THE MINISTER'S WIFE

She's little and modest and purty,

As red as a rose and as sweet;

Her children do n't ever look dirty,

Her kitchen ai n't no way but neat.

She's the kind of a woman ter cherish,

A help ter a feller through life,

Yet every old hen in the parish

Is down on the minister's wife.

‘ Twas Mrs.‘ Lige Hawkins begun it;

She always has had the idee

That the church was built so's she could run it,

‘ Cause Hawkins is deacon, yer see;

She thought that the whole congregation

Kept step ter the tune of her fife,

But she found‘ t was a wrong calkerlation

Applied ter the minister's wife.

Then Mrs. Jedge Jenks got excited —

She thinks she's the whole upper crust;—

When she found the Smiths was invited

Ter meet'n’, she quit in disgust.

“You can have all the paupers yer choose to,”

Says she, jest as sharp as a knife;

“But if they go ter church I refuse to!”

“Good-by!” says the minister's wife.

And then Mrs. Jackson got stuffy

At her not comin’ sooner ter call,

And old Miss Macgregor is huffy

‘ Cause she went up ter Jackson's at all.

Each one of the crowd hates the other,

The church has been full of their strife;

But now they're all hatin’ another,

And that one's the minister's wife.

But still, all their cackle unheedin’,

She goes, in her ladylike way,

A-givin’ the poor what they're needing

And helpin’ the church every day:

Our numbers each Sunday is swelling

And real, true religion is rife,

And sometimes I feel like a-yellin’,

“Three cheers fer the minister's wife!”