But ’tis prob’ly jest the mem’ry of the dust of
Oh, Daddy Time, if somehow you could only
And let a feller start again a race he’s made a
I wouldn’t ask no better place to start my life
Than on that stand that afternoon beside that
To sweeten all the popcorn balls we munched
Here’s a lyric for the man who’s “druv’ the
For the hero of the webbin’s and the whip;
Who has faced the wind and weather, fingers
And in twenty years has never lost a trip.
Here’s a tribute to the sway-back, spotted hoss,
Who has struggled up the stony, gullied hills;
And his dorsal corrugations show the nature of
--When he stops, he has to lean against the
Chief of hopeless and dilapidated wrecks;
With the cracked enamel awning, and its cush-
Here’s alas and oh, the ancient “buff’ler robe,”
When the rain and snow descended, then some
Till the stage was scented very like a tomb.
When the night shut down around him and the
And the tempest chilled his blood and blurred
There were only country letters in the bags,
And the bags were lank, and yet his word was
And he felt as if the nation knew his fierce
That he’d have the mail sacks through on time
Here’s rebuke to those contractors who have
The stipends of our Uncle Sam’s star routes,
Till the men who drive the stages hardly get
To keep their little shavers’ feet in boots.
Here’s a lyric, then, for him who drives the stage;
When you ride behind his ragged back, don’t
But endure the bang and slamming, for the
Is the contract-sharp who bid the wages down.
The neighbors came a-nosing ’round and said the
--He oughter up and killed him then, right
A-killed him, yas, and tanned his hide and made
Then worn ’em out a-kicking’round them neigh-
Who set the bee to buzzing under Ezry Booker’s
And filled him up and chucked him full of non-
He’d got a hoss ’twas bound to make his ever-
And what he got to do, of course, was handle
That he must bandage up his legs and figger on
And give him reg’lar exercise and work him out
His knees, his neck, his breast, his thighs, the
And all his other symptoms looked to “speed,”
So Ezry he just sucked it in, as child-like as
--It cost him thirteen dollars to look np the
Then one day down to Laneses store he ribbled
Of names that struck your Uncle Dud as so much
“I’ve traced him back,” so Ezry said, “to Mor-