Hoosier Lyrics: "The best of all physicians, Is apple pie and cheese!"

Hoosier Lyrics by Eugene Field

Eugene Field was born on 2nd September 1850 in St. Louis, Missouri.  His mother died when he was six and his father when he was nineteen.  His academic life was not taken seriously and he preferred the life of a prankster until, in 1875, he began work as a journalist for the St. Joseph Gazette in Saint Joseph, Missouri.

In his career as a journalist he soon found a niche that suited him.  His articles were light, humorous and written in a personal gossipy style that endeared him to his readership.  Some were soon being syndicated to other newspapers around the States.  Field soon rose to city editor of the Gazette.

Field had first published poetry in 1879, when his poem ‘Christmas Treasures’ appeared. This was the beginning that would eventually number over a dozen volumes. As well as verse Field published an extensive range of short stories including ‘The Holy Cross’ and ‘Daniel and the Devil.’

In 1889 whilst the family were in London and Field himself was recovering from a bout of ill health he wrote his most famous poem; ‘Lovers Lane’.

On 4th November 1895 Eugene Field Sr died in Chicago of a heart attack at the age of 45.

Index of Contents

Introduction

Hoosier Lyrics Paraphrased

Gettin' On

Minnie Lee

Answer to Minnie Lee

Lizzie

Our Lady of the Mine

Penn-Yan Bill

Ed

How Salty Win Out

His Queen

Answer to His Queen

Alaskan Balladry—Skans in Love

The Biggest Fish

Bonnie Jim Campbell

Lyman, Frederick and Jim

A Wail

Clendenin's Lament

On the Wedding of G. C.

To G. C.

To Dr. F. W. R.

Horace's Ode to Lydia Roche

A Paraphrase, Circa 1715

A Paraphrase, Ostensibly by Dr. I. W.

Horace I., 27

Heine's Widow or Daughter

Horace II., 20

Horace's Spring Poem, Odes I., 4

Horace to Ligurine, Odes IV.,

Horace on His Muscle, Epode VI.         

Horace to Maecenas, Odes III., 29       

Horace in Love Again, Epode XI.         

Good-By—God Bless You!               

Horace, Epode XIV.                      

Horace I., 23                          

A Paraphrase                            

A Paraphrase by Chaucer                 

Horace I., 5                            

Horace I., 20                           

Envoy                                  

Horace II., 7                           

Horace I., 11

Horace I., 13

Horace IV., 1

Horace to His Patron

The Ars Poetica of Horace—XVIII.

Horace I., 34                           

Horace I., 33                           

The Ars Poetica of Horace I.          

The Great Journalist in Spain           

Reid, the Candidate                     

A Valentine                            

Kissing-Time                           

The Fifth of July                      

Picnic-Time                            

The Romance of a Watch                 

Our Baby                              

The Color that Suits Me Best           

How to Fill                          

Politics in 1888                       

The Baseball Score                     

Chicago Newspaper Life                 

The Mighty West                        

April                                  

Report of the Baseball Game            

The Rose                               

Kansas City vs. Detroit                

Me and Bilkammle                      

To the Detroit Baseball Club           

A Ballad of Ancient Oaths              

An Old Song Revised                    

The Grateful Patient                   

The Beginning and the End              

Clare Market                           

Uncle Ephraim                          

Thirty-Nine                            

Horace I., 18                          

Three Rineland Drinking Songs          

The Three Tailors                      

Morning Hymn                           

Doctors                                

Ben Apfelgarten                       

In Holland                             

Eugene Field – A Short Biography

Eugene Field – A Concise Bibliography

INTRODUCTION

From whatever point of view the character of Eugene Field is seen, genius—rare and quaint presents itself in childlike simplicity. That he was a poet of keen perception, of rare discrimination, all will admit. He was a humorist as delicate and fanciful as Artemus Ward, Mark Twain, Bill Nye, James Whitcomb Riley, Opie Read, or Bret Harte in their happiest moods. Within him ran a poetic vein, capable of being worked in any direction, and from which he could, at will, extract that which his

imagination saw and felt most. That he occasionally left the child-world, in which he longed to linger, to wander among the older children of men, where intuitively the hungry listener follows him into

his Temple of Mirth, all should rejoice, for those who knew him not, can while away the moments imbibing the genius of his imagination in the poetry and prose here presented.

Though never possessing an intimate acquaintanceship with Field, owing largely to the disparity in our ages, still there existed a bond of friendliness that renders my good opinion of him in a measure trustworthy. Born in the same city, both students in the same college, engaged at various times in newspaper work both in St. Louis and Chicago, residents of the same ward, with many mutual friends, it is not surprising that I am able to say of him that the world is better off that he lived, not in gold and silver or precious jewels, but in the bestowal of priceless truths, of which the possessor of this book becomes a benefactor of no mean share of his estate.

Every lover of Field, whether of the songs of childhood or the poems that lend mirth to the out-pouring of his poetic nature, will welcome this unique collection of his choicest wit and humor.

Charles Walter Brown

Chicago, January, 1905

HOOSIER LYRICS PARAPHRASED

We've come from Indiany, five hundred miles or more,

Supposin' we wuz goin' to get the nominashin, shore;

For Col. New assured us (in that noospaper o' his)

That we cud hev the airth, if we'd only tend to biz.

But here we've been a-slavin' more like bosses than like men

To diskiver that the people do not hanker arter Ben;

It is fur Jeems G. Blaine an' not for Harrison they shout—

And the gobble-uns 'el git us

Ef we

Don't

Watch

Out!

When I think of the fate that is waiting for Ben,

I pine for the peace of my childhood again;

I wish in my sorrow I could strip to the soul

And hop off