Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THOSE DICKINS, by AMOS RUSSEL WELLS


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THOSE DICKINS, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: I s'pose you think it queer, an' 't ain't no common thing, I know
Last Line: She'll know her husband sent 'em, an' wants -- to be -- forgiven.
Subject(s): Books; Forgiveness; Marriage; Reading; Clemency; Weddings; Husbands; Wives


I s'pose you think it queer, an' 't ain't no common thing, I know,
To put a set of Dickins in a coffin, in a row;
But folks ha' got to think it queer, 'f they want to, so I say,
For Mirandy, she won't think it queer, an' I'm goin' to have my way.

But what am I a-doin' it for? Well, M'randy, M'randy'll know,
And where M'randy's body goes these Dickins books'll go.
I guess I know what my own wife'ud like, as well as you;
Not that she wouldn't jes' delight in all these posies, too,
But books, ah! books was what she set most store by all her life,
An' I guess there ain't no law again' my buryin' 'em with my wife.

No, I won't use her old books; an' she only had a few,
For she never, all her married life, she never had none new.
I s'pose I might ha' got 'em for her, but times has been so bad,
An' farmers can't expect to have jes' everything to be had,
An' books is so expensive, an' my windmills, an' my bees,
New barns, an' threshers, orchards, ploughs, an' reapers, things like these
They cost so much, I never could quite see my way was clear
To waste ten dollars on a set of Dickins, -- yes, this here;
For women folks is cur'ous folks, an' wife, her mind was sot,
As soon's she saw't, to have this set of Dickins, if or not.

It's been at Brown's an' Co. in town for twelve year, more or less;
'Twas part of some old bankrupt stock that Brown he bought, I guess,
An' wife, her eyes was shinin' as soon's she saw it there,
Like a hungry tramp that wants to grab some grub, an' doesn't dare.
An' she began to tease me in that meekin' sort o' way
That women take when they ain't sure but it ain't too much to pay;
Yet I kind o' sort o' promised that if crops was good that year
She might have that set o' Dickins, though it came most awful dear.

An' wife set too much store on't, for always after that,
In all her shoppin', wife she never failed o' looking at
Those Dickins, sort of anxious-like, as if she feared 'at they
Might leap out o' the showcase an' get wings an' fly away.
But o' course there wa'n't no danger, for, as I told her, Brown
Couldn't sell such costly books as them to no one in the town.

Well, crops was awful poor that year, an' livin' awful high,
An' there was Jones' ten-acre field I really had to buy,
For Jones was movin' West an' sellin' out things for a song,
An' I wouldn't get another chance like that for good an' long;
So the Dickins had to wait a while, and wife began to cry, --
At least her lips began to twitch an' a tear come in her eye;
But she chirked up when I hinted about what St. Nick might bring,
For wife she always made the best of every mortal thing.
An' so it went from year to year, for, neighbor, as you know,
There ain't no harder kind of row than farmers have to hoe;
An' now 'twas this, an' now 'twas that -- a corn-crib, or a horse, --
For the farm had got to be kep' up, whatever was, of course.

An' wife, she didn't say nothing, but I saw the wishful looks
She couldn't help a-givin' to that set o' Dickings books.
For I sort o' kind o' noticed that as sure's she had to go
To town for anything, she always went to Brown an' Co.
An' after she had sold her eggs an' butter, she would try
An' edge 'round to that showcase an' ask some one on the sly
If, seein' they was gettin' old an' ruined, Mr. Brown
Hadn't just about decided to mark those Dickins down.

I remember how her eyes shone when one day she found he had,
An' her voice 'twas sort o' trembly, for all 'twas sort o' glad,
When she told me I could get'em for eight dollars an' a half.
But just then, as luck would have it, I had lost my Jersey calf,
An' crops that year was awful poor, an' so I had to say
That we really couldn't 'ford it, or, at least, not right away.

An' M'randy went an' fired up, -- yes, right there in the store, --
An' called me names, an' vowed she'd never say one morsel more
About that set o' Dickins; an' my wife, she kep' her word,
So far, at least, as tongue went, an' the things 'at could be heard;
But she couldn't help a-showin' her longin' in her eye
Whenever, in her tradin', she passed those Dickins by.

I meant to get 'em for her, yes, these twelve years apast,
But some way every year, it seemed, was harder than the last.
It wa'n't because I didn't want to please her, for I tried,
An' I jes' was 'bout to buy 'em when M'randy -- M'randy -- died.

Oh, M'randy was a good wife, as clever as could be.
These twenty years she's slaved an' slaved for the children an' for me.
She'd a better eddication than any I could boast,
But, choosin' between books an' me, why, she loved me the most.

An' wife, she had a hard life, -- an' so have I, for that,
For a farmer isn't likely ever to get money-fat;
Yet I thought that since I meant to get these Dickins anyway,
For M'randy's birthday, or, at most, before come Christmas Day,
I'd get 'em for her coffin, an' lay 'em long the side,
An' run the risk their gettin' wet by the Jordan's rollin' tide.
An' I wish that I could see her when she sees those books in heaven;
She'll know her husband sent 'em, an' wants -- to be -- forgiven.





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