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What Chris’mas Fetched The Wigginses
by [?]


Wintertime, er Summertime,
Of late years I notice I’m,
Kindo’-like, more subjec’ to
What the weather is. Now, you
Folks ‘at lives in town, I s’pose,
Thinks its bully when it snows;
But the chap ‘at chops and hauls
Yer wood fer ye, and then stalls,
And snapps tuggs and swingletrees,
And then has to walk er freeze,
Haint so much “stuck on” the snow
As stuck in it–Bless ye, no!–
When its packed, and sleighin’s good,
And church in the neighborhood,
Them ‘at’s got their girls, I guess,
Takes ’em, likely, more er less,
Tell the plain facts o’ the case,
No men-folks about our place
On’y me and Pap–and he
‘Lows ‘at young folks’ company
Allus made him sick! So I
Jes don’t want, and jes don’t try!
Chinkypin, the dad-burn town,
‘S too fur off to loaf aroun’
Either day er night–and no
Law compellin’ me to go!–
‘Less ‘n some Old-Settlers’ Day,
Er big-doin’s thataway–
Then, to tell the p’inted fac’,
I’ve went more so’s to come back
By old Guthrie’s ‘still-house, where
Minors has got licker there–
That’s pervidin’ we could show ’em
Old folks sent fer it from home!
Visit roun’ the neighbors some,
When the boys wants me to come.–
Coon-hunt with ’em; er set traps
Fer mussrats; er jes, perhaps,
Lay in roun’ the stove, you know,
And parch corn, and let her snow!
Mostly, nights like these, you’ll be
(Ef you’ got a writ fer me)
Ap’ to skeer me up, I guess,
In about the Wigginses.
Nothin’ roun’ our place to keep
Me at home–with Pap asleep
‘Fore it’s dark; and Mother in
Mango pickles to her chin;
And the girls, all still as death,
Piecin’ quilts.–Sence I drawed breath
Twenty year’ ago, and heerd
Some girls whispern’ so’s it ‘peared
Like they had a row o’ pins
In their mouth–right there begins
My first rickollections, built
On that-air blame old piece-quilt!

Summertime, it’s jes the same–
‘Cause I’ve noticed,–and I claim,
As I said afore, I’m more
Subjec’ to the weather, shore,
‘Proachin’ my majority,
Than I ever ust to be!
Callin’ back last Summer, say,–
Don’t seem hardly past away–
With night closin’ in, and all
S’ lonesome-like in the dew-fail:
Bats–ad-drat their ugly muggs!–
Flickern’ by; and lightnin’-bugs
Huckstern’ roun’ the airly night
Little sickly gasps o’ light;–
Whip-poor-wills, like all possessed,
Moanin’ out their mournfullest;–
Frogs and katydids and things
Jes clubs in and sings and sings
Their ding-dangdest!–Stock’s all fed,
And Pap’s washed his feet fer bed;–
Mother and the girls all down
At the milk-shed, foolin’ roun’–
No wunder ‘at I git blue,
And lite out–and so would you!
I caint stay aroun’ no place
Whur they haint no livin’ face:–
‘Crost the fields and thue the gaps
Of the hills they’s friends, perhaps,
Waitin’ somers, ‘at kin be
Kindo’ comfertin’ to me!

Neighbors all ‘is plenty good,
Scattered thue this neighberhood;
Yit, of all, I like to jes
Drap in on the Wigginses.–
Old man, and old lady too,
‘Pear-like, makes so much o’ you–,
Least, they’ve allus pampered me
Like one of the fambily.–
The boys, too, ‘s all thataway–
Want you jes to come and stay;–
Price, and Chape, and Mandaville,
Poke, Chasteen, and “Catfish Bill”–
Poke’s the runt of all the rest,
But he’s jes the beatinest
Little schemer, fer fourteen,
Anybody ever seen!–
“Like his namesake,” old man claims,
“Jeems K. Poke, the first o’ names!
Full o’ tricks and jokes–and you
Never know what Poke’s go’ do!”
Genius, too, that-air boy is,
With them awk’ard hands o’ his:
Gits this blame pokeberry-juice,
Er some stuff, fer ink–and goose-
Quill pen-p’ints: And then he’ll draw
Dogdest pictures yevver saw!
Er make deers and eagles good
As a writin’-teacher could!
Then they’s two twin boys they’ve riz
Of old Coonrod Wigginses
‘At’s deceast–and glad of it,
‘Cause his widder’s livin’ yit!