JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY
INDIANAPOLIS
THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
Copyright 1883, 1891 and 1897
By James Whitcomb Riley
PRESS OF
BRAUNWORTH & CO.
BOOKBINDERS AND PRINTERS
BROOKLYN, N. Y.
TO MY BROTHER
HUMBOLDT RILEY
As far back into boyhood as the writer's memory mayintelligently go, the "country poet" is most pleasantlyrecalled. He was, and is, as common as the "countryfiddler," and as full of good old-fashioned music. Nota master of melody, indeed, but a poet, certainly—
And it is simply the purpose of this series of dialecticstudies to reflect the real worth of this homely child ofnature, and to echo faithfully, if possible, the falteringmusic of his song.
In adding to this series, as the writer has, for manyyears, been urged to do, and answering as steadfast ademand of Benj. F. Johnson's first and oldest friends, ithas been decided that this further work of his be introducedto the reader of the volume as was the old man'sfirst work to the reader of the newspaper of nearly tenyears ago.
Directly, then, referring to the Indianapolis "DailyJournal,"—under whose management the writer had forsome time been employed,—from issue of date June 17,1882, under editorial caption of "A Boone County Pastoral,"this article is herewith quoted:
Benj. F. Johnson, of Boone county, who considers the Journala "very valubul" newspaper, writes to enclose us an originalpoem, desiring that we kindly accept it for publication, as"many neghbors and friends is astin' him to have the samestruck off."
Mr. Johnson thoughtfully informs us that he is "no edjucatedman," but that he has, "from childhood up tel old enough tovote, allus wrote more er less poetry, as many of an albun inthe neghborhood can testify." Again, he says that he writes"from the hart out"; and there is a touch of genuine pathos inthe frank avowal, "Thare is times when I write the tears rollsdown my cheeks."
In all sincerity, Mr. Johnson, we are glad to publish the poemyou send, and just as you have written it. That is its greatestcharm. Its very defects compose its excellence. You need nobetter education than the one from which emanates "The OldSwimmin'-Hole." It is real poetry, and all the more tender andlovable for the unquestionable evidence it bears of having beenwritten "from the hart out." The only thing we find to—buthold! Let us first lay the poem before the reader:
Here followed the poem, "The Old Swimmin'-Hole,"entire—the editorial comment ending as follows:
The only thing now, Mr. Johnson—as we were about to observe—theonly thing we find to criticise, at all relative to thepoem, is your closing statement to the effect that "It waswrote to go to the tune of 'The Captin with his Whiskers!'"You should not have told us that, O Rare Ben. Johnson!
A week later, in the "Journal" of date June 24th,followed this additional mention of "Benj. F. Johnson,of Boone":
It is a pleasure for us to note that the p