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Henry Rowe Schoolcraft

Collection Summary Creator: Schoolcraft, Henry Rowe, 1793-1864 Title: Papers of Henry Rowe Schoolcraft 1788-1941 (bulk 1820-1856) Size: 25,000 items; 90 containers plus 1 oversize; 28 linear feet; 69 microfilm reels Repository: Manuscript Division, Library of Congress Abstract: Author, ethnologist, explorer, geologist, glass manufacturer, and Indian agent. Correspondence, journals, articles, books, manuscripts of magazines, poetry, speeches, government reports, Indian vocabularies, maps, drawings, and other papers reflecting Schoolcraft's career as a glass manufacturer, mineralogist on an exploring expedition in the Ozark Mountains, geologist on the Cass expedition to the Northwest Territory, leader of expeditions throughout the Great Lakes region, member of Michigan's legislative council, Indian agent, superintendent of Indian affairs for Michigan, ethnologist, and author of works concerning the Iroquois of New York state and other Indians of North America.


"WHEN THE FROST IS ON THE PUNKIN"

When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock, 
And you hear the kyouck and gobble of the struttin' turkey-cock,
And the clackin' of the guineys, and the cluckin' of the hens,
And the rooster's hallylooyer as he tiptoes on the fence;
O, it's then's the times a feller is a-feelin' at his best,
With the risin' sun to greet him from a night of peaceful rest,
As he leaves the house, bareheaded and goes out to feed the stock,
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock.

They's something kindo' harty-like about the atmusfere
When the heat of summer's over and the coolin' fall is here -
Of course we miss the flowers, and the blossoms on the trees,
And the mumble of the hummin'-birds and buzzin' of the bees;
But the air's so appetizin'; and the landscape through the haze
Of a crisp and sunny morning of the airly autumn days
Is a pictur' that no painter has the colorin' to mock -
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock.

The husky, rusty russel of the tossels of the corn,
And the raspin' of the tangled leaves, as golden as the morn;
The stubble in the furries - kindo' lonesome-like, but still
A-preachin' sermuns to us of the barns they growed to fill;
The strawstack in the medder, and the reaper in the shed;
The hosses in theyr stalls below - the clover overhead! - 
O, it sets my hart a-clickin' like the tickin' of a clock,
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock.

Then your apples all is getherd, and the ones a feller keeps
Is poured around the celler-floor in red and yeller heaps;
And your cider-makin's over, and your wimmern-folks is through
With their mince and apple-butter, and theyr souse and saussage, too! . . .
I don't know how to tell it - but ef sich a thing could be 
As the Angels wantin' boardin', and they'd call around on
me -
I'd want to 'commodate 'em - all the whole-indurin' flock -
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock.
James Whitcomb Riley [1849-1916]