The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Old-Time Spelling School, by John G. Ellenbecker.

O worthy friends, at last we’ve met again;

I feel that we have met in days before;

And hope as gladly now as we did then,

To contemplate some things in days of yore;

In those days when our parents still were young,

And we in youth around the school house swung.

It won’t take long—a fleet winged hour or two—

So, let us raise the curtain of the past,

And bring again those good old days to view,

Which are long fled in years that sped too fast;

Let us together take a pleasant trip

On mem’ry’s wings for kind companionship.

In those good times of years long, long ago

Were many hardships, that we should forget;

But still, among these troubles, toils, and woe,

Were sunny spots that will delight us yet.

And one of those affected by this rule

Is the old time rollicking spelling school.

The young folks of today would scarcely guess

Their fathers and their mothers, in those times,

Could stand for hours the stern onslaught and stress

Of stubborn words, in long contending lines—

Arranged around the dingy school house wall

To see who was the speller best of all.

The country school was then the favorite nook—

A kind of home spun university—

Where old and young their worth in spelling book

Exhibited in a friendly rivalry.

And those of later times, of course, don’t know

What they without these sports sadly forego.

Those spelling schools did more in their plain ways

For all young folks, than now is done for few,

In costly schools, in these progressive days—

And they were common once. West of the Blue,

There were five districts that were wont to meet

In contest in this most delightful feat.

Blue Valley and Deer Creek lay to the north;

Each one a ready, lusty vanquisher;

And smiling Prairie Gem lay to the south;

Raemer Creek on the west, now Herkimer;

And Pleasant Ridge, my rural alma mater,

In midst of all, and just a trifle greater.

When corn was husked and hard farm work was done,

The winter evenings long and restless grew;

Then country folks would long for that blithe fun

That they before from the quaint school house drew.

Some teachers then with pupils did contrive

To hold a spelling school among the five.

And these were founts of pleasure, sparkling, sweet,

To which the neighboring schools invited were.

The purpose was in spelling them to beat;

And therein lay the honors striven for.

For those events the spelling book was learned

Complete, and bowls of midnight oil were burned.

’Twas wont for parents to pronounce at home

Words by the pages to their children then;

Until McGuffey’s text by heart was known—

By the whole household, even the hired men.

No wonder that we heard old settlers tell:

“In those wise days people knew how to spell.”

The district that would entertain the rest

Of schools, gratis prepared a play program—

Of songs and declamations, the very best,

And dialogs in which much laughter ran.

Herein, no doubt, young Thespians took part

Who through hearty encore obtained their start.

Those spelling bees! O, with what rare delight,

For weeks ahead we them anticipated!

They were the magnets of those winter nights;

No storm or cold them e’er obliterated.

When those glad nights came, countless faces beamed

In country school houses where bright lights gleamed.

Altho ’twas long ago, still I recall

The happy crowds within those temples wee;

And marvel how they could contain them all;

But they were all on hand, and so were we.

In an old adage you know it is told:

“Many gentle sheep go in a small fold.”

The old time songs were with much pleasure fraught,

When by gray-haired sires or sweet maidens sung;

The dialogs oft bursts of laughter brought,

As actors new their characters well flung.

And ne’er did foot lights play house Booths enfire

As wild applause did our young stars inspire.

No scroll of Prairie Gem would be complete

That not of Mrs. Jeffry’s actors told;

Or Cottrell’s pupils invincible and sweet,

That oft at bay contending lines did hold:

For Golden Valley, where these districts lay,

Well knew these folks could ably spell and play.

This part could boast of sturdy families;

Yet modestly these bore their worthy lots:

Stauffachers, Guises, Brennans, Babbisches,

Murphys, Armstrongs, Yaussis, Jeffrys and Otts;

Pachas and Trienens, Seematters and Dow;

And others that I have forgotten now.

And Herkimer should ever brightly shine

For blithe savants: Carbott and McConnaughey;

No school house feast could glow without their chime—

Their choral gems and jocund roundelay.

And over many snowy miles we’d swing

To hear these two declaim, debate, or sing.

Its violin players were hard to beat:

Whoe’er heard Clark Stewart play “The Mocking Bird”

At spelling schools, they heard a heavenly treat:

To be enraptured was but to have heard.

Here, likewise, too, held voluptuous sway

The Schumacher dulcet stringed orchestra.

This district had its great families too:

The Runkles, Schumachers and Dorfeners;

Niemanns, Emmerts, Kellers, Hickeys and True,

Lyndes, Amelunxens, Koenekes, Raemers—

Most, pioneers who in the sixties came,

And helped the prairie’s wild frontier to tame.

And Deer Creek! fairest district of the dell!

If spelled with “a” instead of “e” no seer

Could have objected: here did truly dwell

A hundred pretty girls for ev’ry deer.

And all could laugh and spell and sing and play,

So that the coldest heart turned glad and gay.

Among the worthy families were, Schmidlers,

And Cockerills, and Watsons, Travelutes;

McKees and Severns, Koppeses, and Winklers;

Sedlaceks, Tatlocks, Websters, Keys and Lutz—

And teachers great like Shaner, Prichard, Barbour,

Charley Travelute and Lizzie Mohrbacher.

Blue Valley too, still famous from its grange,

Held many wizards of the spelling book;

And hence we always tho’t it something strange

If in such contests they no honors took:

The Rogers, Cottrells, Fultons and Blackmars,

Had lasses that could spell to beat the stars.

In songs and plays they also were real good;

Their literary parts were out of sight:

We ne’er went to their fettas but we stood

Chuckful of irrepressible delight.

And their forensic sons were known to fame;

Their laurels sprang from many a wordy game.

The story of this vale would lose its sheen

Here to withhold the names these tales arouse;

As Butler, Benson, Schultz, Mayhew and Green,

Herring, McNulty, Spealman, Bull and Howes:

And they all strove most earnestly, at least,

To make the West twice as great as the East.

And Pleasant Ridge, the heart of this quintette,

Embowered in a vale that always gave

A hearty welcome to the neighboring set,

Likewise to worth and wisdom, strong and brave—

Modestly it gave the gauntlet and took,

Of friend and foe in bout in spelling book.

Often its sons and daughters bravely stood

In neighboring schools of the prairie white,

Defending their record envied and good,

And win or lose, put up a stubborn fight.

Altho they lost sometimes a spelling fray,

More often were bedecked with laurels gay.

It too had singers fine; they were replete;

Song was spontaneous as to glad bird:

Their voices blended charmingly and sweet:

’Twas joy to hear them, but grief when not heard.

The Tarvins were singers; like them no other;

Mattie and Sally, Lewis and their mother.

It also had school masters, great and good,

Whose memory the pupils will e’er bless;

Who’re wise and kind and childhood understood,

And worshipped for meekness and gentleness:

Miss Kister, Thomas Randolph and John King,

Frank Paul, Pierce Hickey and F. D. Joslyn.

Of all our teachers tho’, Gallaher was king:

He taught us how to carol, like the birds;

His “Ring, Then Ring Ye Light Fairy Bells” will ring

In my ears long as I recall those words.

He was a singing master; were there more

In rural schools to-day, the country o’er.

Concerning disputants, we had them too:

Fair Prairie Gem might flaunt Hiner and Guise;

But these two Haynes full well our Websters knew—

George Tarvin, Edwin Neal—for, surely twice,

The two won in debates to th’ others once;

And Golden Valley’s speakers shunned no chance.

We also had good spellers in this valley;

But our hope and strength depended on these three—

Kind Peter Kerschen, Emma Kister, Sally

Tarvin—these were our shining galaxy.

Victory that by them could not be wrought,

We knew it had been very dearly bought.

Some hardy families besides the ones

Named, lived within this district’s charming dells—

Links, Koppeses, Parishes, Warringtons,

Behrens, Ottos, Heisters, Talbots, Hunts, Hartwells—

And they all strove as ardent as they could

To keep its name unsullied, fair and good.

The people of these country districts, five,

Were pioneers who in the far years came.

It was their sterling worth that kept alive

The steady progress on this cheerless plain,

And changed it from a bluestem coyote ward

Into the fields and gardens of the Lord.

These people were no better and no worse

Than those of other rural communities

Of which God built many. He knew their force

In moving this world’s plain activities;

And ’tho oft used as theme for jests and jokes

They e’er have been, still are, the cream of folks.

Some names of these, no doubt, I have forgot;

And hence, they do not here within appear:

For time and toil the keenest mind will blot;

Yet so, for each left out, I shed a tear.

Those names, I’m sure, would help to grace these rhymes

And garnish this fond tale of former times.

In eighties, while these schools were at their best,

And pupils from all these refined homes were

Bent on hard study, with good teachers blest,

Some splendid spelling schools did then occur

In each district one winter. It was then

The last was held in Pleasant Ridge, a gem.

The score was even; they must hold yet one;

This was to tell for all the final fate.

They all longed for this great event to come;

The tenth of February was the date.

We all had vowed, no matter what it took,

We must not fail to know the spelling book.

Three weeks of time we had yet to prepare;

And the home school should furnish the program.

Our teacher, Emma Kister, said, “With care,

Pupils, we must arrange our work and plan,

Or else the victory will not be ours;

We have to entertain and fight four powers.”

She named a council with her to advise;

They placed the poorer spellers in the plays;

The small ones gave “a piece” to memorize;

And got the non-combatants of those days

To play guitars and violins, and sing.

This truly proved to be the very thing.

We spelled down every Friday afternoon;

And the last week we did that ev’ry day;

Rehearsed the declamations ev’ry noon;

And in the evening practiced ev’ry play.

So when came on the tenth of February,

We’d all in trim and all a-feeling merry.

The other districts also plotted, planned;

And studied early, late and overtime.

If kerosene had not then been on hand

They’d burned up all the pitchy knots of pine.

And safe to say, they knew the word book well,

And as they plainly showed, knew how to spell.

It was the prettiest night I e’er did know:

The full moon did its very, very best;

The wains and sleighs came jingling o’er the snow;

For no one wished to miss the great contest.

Our frame school house was large, but ne’er before

So many glad folks were upon its floor.

Each school its spellers chose, and wrote each name

On paper, of not more than twelve and ten,

Nor less than twelve; and then enclosed the same

Within a drawing box from which two men

Then drew the names, and read one at a time,

While persons took alternate sides in line.

In final contest now each teacher stood

And spelled with pupils of his or her school.

Therefore, an outside person, as he should,

Was asked to “give out” words; a time-old rule;

For this was chosen Mr. William Knight,

Elm Creek’s savant, who proved a prince that night.

The quaint school house was decked for holiday;

The old and young from far and near were there:

All from Deer Creek; Blue Valley, far away;

And sunny Prairie Gem, and Herkimer, fair.

Here Golden Valley’s best ’d gathered at its heart,

Intent for spelling tournament to start.

When all was set, this was an august sight:

Each school its trusted spellers there had brought,

By study armed and trained in many a fight;

And with them came their friends who warmly sought

To cheer them to the utmost in the game;

And win for their home schools still brighter fame.

Blue Valley’s spellers came with Mr. Gallaher;

John Cottrell with his pupils resolute

From Prairie Gem. The lexicographers

Of Deer Creek came with Charley Travelute.

Likewise McConnaughey with his gay band

Of spellers from Herkimer was on hand.

Three generations mingled at these sports:

Grandparents with their scions and grand babes

Coined facial sunshine for congenial hearts

That these farm districts always owned and gave.

Among the many grand folks ’mid this youth

Appeared Grandpa and Grandma Travelute.

When lines were formed the spelling match began;

By guess of page, the starting side was learned;

To fifty then as per adopted plan,

Of McGuffey’s text the mediator turned:—

“Dilemma!” Charley Travelute spelled right;

And Mabel Rogers next won “stalactite.”

Then Emma Kister spelled “discern,” and Ben

Bull captured “chemistry,” and next “subvert”

To Philip Emmert fell; while “stratagem”

To Allie Jeffry went. The word “alert”

Brought down a lad from Pleasant Ridge, but Fred

Cockerill left out the useless “l” instead.

Next Warren Keller overcame “precedence”;

And Eva Blackmar right spelled “boulevard”;

John Armstrong then scored perfect on “allegiance”;

A lass from Deer Creek found “croquet” too hard;

But Francis Benson then reduced the fracture;

And Louis Tarvin cleared on “architecture.”

The word “spaceous” was spelled by Alfred Talbot;

And next “sophisticate” by Daisy Bull.

“Stereotype” was won by Ella Benson;

And Edward Winkler scored with “merciful.”

Then Sally Tarvin right spelled “separate”;

And Stella Guise o’ercame “emancipate.”

Now Henry Stauffacher cleared on “redoubt”;

And Ira Strickler nearly missed “renown,”

“Adroit” some one from Herkimer let out;

Likewise a lad from Prairie Gem put down.

Correctly then George Emmert spelled this term;

And Jake Schmidler scored high on “endosperm.”

“Missile” was sent to Maggie Butterfield;

While “modesty” was won by Frank McKee;

James Gallaher nearly lost out on “congealed”;

And Minnie Cottrell mastered “chickadee”;

Now Peter Kerschen captured “epiglottis”;

And “gratis” was spelled by Louisa Koppes.

George Watson next cleared on “antagonize”;

“Incarcerate” fell to Edward McKee;

A Pleasant Ridger lost on “analyze”—

He stopped too soon; he left off final “e”.

But Andrew Koppes then made the addition;

Wesley Sedlacek lettered right “commission.”

Correctly Polly Key spelled “gondolier”;

John Cottrell subjugated “porcelain”;

Then Monnie Strickler right spelled “brigadier”;

And Florence Benson perfect got “domain.”

Then Ida Kister took “fragility”;

And Lena Fulton won “tranquility.”

Now Walter Cockerill won on “guitar”;

Some lass from Herkimer sad took her seat

Because from “arrogance” she dropped an “r”;

Teresa Schmidler made that word complete.

Next Gertrude Talbot spelled the word “musician,”

And Oscar Severns, ditto, “statistician.”

Pierce Hickey now scored perfect on “sebaceous”;

“Sapphire” was won by Agnes Butterfield.

Sam Guise went down before the term “cetaceous”—

Some thought a-purpose to vacate the field.

Then Katie Armstrong spelled the word correctly;

And Edward Keller barely got “exactly.”

Now Maggie Ellenbecker got “parquet;”

And Peter Schumacher o’ercame “coupon;”

Next Bertha Heister didn’t miss “roundelay;”

Nor Robert Cottrell lose the word “chiffon.”

But thus it was not with ye humble bard:

He found the word “campaign” a type too hard.

That word was mastered then by Dora Watson;

And Rosa Bull came through with “masquerade.”

“Frontier” was vanquished next by Charlie Fulton;

While Jennie Rogers won on “cavalcade.”

Next Matthew Schumacher o’ercame “convene;”

And Charlie Benson likewise “tambourine.”

Next came “adobe.” O how this word mowed them!

It first o’erpowered Frederick Stauffacher;

Then Nicholas Koppes; and Johnie Brennan;

Ernie Rockwell; and Caspar Stauffacher.

Then Mamie Hartwell spelled the fiend aright;

And Webster’s Frank scored on “theodolite.”

Clear Arthur Cottrell steered with “bagatelle”;

Sam Parish too with the word “government”;

Then Edith Talbot won “perennial”;

And Blanche McFarland got “inhabitant.”

Now Anna Ellenbecker caught “conceal”;

Likewise Mark Spealman triumphed o’er “appeal.”

Next Tina Raemer captured “immigrate”;

“Identify” was spelled by Anna Key.

Nicholas Kerschen won with “arbitrate”;

And William Raemer scored on “legatee.”

“Ensign” was won by Willard Travelute;

And Emma Hunt came home with “parachute.”

Next Philip Raemer failed on “troubadour,”

But Maggie Thompson mended his mistake.

Then Sophie Feil spelled the word “amateur,”

Altho it made her just a trifle shake.

But she was not alone in this distress;

For many others trembled more or less.

Now Sophie Stauffacher spelled “agriculture”;

And William Cottrell scored on “volunteer.”

Then “parliament” was won by Bertha Raemer;

Frank Bachoritch survived on “commandeer.”

By Mary Brennan was spelled “minimum”;

And Henry Kister got “geranium.”

Then Charlie Feil went down on “cataclysm”:

He put into the word too many “y’s”;

Sophie Sedlacek spelled it. “Feudalism,”

By Katie Stauffacher. But “systematize”

Quick, Niemann’s Fred and Raemer’s George set free,

While Lottie Hunt scored high as referee.

William McNulty now missed “privilege”;

Ditto some speller sweet from Prairie Gem;

Likewise a lass who lived in Pleasant Ridge;

But Nellie Armstrong wrought correctly then.

Now Abbie Koppes spelled aright “profound”;

The spelling contest then had made one round.

The order perfect was; no sound was heard

Except the mediator’s staccato calls;

And spelling of that fitful little word

By the contestants lined along the walls.

Each district had still standing in the line

Enough to hold out in this bout some time.

The contest now began the second round.

Yet more and more int’resting waxed the game.

The spelling grew distinct as clarion sound;

And breathless the spectators viewed the same.

A plucky lad or lass some times would fall,

Hit by some fatal word as “minnie” ball.

Each district reinvoiced its spellers there;

And weighed again their chance of winning out.

Folks drank in every sound to see if fair;

And as theirs scored, just ached to give a shout

For joy; not so when one of their clan fell:

A sad regret upon their mien would tell.

When forty minutes more had raged combat,

Sadly depleted had become those lines:

Many an able speller wounded sat

By the word-missiles from McGuffey’s mines.

Blue Valley, Prairie Gem and Herkimer

Had not a hero left as skirmisher.

From Pleasant Ridge but three survived the storm

Thus far: lone Peter Kerschen on the west;

While Emma Kister, meek and slender form,

And pretty Sally Tarvin, still our best,

With Charley Travelute stood on the east—

Opponents’ sole survivor, scared the least.

For twenty minutes more, the battle raged;

The words were spelled hot from pronouncer’s lips;

Each standing speller stern defiance waged;

For keen tense nerves did obviate all slips.

Over one hundred words were given out

Free from a single mishap or a rout.

The mediator then sought harder words;

And while he searched the audience relaxed;

Respired more easily, a trifle stirred:

That intense hour had them severely taxed.

Yet, those two districts whose race was not done

Maintained a sphinx composure, every one.

Since but four stood, they now spelled in rotation.

First Charley Travelute got “surreptitious”;

And Emma Kister spelled “transfiguration.”

To Sally Tarvin went the word “officious”;

Next Peter Kerschen overcame “horehound”;

And in this fashion then the words went round.

“Topaz”; “priory”; “orgy”; “orphanage”;

“Inflammable”;—every one was won.

“Surtout”; “gyration”; “muscatel”; “assuage”;

And “legendary”; “lout”;—were spelled each one.

“Escutcheon”; “frenzy”; “intercede”; “lasso”;

And likewise “sentimental”, “domino.”

Some fifty words were rapidly pronounced;

No ripple in the spelling could be made;

The spellers with determination pounced

Upon the words that at their door were laid.

A sore fatigue showed in the speaker’s tongue,

As doggedly still forth the words he flung.

At length he paused, as if he plainly saw,

There’d be no end; they would hold out till dawn.

He asked: “Shall we now call this bout a draw?”

A hundred voices roared, “go on!” “go on!”

So, turning many pages farther then,

The spelling contest forward moved again.

How these words stung! “Medallion”; “juvenile”;

“Apparent”; “bivouac”; and “laboratory”;

“Indelible”; “rescission”; “whip-poor-will”;

And “negligible.” Such terms carried glory

Alike to those who spelled as well as to those

Who misspelled; for, to both an honor rose.

O, how oblivious were those old time boys!

One could have heard a pin drop anywhere.

No doubt some hearts anticipated joys;

While some the pangs of sad regret did share.

And some were musing rather fervently

’Twixt hopes and fears of drear uncertainty.

Mysterious mind! Oh why this painful hush?

The long hoped battle’s on—in high white heat;

Each has won one; now they hope yet to crush;

A minute small may tell the tale—who beat?

And with that honor lustering some school,

Some one stands idolized and beautiful.

“Icicle” then was spelled by Peter Kerschen;

With “judgment” Charley Travelute got thru;

Next Emma Kister won the word “emersion”;

And Sally Tarvin likewise “kangaroo.”

Ah! Kerschen dropped “s” from “isosceles.”

Yet Travelute repaired the flaw with ease.

This finished the west side. But on they went—

“Domestic”; “criticism”; “cavalier”;

“Harang”; “vicinity”; “ingredient”;

Alas! Miss Kister lost on “Belvedere.”

Miss Tarvin quickly spelled the word aright;

So only two were standing in the fight.

So anxious was the crowd to see who won,

They thought it half revealed when she sat down;

And from the concourse rose a subdued moan

In expectation of that lucky one.

Yet ’twas in vain; none knew; and none could tell;

These two were trained and tried; they both could spell.

Breathless the crowd looked for the coming dawn—

The coming dawn of victory and defeat.

Their faces some concealed; and some looked wan;

Some even rose unconscious to their feet.

And in the rear the packed-in throng did strain;

Stood on tip-toe to better view the game.

Outside ’twas winter, and the snow lay deep;

The frost with icy style was tracing scenes

Upon the window panes in spite of heat

That rolled beyond the huge stove’s screens.

But still no cold was felt; forgot the clime;

Perhaps some mused that it was summertime.

But these two spellers stood unmoved and calm;

They knew their mission, and that kept above

All else. Their friends, who wistfully looked on,

Looked them their ardent hopes and prayers and love.

This confidence was not reposed amiss:

For no mentality as worth as this.

O rude ordeal, betwixt two such minds!

Two bright young folks in rosy morn of life:

Sweet girlhood that mild womanhood entwines;

And manhood young trained for the world’s hard strife;

It seemed a prank of fate, deep, strained, and hard,

But yet it must go on to its reward.

There was no moment lost; the hard words flew

From the pronouncer’s tongue like league base balls;

And as if veteran scholars, so spelled two,

Still at their post of duty ’long the walls.

They were the brilliant stars, and high did rise

In the fond gaze of all admiring eyes.

Full thirty words went forth in steady run;

And each the audience thought would be the last.

But each was caught by speller as if in fun;

Or charmed by magic for this august task.

The oldest there had ne’er such contest heard

Wherein so little boot a stubborn word.

After recess the musical began

Of music, readings, dialogs and songs,

Making a long diversified program.

Miss Kister read each number for the throng’s

Delight, who harked attentive, laughed and cheered,

So they ofttimes with progress interfered.

A dozen tiny tots their “pieces” spoke;

Five dialogs were played with rafts of fun;

Two damsels readings gave that nearly broke

The backs of all, the laughter spared no one.

Deer Creek and Pleasant Ridge schools blithely sang

Four songs; they were cheered back till building rang.

An overgrown lad, quite a bit dismayed,

“Sockery and the Speckled Hen” declaimed.

They encored him so loud he waxed afraid,

And ran away as if he were ashamed.

Altho to him such repertoire was new,

But few adults as well as he could do.

A blue eyed lass from Prairie Gem—she played

On the spinnet and sang a pretty song;

While on a banjo a Blue Valley maid

Wrought music sweet to guide her lay along.

Two blackened Deer Creek swains, for old and young,

“Oh Don’t You Hear Dem Bells” like minstrels sung.

Two violinists played selections fleet—

Sweet hornpipes, Money Musk and Devil’s Dream.

This music went alike to souls and feet

Of all, until a frontier frolic did seem

To be in progress on a puncheon floor.

They lavished them with a double encore.

There were two singers more on hand that night

Who won the hearts and the esteem of all;

And this tale would not be complete nor right

If names and parts we did not here recall.

’Tho cruel time for many years has shed

The snows of age upon each noble head.

One Charley Bartlow was then young and gay,

Kind hearted, cheerful, nice to old and young;

His voice and heart were tuned up night and day;

And to this crowd most willingly was sung.

Many the quaint and jolly songs he knew;

He loved to sing; folks loved to hear him too.

“Susanna” first he sang for them that night;

The way they listened told that it was sweet;

He sang with all his soul and all his might,

And they rewarded him for his rare treat;

They cheered him back; and he responded then

With one, his favorite lay—this old time gem:—

When a young chap I was jolly and gay;

Not a lark was as merry as I;

I whistled and sang both night and day;

And the hours in pleasure swung by.

No parties or dances for miles around

But what I attended with glee;

And wherever I frolicked the girls me found

And chatted and flirted with me.

Chorus.

But I was still single then!

O that I were single again!

For when I was single

With the world I could mingle:

O that I were single again!

II.

Of no cares I knew and the days passed fair,

And the nights like a laugh and a song;

Toil left me no pain and cash scarce, ne’er.

As I moved in the young gay throng.

I never had trouble to find a miss

To accompany me to the ball;

My greatest concern always lay in this;

That I could not wait on them all.

Chorus: But I was, etc.

III.

But one time a lass at a ball I met

Who gave me an ache in my heart.

I took her to church and made her my pet,

And out on life’s journey did start.

We have been married now for years one score;

I must work from morning till night;

Six babes come to meet me at our door,

And our living puts me to fright.

Chorus.

O that I were single again!

O how I should whistle then!

For when I was single

The money did gingle.

O that I were single again!

IV.

But now my pockets are empty and bare;

And the girls never smile at me;

My poor heart is overburdened with care;

And the world yields a pitiless fee.

So boys meditate on my sad plight;

Don’t tie up your gay hearts too soon,

Do treat the girls with respect and delight;

But just let them giggle and spoon.

Chorus: O that I were, etc.

This sure delighted them. How they did cheer!

The sentiment was light; the tune was gay.

Such airy ditties people like to hear,

And with such happy veins are borne away.

’Twas ever so; the human heart, ’tho staid,

Bends willingly to levity thus made.

The other singer was James Carbott, who

A way had all his own; and when he sang,

His hearers to him like a magnet drew;

Their fancy tickled and their laughter rang,

Until they were enraptured thru and thru;

The more he sang the more this feeling grew.

He was the opera star in this young crowd,

Well seasoned as a wielder of the birch;

By neither class nor audience was cowed:

He had the gift of song a hundred worth.

He sentimental songs could ably sing;

But at comics was an operatic king.

That night his old time energy was there;

He threw his heart and soul into the song.

When e’er his name was mentioned anywhere,

A gust of high hopes overtook the throng,

Because he had been heard ofttimes before,

And he had always pleased them—even more.

His hearers always reaped a fond delight;

Such thrills as e’er a noble singer brings;

He had the power to set their souls aright;

And on the heights of ecstacy take wings—

Those gifts of voice and heart that others beam

With floods of mirth while yet itself serene.

The program of the evening neared its close,

When some admirer called out Carbott’s name;

A dozen called it then. He slowly rose

And said, “The hour’s late; time we’re going home,”

But leave, they’d not, without from him a song;

They called and cheered; and cheered and called along.

“Just one,” he said, and took his chair ahead.

He hummed awhile as if him to imbue

Upon the melody; then out he led

To carol, “In the Valley of the Blue.”

He sang as sings a sorrow sweetened heart,

Which made from some eyes silent tear drops start:—

In the bonnie Big Blue valley

Where earliest flowers blow,

There I settled with sweet Hallie

In the springtime long ago.

And the bright sun in its journey

Around the globe never shone

On a happier wedded couple

Than dwelt in this new home.

Chorus.

She was happy as the blue birds

And as playful as the rills;

And as pretty as the blue bells

That swayed upon the hills—

When we settled in the prairie

In the valley of the Blue,—

I and my darling Hallie

In the spring of ’Sixty-two.

II.

There we sang and toiled together

From rosy morn till night,

In the clear and cloudy weather

With a rapturous delight.

And altho our hut was humble

Our hearts were glad and warm,

And the promise of a fortune

Lay in sight in our farm.

Chorus: She was happy, etc.

III.

The good oxen broke the prairie,

In the sod we hoed the corn;

Sunny summer waved its streamers,

Golden autumn filled its horn.

And with this crop so plenty

And the help of silvery wheat,

We contrived to pay the mortgage,

And the other wants defeat.

Chorus: She was happy, etc.

IV.

But one August came the fever,

And it scourged the Valley’s length;

All of us did ache and shiver,

While it sapped our joy and strength.

And before the autumn leaves fell

With their russet, red and gold,

Those verdant sods of Deer Creek

My dear Hallie’s form did hold.

Chorus: She was happy, etc.

In this land still rise my labors,

And I’m sure its hard to beat;

Just as brothers are my neighbors,

Big-hearted, kind and sweet;

But ne’er can I cease weeping,

Thinking of glad young days;

And the heart that long is sleeping

Where the Deer Creek grasses wave.

Chorus: She was happy, etc.

When he had finished, they cheered him and cheered;

He shook his head to this immense encore;

They would not stop; they simply whooped and cheered:

They loved his sentimental songs, but wore

A longing to laugh thru a jolly lay;

And must hear one before they’d go away.

So he arose and forward went again;

He mused awhile; he knew not what to sing.

Then lo! His face lit with a mental flame;

He found one that to them much joy would bring;

Then with a jolly mien and mirth for all

He sang that rollicking lay, “Lanigan’s Ball.”

This had the psychological effect:

The whole house went roaring rollicking glad.

It was a fitting state of mind for that

August assembly, strained, tired, and sad.

The happy hearts turned to their homeward way,

To long remember this eventful day.

The moon still shone far over hills and plains;

You still could hear the fainter jingling bells

Of the glad sleighs, and snow songs of the wains;

And chatter of the squads in tell-tale dells.

And from the north, sung by James Gallaher’s band,

The old school song waked all the snowy land.

With “Then ring, then ring, ye light fairy bells;

Let sweet happy voices chime with the dances,

When the midnight army advances”

As this one did, “forth from the shady dells.”

And when those sounds died on the night air cool,

Just past was that last Old Time Spelling School.

Some of those people are now ag’d and gray;

Their scions’ children have in schools their place.

Some of those folks have long since moved away;

And people have forgotten their kind face.

But more of them now sleep beneath the flowers,

In that sweet bed that will in time be ours.

Some heard the angel’s call ’mid youth and hope;

While others traveled half way up life’s way.

Some, while descending on the farther slope;

Others met life’s fate when their locks were gray.

But such is life—a glint of sunshine made;

A moment’s smile amid an endless shade.

And now the thread is run; this rhyme must end;

The curtain raised we must again let fall,

’Tho sad regret this close to hearts may send.

Such is the fate of man’s tasks, each and all.

But hoping that this tale delighted you,

I bid you, patient friends, a kind adieu.

The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Old-Time Spelling School; In Three Parts

The Old-Time
Spelling School

Dedication

Preface

PART I
GOLDEN VALLEY

PART II
THE CONTEST

PART III
MUSICAL

“WHEN I WAS SINGLE”

“IN THE VALLEY OF THE BLUE.”

THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE

The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Old-Time Spelling School; In Three Parts

The Old-Time Spelling School

Dedication

Preface

PART I GOLDEN VALLEY

PART II THE CONTEST

PART III MUSICAL

“WHEN I WAS SINGLE”

“IN THE VALLEY OF THE BLUE.”

THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE

The Old-Time
Spelling School

PART I
GOLDEN VALLEY

PART II
THE CONTEST

PART III
MUSICAL