FAMILY HISTORY: POETRY Collection written by Elsie Strawn ARMSTRONG
  
  File contributed for use in USGenWeb Archives by: Les Howard Strawn
  
  Copyright 2006.  All rights reserved.
  http://www.usgwarchives.net/copyright.htm
  http://www.usgwarchives.net/pa/somerset/
  ________________________________________________
  
  Lines written at the request of my brother Jacob, who was about five years old 
  when the little incident took place in the family that he remembered so well 
  that he wished me to put it in rhyme.
  
  My sister's Sunday clothes
      That she outgrew, I wore,
  And little had been bought for me
      In all my life before.
  
  When I was full sixteen
      They bought me a new saddle,
  With a pretty striped beast-late,
      Sircingle and new bridle.
  
  They bought me two new dresses,
      And also a new bonnet,
  A deep blue cloth great coat,
      With lots of buttons on it.
  
  They bought me a new shawl
      And gloves and other riggings,
  And a new whip, that I might ride,
      And go see other diggings.
  
  I thought I'd like to try
      How my new things would fit,
  And also my new saddle,
      To know how it would sit.
  
  On Sabbath morning people
      Going to church I'd seen,
  I thought I'd like to dress myself
      And go there too, I mean!
  
  When mother gave consent,
      Then I spoke to father,
  "Have John bring me my mare,"
      He seemed to respond with pleasure.
  
  He said, "Johnny, slip away,
      Get the little girl her mare,
  She saw people going to meeting,
      And she'd like to go there."
  
  He went and brought a large young horse,
      His color was dapple gray,
  Because the most convenient
      For him to bring that day.
  
  Father put on the saddle,
      And when all the rig was on,
  A splendid horse I thought he was,
      For me to ride upon.
  
  After that I was dressed,
      Came out with whip in hand,
  Already for to ride,
      And on the steps did stand.
  
  The horse was young and awkward,
      Had been ridden by none but John,
  Knew not how to come up
      And kindly take me on.
  
  A little dusty switch
      That in the yard lay,
  Father picked up to scare the horse
      Up to the step that day.
  
  Then I went down to father
      And said, "Let me lead him through the gate,
  I'll get on before he knows it,
      Or climb on at some rate."
  
  But father said, "Go back,
      And stand there where you are,
  He must learn to come up,
      And I'll soon bring him there."
  
  But still I kept insisting
      And teasing him so,
  At length he gave me a tap,
      I quick to the step did go.
  
  Then John leaned down to laugh
      And said, "How quick she takes the hint,"
  Father looked very smiling,
      And with a pleasant nod and wink
  
  Said, "I had better luck a whipping her
      Than the horse,
  John,
      Don't you think."
  
  Then mother took a hearty laugh
      And said, "Better late than never,
  Your father thought he'd best begin
      To whip you now, if ever."
  
  She said the dusty switch mark on my coat
      Showed most conspicuous bright,
  Showed plain I had caught the switch
      And had taken it right.
  
  Put me between a laugh and cry,
      I scarce knew what to do,
  It was laughing sport for all,
      Father, to whip was new.
  
  What added to the sport,
      I was never dressed before,
  And then to catch the switch
      It made the fun the more.
  
  But mother with her apron
      Brushed off the dust, she said,
  So no one could see the mark
      The dusty switch had made.
  
  Then father had the horse
      By the step a standing still,
  And John opened the gate and
      We went off with good will.
  
  Both the horse and I
      Had just received correction,
  Came back in first rate plight,
      Perhaps in better subjection.