Cheerful crab was that old Posh,

—Warn’t afflicted much with dosh,

—Fact, he worked round sawin’ wood,

Earnin’ what few cents he could,

Got that name o’ Posh in fun;

Dad had named him Washington;

Children got to call him “Wash.”

Then at last ’twas jest “Old Posh.”

That’s the way you knew, a name

Sort of fits itself with fame:

If he’d growed some great big gun.

Would have called him Washington.

But “Old Posh” was just as good

For a poor chap sawin’ wood.

Critter never made no talk.

—Made his old saw screak and scrawk,

Earnt his dollar’n ten a day.

—Didn’t leave much time for play.

Had a wife and boys to keep,

Reelly had to skinch his sleep.

I’ve been out sir, late at night

Seen him at it good and tight.

Where he’d took it to be sawed

At a dollar’n ten a cord.

And I’d say. Ye’re at it late.”

Then he’d grunt himself up straight.

Slick his for’ead clear of sweat

And he’d say. “Wal, you jest bet!

Bankin’ hours don’t jibe in good

With this job cf sawin’ wood.

Still, when this ’ere don’t suit me

I kin go and climb a tree.”

That’s the crack he allus sent;

—I donno jest what he meant—

Likely’nough, sir, even he

Didn’t have no clear idee.

Still it seemed to fix the thing;

—He’d commence to saw and sing,

’S if at anytime he could

Git clean shet of sawin’ wood.

So he worked, s’r, all his life,

Kept his children and his wife;

Boys amount to more’n you’d suppose

—Got good jobs and wear good clothes.

If they’d turned out shiftless, gosh,

Never’d took the thing from Posh!

Posh, he died at seventy-one,

—Worked right up till set of sun.

Sawed his reg’lar cord that day,

Et his supper reg’lar way,

Told his wife warn’t feel in’ well:

Said he guessed he’d drowse a spell.

For he reckoned, so he said.

That he’d saw a while ’fore bed.

—Warn’t no need of workin’ so,

Boys was earnin’ well, ye know.

But he couldn’t seem to quit.

—At it stiddy, saw and split.

Set that night there in his chair,

—Got to dreamin’, and I swear,

Snores they sounded near’s they could

Like a feller sawin’ wood.

Last he gave a mighty “plock”

Same’s he’d strike a choppin’ block,

When he’d set his ax an’ say,

“Wal, I guess that’s all to-day.”

Doctor got there quick’s he could,

—Said he couldn’t do no good.

Shock, ye know! It left things slim

When a man has worked like him.

“Hav’ to rest, I guess, a while,”

Posh said, with a crooked smile,

—Shock had twisted round his face,

Alwus does in such a case.

“Hav’ to rest, I reckin, for

Feel too tuckered out to saw.”

Jest a little ’fore he died.

Smiled agin and kind of sighed,

“Guess it’s all that’s left,” said he,

“Reckin’ I’ll go climb a tree.”