Alabama, 19 13. 21 



Camp-meetings, indeed, were its chiefest delight. 



Like a crook unto sheep gone astray 

 It beckoned backsliders to re-seek the right, 



And exhorted the sinners to pray. 

 It always beat time when the choir went wrong, 



In psalmody leading the van. 

 Old Hundred, I know, was its favorite song — 



My grandmother's turkey-tail fan. 



A fig for the fans that are made nowadays, 



Suited only to frivolous mirth ! 

 A different thing was the fan that I praise, 



Yet it scorned not the good things of earth. 

 At bees and at quiltings 't was to be seen ; 



The best of the gossip began 

 When in at the doorway had entered serene 



My grandmother's turkey-tail fan. 



Tradition relates of it wonderful tales. 



Its handle of leather was buff. 

 Though shorn of its glory, e'en now it exhales 



An odor of hymn-books and snuff. 

 Its primeval grace, if you like, you can trace : 



'T was limned for the future to scan, 

 Just under a smiling gold-spectacled face, 



My grandmother's turkey-tail fan. 



& 



