INGIN SUMMER.

Jest about the time when Fall Gits to rattlin' in the trees, An' the man thet knows it all, 'Spicions frost in every breeze, When a person tells hisse'f Thet the leaves look mighty thin, Then thar blows a meller breaf! Ingin summer's hyere agin. Kind-uh smoky-lookin' blues Spins acrost the mountain-side, An' the heavy mornin' dews Greens the grass up far an' wide, Natur' raly 'pears as ef She wuz layin' off a day,— Sort-uh drorin in her breaf 'Fore she freezes up to stay. Nary lick o' work I strike, 'Long about this time of year! I'm a sort-uh slowly like, Right when Ingin summer's here. Wife and boys kin do the work; But a man with natchel wit, Like I got, kin 'ford to shirk, Ef he has a turn for it. Time when grapes set in to ripe, All I ast off any man Is a common co'n-cob pipe With terbacker to my han'; Then jest loose me whar the air Simmers 'crost me, wahm an' free! Promised lands ull find me thar; Wings ull fahly sprout on me! I'm a loungin' 'round on thrones, Bossin' worlds f'om shore to shore, When I stretch my marrer-bones Jest outside the cabin door! An' the sunshine peepin' down On my old head, bald an' gray, 'Pears right like the gilted crown, I expect to w'ar some day.