Bartlett

The Register-Leader, March 8, 1912

A Washington County Village in Rhyme, Written by a School Boy.

Did you ever in your life go strolling,
In the eve when your work was o'er,
When you knew there'd be something doing
On the corner by the store?

There is George and Bill and Reuben
On a store box sticking round;
And Sambo, Put and Emmor
To represent the town.

Then there's Nubbins, Slats and Sivers,
All generous and strong,
With their various selection
Of parodies and songs.

And there'll be Colonel Pattin
Of Oklahoma fame,
Who lives on Capitol avenue,
In the cottage by the lane.

And if perchance you walk along
To the office just next door,
You'll find our old friend, Kirby,
A man we all adore.

He looks the letters over
While we wait 'mid ache and sigh,
And then the excitement's over
Except the passers-by.

Next comes Charles E. Vincent,
The barber, tall and lank,
Who never to himself hath said:
"This is the Bartlett Bank."

Now don't forget 'bout Miller.
He owns the beefsteak store,
And runs the Arkansas Express
As 'twas never run before.

We next can speak of Maley,
Of whom we almost shout
As being 'bout the finest man
There ever was about.

And when the snow is flying
And all are chilled with ills,
We have E. A. Ross and Moody
To administer the pills.

Then just across the public square,
Apart from all the rest,
Stands the store of M. L. Perkins
Where we always get the best.

And there's the old "Coon Tavern,"
U. B. Church and public well,
And Putnam Phipps across the way
With pork and beef to sell.

The jewelry shop looms up, next door,
And fronts on old Broadway,
Where good old I. A. Morrow
Sells goggles day by day.

The old brick mansion still remains,
Of Morrow, Mills and Son.
It still remains the office
Although 'tis settling some.

Then there's the old phone office.
It's changed, and changed, and changed.
And now there's no use loafing, boys,
'Cause you can't get entertained.

And then we have a new feed mill
Of the twentieth century type;
But it's nothing like the old one
That stood down on the pike.

The blacksmith shop, you'll all agree,
We couldn't do without.
For Jim is always on the job
And you never need to doubt.

The old town hall still stands alone,
Just a little up the way.
But there's never much a-doing
Except on election day.

The church, in solitude, stands near,
Loved by young and old,
Who delight to hear the teachings
Of the Bible often told.

Then there's the old school building,
That stands upon the hill,
And gazes down upon the town
With features cold and still.

The girls and boys all gather 'round;
Of its knowledge some partake,
While some, perhaps, remain to laugh
And others fools to make.

There's Mr. Dunn, the teacher.
He's filling Shinn's old place,
And everybody likes him;
We think he's simply great.

I almost forgot about Cummings,
Hobson, Williams, Beazell, too.
There're all the finest fellows
That the country ever knew.

There's Cummings, famed for painting.
William, an oil man through and through.
And Hebson is a baseball fan
Of the McGillicuddy school.

And Beazell, dear old Uncle John,
Honest, grand and tall,
Known throughout the country
As the "Father of Baseball."