Miss Edith Makes It Pleasant for Brother Jack

Crying! Of course I am crying, and I guess you would be crying, too,
If people were telling such stories as they tell about me, about you.
Oh yes, you can laugh if you want to, and smoke as you didnt care how,
And get your brains softened like uncles. Dr. Jones says youre gettin it now.

Why dont you say Stop! to Miss Ilsey? She cries twice as much as I do,
And shes older and cries just from meanness, for a ribbon or anything new.
Ma says its her sensitive nature. Oh my! No, I shant stop my talk!
And I dont want no apples nor candy, and I dont want to go take a walk!

I know why youre mad! Yes, I do, now! You think that Miss Ilsey likes you,
And Ive heard her repeatedly call you the bold-facest boy that she knew;
And shed like to know where you learnt manners. Oh yes! Kick the table, thats right!
Spill the ink on my dress, and go then round telling Ma that I look like a fright!

What stories? Pretend you dont know that theyre saying I broke off the match
Twixt old Money-grubber and Mary, by saying she called him Crosspatch,
When the only allusion I made him about sister Mary was, she
Cared more for his cash than his temper, and you know, Jack, you said that to me.

And its true! But its me, and Im scolded, and Pa says if I keep on I might
By and by get my name in the papers! Who cares? Why, twas only last night
I was reading how Pa and the sheriff were selling some lots, and its plain
If its awful to be in the papers, why, Papa would go and complain.

You think it aint true about Ilsey? Well, I guess I know girls, and I say
Theres nothing I see about Ilsey to show she likes you, anyway!
I know what it means when a girl who has called her cat after one boy
Goes and changes its name to anothers. And shes done it and I wish you joy!

Bret Harte

Bret Harte was an American author and poet, renowned for his works about pioneering life in California. Born on August 25, 1836, he gained national fame with his short stories and poetry depicting life in the early mining camps. His most famous works include 'The Luck of Roaring Camp' and 'The Outcasts of Poker Flat.' Harte's writings played a crucial role in shaping the Western genre in American literature. He passed away on May 5, 1902.

Bret Harte

The Birds of Cirencester

Bret Harte, Simple Poetry

North Beach

Bret Harte, Simple Poetry

The Babes in the Woods

Bret Harte, Simple Poetry

Plain Language from Truthful James

Bret Harte, Simple Poetry

English

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Miss Edith Makes Another Friend

Oh, youre the girl lives on the corner? Come in if you want to come quick!
Theres no one but me in the house, and the cook but shes only a stick.
Dont try the front way, but come over the fence through the window thats how.
Dont mind the big dog he wont bite you just see him obey me! there, now!

Whats your name? Mary Ellen? How funny! Mines Edith its nicer, you see;
But yours does for you, for youre plainer, though maybe youre gooder than me;
For Jack says Im sometimes a devil, but Jack, of all folks, neednt talk,
For I dont call the seamstress an angel till Ma says the poor thing must walk.

Come in! Its quite dark in the parlor, for sister will keep the blinds down,
For you know her complexion is sallow like yours, but she isnt as brown;
Though Jack says tha...

Bret Harte

Luke

Wots that youre readin? a novel? A novel! well, darn my skin!
You a man grown and bearded and histin such stuff ez that in
Stuff about gals and their sweethearts! No wonder youre thin ez a knife.
Look at me clar two hundred and never read one in my life!

Thats my opinion o novels. And ez to their lyin round here,
They belong to the Jedges daughter the Jedge who came up last year
On account of his lungs and the mountains and the balsam o pine and fir;
And his daughter well, she read novels, and thats whats the matter with her.

Yet she was sweet on the Jedge, and stuck by him day and night,
Alone in the cabin up yer till she grew like a ghost, all white.
She wus only a slip of a thing, ez light and ez up and away
Ez rifle smoke blown through the woods, but she w...

Bret Harte

Seventy-Nine

Know me next time when you see me, wont you, old smarty?
Oh, I mean you, old figger-head, just the same party!
Take out your pensivil, d n you; sharpen it, do!
Any complaints to make? Lots of em one of ems you.

You! who are you, anyhow, goin round in that sneakin way?
Never in jail before, was you, old blatherskite, say?
Look at it; dont it look pooty? Oh, grin, and be d d to you, do!
But if I had you this side o that gratin, Id just make it lively for you.

How did I get in here? Well what ud you give to know?
Twasnt by sneakin round where I hadnt no call to go;
Twasnt by hangin round a-spyin unfortnet men.
Grin! but Ill stop your jaw if ever you do that agen.

Why dont you say suthin, blast you? Speak your mind if you dare.
Aint I a ba...

Bret Harte

Miss Ediths Modest Request

My papa knows you, and he says youre a man who makes reading for books;
But I never read nothing you wrote, nor did Papa, I know by his looks.
So I guess youre like me when I talk, and I talk, and I talk all the day,
And they only say, Do stop that child! or, Nurse, take Miss Edith away.

But Papa said if I was good I could ask you alone by myself
If you wouldnt write me a book like that little one up on the shelf.
I dont mean the pictures, of course, for to make them youve got to be smart
But the reading that runs all around them, you know, just the easiest part.

You neednt mind what its about, for no one will see it but me,
And Jane, thats my nurse, and John, hes the coachman, just only us three.
Youre to write of a bad little girl, that was wicked and bold and a...

Bret Harte

The Idyl of Battle Hollow

No, I wont, thar, now, so! And it aint nothin, no!
And thars nary to tell that you folks yer dont know;
And its Belle, tell us, do! and its Belle, is it true?
And Wots this yer yarn of the Major and you?
Till Im sick of it all, so I am, but I spose
Thet is nothin to you. . . . Well, then, listen! yer goes!

It was after the fight, and around us all night
Thar was poppin and shootin a powerful sight;
And the niggers had fled, and Aunt Chlo was abed,
And Pinky and Milly were hid in the shed:
And I ran out at daybreak, and nothin was nigh
But the growlin of cannon low down in the sky.

And I saw not a thing, as I ran to the spring,
But a splintered fence rail and a broken-down swing,
And a bird said Kerchee! as it sat on a tree,
As if ...

Bret Harte

His Answer to Her Letter

Being asked by an intimate party,
Which the same I would term as a friend,
Though his health it were vain to call hearty,
Since the mind to deceit it might lend;
For his arm it was broken quite recent,
And theres something gone wrong with his lung,
Which is why it is proper and decent
I should write what he runs off his tongue.

First, he says, Miss, hes read through your letter
To the end,    and the end came too soon;
That a slight illness kept him your debtor,
(Which for weeks he was wild as a loon);
That his spirits are buoyant as yours is;
That with you, Miss, he challenges Fate,
(Which the language that invalid uses
At times it were vain to relate).

And he says that the mountains are fairer
For once being held in your thought;...

Bret Harte