83 Chapters
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Bear Story, The

James Whitcomb Riley Indiana University Press ePub

W’Y, wunst they wuz a Little Boy went out

In the woods to shoot a Bear. So, he went out

’Way in the grea’-big woods—he did.—An’ he

Wuz goin’ along—an’ goin’ along, you know,

An’ purty soon he heerd somepin’ go “Wooh!”

Ist thataway—“Woo-ooh!” An’ he wuz skeered,

He wuz. An’ so he runned an’ clumbed a tree—

A grea’-big tree, he did,—a sicka-more tree.

An’ nen he heerd it ag’in: an’ he looked round,

An’ ’t’uz a Bear!—a grea’-big shore-nuff Bear!

No: ’t’uz two Bears, it wuz—two grea’-big Bears—

One of ’em wuz—ist one’s a grea’-big Bear.—

But they ist boff went “Wooh!”—An’ here they come

To climb the tree an’ git the Little Boy

An’ eat him up!

An’ nen the Little Boy

He ’uz skeered worse’n ever! An’ here come

The grea’-big Bear a-climbin’ th’ tree to git

The Little Boy an’ eat him up—Oh, no!

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"After All, What Is This Life Itself?"

Edited by Thomas Austenfeld UNT Press ePub

"After All, What Is This Life Itself?"

Dimiter Daphinoff

There is a painting in the Yale University Art Gallery that gives visual expression to some of the central concerns of early modern culture which the twentieth-century American writer, Katherine Anne Porter, takes up in her novel Ship of Fools. As with so many of Hieronymus Bosch’s works, the dating of The Allegory of Intemperance is uncertain, but it is generally assumed that it must have been completed some time between 1495 and 1500 as part of a triptych illustrating the Seven Deadly Sins.1 The famous companion panel, the Ship of Fools, is now in the Louvre in Paris. Given the immediate European popularity of Sebastian Brant’s Narrenschiff, published in 1494, Bosch is likely to have designed his triptych as a visual interpretation of Brant’s poem.

This essay, whose starting point is a striking verbal echo of Erasmus’ Praise of Folly in Katherine Anne Porter’s Ship of Fools, proposes to investigate the interrelated themes of death, immortality, and folly in Porter’s novel in the context of their treatment by Porter’s great predecessors Brant, Erasmus, and More. It aims to show that the uncompromising indictment of the fools on board Porter’s ship lacks the moral certainties that render the satires of Brant and Erasmus, in particular, effective through the alternatives they imply.

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Curly Locks

James Whitcomb Riley Indiana University Press ePub

CURLY Locks! Curly Locks! wilt thou be mine?

Thou shalt not wash the dishes, nor yet feed the swine,—

But sit on a cushion and sew a fine seam,

And feast upon strawberries, sugar and cream.

Curly Locks! Curly Locks! wilt thou be mine?

The throb of my heart is in every line,

And the pulse of a passion as airy and glad

In its musical beat as the little Prince had!

Thou shalt not wash the dishes, nor yet feed the swine!—

O I’ll dapple thy hands with these kisses of mine

Till the pink of the nail of each finger shall be

As a little pet blush in full blossom for me.

But sit on a cushion and sew a fine seam,

And thou shalt have fabric as fair as a dream,—

The red of my veins, and the white of my love,

And the gold of my joy for the braiding thereof.

And feast upon strawberries, sugar and cream

From a service of silver, with jewels agleam,—

At thy feet will I bide, at thy beck will I rise,

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Days Gone By, The

James Whitcomb Riley Indiana University Press ePub

O THE days gone by! O the days gone by!

The apples in the orchard, and the pathway through the rye;

The chirrup of the robin, and the whistle of the quail

As he piped across the meadows sweet as any nightingale;

When the bloom was on the clover, and the blue was in the sky,

And my happy heart brimmed over, in the days gone by.

In the days gone by, when my naked feet were tripped

By the honeysuckle tangles where the water-lilies dipped,

And the ripples of the river lipped the moss along the brink,

Where the placid-eyed and lazy-footed cattle came to drink,

And the tilting snipe stood fearless of the truant’s wayward cry

And the splashing of the swimmer, in the days gone by.

O the days gone by! O the days gone by!

The music of the laughing lip, the lustre of the eye;

The childish faith in fairies, and Aladdin’s magic ring—

The simple, soul-reposing, glad belief in everything,—

When life was like a story, holding neither sob nor sigh,

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Squirtgun Uncle Maked Me, The

James Whitcomb Riley Indiana University Press ePub

UNCLE Sidney, when he wuz here,

Maked me a squirtgun out o’ some

Elder-bushes ’at growed out near

Where wuz the brickyard—’way out clear

To where the toll-gate come!

So when we walked back home again,

He maked it, out in our woodhouse where

Wuz the old workbench, an’ the old jack-plane,

An’ the old ’pokeshave, an’ the tools all lay’n’

Ist like he wants ’em there.

He sawed it first with the old hand-saw;

An’ nen he peeled off the bark, an’ got

Some glass an’ scraped it; an’ told ’bout Pa,

When he wuz a boy an’ fooled his Ma,

An’ the whippin’ ’at he caught.

Nen Uncle Sidney, he took an’ filed

A’ old arn ramrod; an’ one o’ the ends

He screwed fast into the vise; an’ smiled,

Thinkin’, he said, o’ when he wuz a child,

’Fore him an’ Pa wuz mens.

He punched out the peth, an’ nen he put

A plug in the end with a hole notched through;

Nen took the old drawey-knife an’ cut

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