators and conniving hosts of a reputed banquet whose menu’s range confined itself to herrings, or “blind robins,” dried beef, and cheese, with crackers, gingerbread, and sometimes pie; the whole washed down with anything but

    “——­Wines that heaven knows when
  Had sucked the fire of some forgotten sun,
  And kept it through a hundred years of gloom
  Still glowing in a heart of ruby.”

But the affair was memorable.  The old Professor was himself lured into it, and loudest in his praise of Hedrick’s realistic art; and I yet recall him at the orgie’s height, excitedly repulsing the continued slurs and insinuations of the clammy-handed Sweeney, who, still contending against the old man’s fulsome praise of his more fortunate rival, at last openly declared that Hedrick was not a poet, not a genius, and in no way worthy to be classed in the same breath with himself—­“the gifted but unfortunate Sweeney, sir—­the unacknowledged author, sir—­’y gad, sir!—­of the two poems that held you spell-bound to-night!”

DOWN AROUND THE RIVER POEMS

DOWN AROUND THE RIVER.

  Noon-time and June-time, down around the river! 
  Have to furse with ’Lizey Ann—­but lawzy!  I fergive her! 
  Drives me off the place, and says ’at all ‘at she’s a-wishin’,
  Land o’ gracious! time’ll come I’ll git enough o’ fishin’! 
  Little Dave, a-choppin’ wood, never ’pears to notice;
  Don’t know where she’s hid his hat, er keerin’ where his coat is,—­
  Specalatin’, more ‘n like, he haint a-goin’ to mind me,
  And guessin’ where, say twelve o’clock, a feller’d likely find me.

Noon-time and June-time, down around the river!  Clean out o’ sight o’ home, and skulkin’ under kivver Of the sycamores, jack-oaks, and swamp-ash and ellum—­ Idies all so jumbled up, you kin hardly tell ’em!—­ Tired, you know, but lovin’ it, and smilin’ jest to think ’at Any sweeter tiredness you’d fairly want to drink it.  Tired o’ fishin’—­tired o’ fun—­line out slack and slacker—­ All you want in all the world’s a little more tobacker!

  Hungry, but a-hidin’ it, er jes’ a-not a-keerin’:-
  Kingfisher gittin’ up and skootin’