John Hay "Litttle Breeches" Poem animation

Heres a virtual movie of the American poet statesman, diplomat, author, journalist, and private secretary and assistant to Abraham Lincoln reading his enchanting poem "Litttle Breeches" The poem tells of the rescue of a young boy from a wagon accident and eas first published in 1871 in the "Pike County Ballads" Pike County is in southwest Illinois near Hannibal, Mo. and Springfield USA. John Milton Hay (October 8, 1838 -- July 1, 1905) was an American statesman, diplomat, author, journalist, and private secretary and assistant to Abraham Lincoln... Kind Regards Jim Clark All rights are reserved on this video recording copyright Jim Clark 2010 Little Breeches........... I don't go much on religion, I never ain't had no show; But I've got a middlin' tight grip, sir, On the handful o' things I know. I don't pan out on the prophets And free-will, and that sort of thing, But I b'lieve in God and the angels, Ever sence one night last spring. I come into town with some turnips, And my little Gabe come along, No four-year-old in the county Could beat him for pretty and strong, Peart and chipper and sassy, Always ready to swear and fight, And I'd larnt him to chaw terbacker Jest to keep his milk-teeth white. The snow come down like a blanket As I passed by Taggart's store; I went in for a jug of molasses And left the team at the door. They scared at something and started, I heard one little squall, And hell-to-split over the prairie Went team, Little Breeches, and all. Hell-to-split over the prairie! I was almost froze with skeer; But we rousted up some torches, And sarched for 'em far and near. At last we struck hosses and wagon, Snowed under a soft white mound, Upsot, dead beat, but of little Gabe No hide nor hair was found. And here all hope soured on me, Of my fellow-critter's aid, I jest flopped down on my marrow-bones, Crotch-deep in the snow, and prayed. By this, the torches was played out, And me and Isrul Parr Went off for some wood to a sheepfold That he said was somewhar thar. We found it at last, and a little shed Where they shut up the lambs at night. We looked in and seen them huddled thar, So warm and sleepy and white; And thar sot Little Breeches and chirped, As peart as ever you see, "I want a chaw of terbacker, And that's what's the matter of me." How did he git thar? Angels. He could never have walked in that storm; They jest scooped down and toted him To whar it was safe and warm. And I think that saving a little child, And fotching him to his own, Is a derned sight better business Than loafing around the Throne

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