Nye and Riley's Wit and Humor (Poems and Yarns)

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Riley James Whitcomb. Nye and Riley's Wit and Humor (Poems and Yarns)

Biographical

Where He First Met His Parents

Never Talk Back

The Gruesome Ballad of Mr. Squincher

Anecdotes of Jay Gould

A Fall Crick View of the Earthquake

August

Julius Cæsar in Town

His First Womern

This Man Jones

How to Hunt the Fox

The Boy Friend

A Letter of Acceptance

In the Afternoon

The Rise and Fall of William Johnson

From Delphi to Camden

The Grammatical Boy

Craqueodoom

The Chemist of the Carolinas

His Crazy-Bone

Prying Open the Future

Mr. Silberberg

Spirits at Home

Healthy but out of the Race

Lines

Me and Mary

Niagara Falls from the Nye Side

"Curly Locks!"

Lines on Turning Over a Pass

That Night

The Truth about Methuselah

A Black Hills Episode

The Rossville Lecture Course

The Tar-heel Cow

A Character

The Diary of Darius T. Skinner

THE MAN IN THE MOON

His Christmas Sled

Her Tired Hands

Ezra House

"Oh, Wilhelmina, Come Back!"

A HINT of SPRING

A Treat Ode

"Our Wife"

My Bachelor Chum

The Philanthropical Jay

"A Brave Refrain."

A Blasted Snore

Good-bye er Howdy-do

Society Gurgs From Sandy Mush

While Cigarettes to Ashes Turn

Says He

Where the Roads Are Engaged in Forking

McFeeters' Fourth

In a Box

Seeking to Set the Public Right

A Dose't of Blues

Wanted, a Fox

SUTTERS CLAIM

Seeking to Be Identified

THE OLD CIDER MILL

Отрывок из книги

Last week I visited my birthplace in the State of Maine. I waited thirty years for the public to visit it, and as there didn't seem to be much of a rush this spring, I thought I would go and visit it myself. I was telling a friend the other day that the public did not seem to manifest the interest in my birthplace that I thought it ought to, and he said I ought not to mind that. "Just wait," said he, "till the people of the United States have an opportunity to visit your tomb, and you will be surprised to see how they will run excursion trains up there to Moosehead lake, or wherever you plant yourself. It will be a perfect picnic. Your hold on the American people, William, is wonderful, but your death would seem to assure it, and kind of crystallize the affection now existing, but still in a nebulous and gummy state."

A man ought not to criticise his birthplace, I presume, and yet, if I were to do it all over again, I do not know whether I would select that particular spot or not. Sometimes I think I would not. And yet, what memories cluster about that old house! There was the place where I first met my parents. It was at that time that an acquaintance sprang up which has ripened in later years into mutual respect and esteem. It was there that what might be termed a casual meeting took place, that has, under the alchemy of resist-less years, turned to golden links, forming a pleasant but powerful bond of union between my parents and myself. For that reason, I hope that I may be spared to my parents for many years to come.

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Mr. Gould's habits are simple and he does not hold his cane by the middle when he walks. He wears plain clothes and his shirts and collars are both made of the same shade. He says he feels sorry for any one who has to wear a pink shirt with a blue collar. Some day he hopes to endow a home for young men who cannot afford to buy a shirt and a collar at the same store.

He owes much of his neuralgia to a lack of exercise. Mr. Gould never takes any exercise at all. His reason for this is that he sees no prospect for exercise to advance in value. He says he is willing to take anything else but exercise.

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