Idle Moments : :: :: University of Virginia Library

In the swamp by black gum, in a little log hut
Lived Mat,
The toughest little cuss in tatters and rags
At that.
“A reg'lar good for nothing,” the neighbors all vowed,
Who would rob a hen-nest, not a melon he allowed
To remain in the patch yet we, but for that,
Liked Mat.

With his tatters all flying and a crownless hat,
Came Mat
Cross the hill by the cornfield and “sweet tater” patch
And that
Was a sign that “taters” and corn disappered,
For when Mat was about, why everybody feared,
But then when you saw him your sorrow changed that
For Mat.

For ten or eleven little brothers and sisters
Had Mat,
And his poor mother labored to feed and to clothe them,
At that
And work in the country, when you wash the whole day,
And receive but a quarter is mighty poor pay,
No wonder he was ragged and would steal at that,
Poor Mat!

Yet the world often wonders as it speeds on its way
At the Mats,
Who are reared in ignorance the world's “good-for-nothings”
But for that,
How many called better who've never felt the smart,
Of poverty's nettle can boast of a heart,
As free from guile and as tender, as that
Of Mat's!