Stiller ‘n a piece o’ wood—­
  Would n’t wink ner would n’t stir,
  But a-gazin’ right at her,
  Tell she turns an’ sees me—­my! 
  Thought at first she ’d try to fly. 
  But she blushed an’ stood her ground. 
  Then, a-slyly lookin’ round,
  She says:  “Did you hear me, Ben?”
  “Whistlin’ woman, crowin’ hen,”
  Says I, lookin’ awful stern. 
  Then the red commenced to burn
  In them cheeks o’ hern.  Why, la! 
  Reddest red you ever saw—­
  Pineys wa’n’t a circumstance. 
  You ’d ‘a’ noticed in a glance
  She was pow’rful shamed an’ skeart;
  But she looked so sweet an’ peart,
  That a idee struck my head;
  So I up an’ slowly said: 
  “Woman whistlin’ brings shore harm,
  Jest one thing ’ll break the charm.” 
  “And what’s that?” “Oh, my!” says I,
  “I don’t like to tell you.”  “Why?”
  Says Susanner.  “Well, you see
  It would kinder fall on me.” 
  Course I knowed that she ’d insist,—­
  So I says:  “You must be kissed
  By the man that heard you whistle;
  Everybody says that this ’ll
  Break the charm and set you free
  From the threat’nin’ penalty.” 
  She was blushin’ fit to kill,
  But she answered, kinder still: 
  “I don’t want to have no harm,
  Please come, Ben, an’ break the charm.” 
  Did I break that charm?—­oh, well,
  There’s some things I must n’t tell. 
  I remember, afterwhile,
  Her a-sayin’ with a smile: 
  “Oh, you quit,—­you sassy dunce,
  You jest caught me whistlin’ once.” 
  Ev’ry sence that when I hear
  Some one whistlin’ kinder clear,
  I most break my neck to see
  Ef it ’s Susy; but, dear me,
  I jest find I ’ve b’en to chase
  Some blamed boy about the place. 
  Dad ‘s b’en noticin’ my way,
  An’ last night I heerd him say: 
  “We must send fur Dr. Glenn,
  Mother; somethin ’s wrong with Ben!”

HUNTING SONG

    Tek a cool night, good an’ cleah,
      Skiff o’ snow upon de groun’;
    Jes’ ‘bout fall-time o’ de yeah
      W’en de leaves is dry an brown;
    Tek a dog an’ tek a axe,
      Tek a lantu’n in yo’ han’,
    Step light whah de switches cracks,
      Fu’ dey ‘s huntin’ in de lan’. 
  Down thoo de valleys an’ ovah de hills,
    Into de woods whah de ’simmon-tree grows,
  Wakin’ an’ skeerin’ de po’ whippo’wills,
    Huntin’ fu’ coon an’ fu’ ’possum we goes.

    Blow dat ho’n dah loud an’ strong,
      Call de dogs an’ da’kies neah;
    Mek its music cleah an’ long,
      So de folks at home kin hyeah. 
    Blow it twell de hills an’ trees
      Sen’s de echoes tumblin’ back;
    Blow it twell de back’ard breeze
      Tells de folks we ’s on de track. 
  Coons is a-ramblin’ an’ ’possums is out;
    Look at dat dog; you could set on his tail! 
  Watch him now—­steady,—­min’—­what you ’s about,
    Bless me, dat animal’s got on de trail!