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The World’s Wit and Humor: An Encyclopedia in 15 Volumes. 1906.

Robert Henry Newell (1836–1901)

The American Traveler

TO Lake Aghmoogenegamook

All in the State of Maine,

A man from Wittequergaugaum came

One evening in the rain.

“I am a traveler,” said he

“Just started on a tour,

And go to Nomjamskillicook

To-morrow morn at four.”

He took a tavern bed that night,

And, with the morrow’s sun,

By way of Sekledobskus went,

With carpet-bag and gun.

A week passed on, and next we find

Our native tourist come

To that sequestered village called


From thence he went to Absequoit,

And there—quite tired of Maine—

He sought the mountains of Vermont,

Upon a railroad train.

Dog Hollow, in the Green Mount State,

Was his first stopping-place;

And then Skunk’s Misery displayed

Its sweetness and its grace.

By easy stages then he went

To visit Devil’s Den;

And Scrabble Hollow, by the way

Did come within his ken.

Then via Nine Holes and Goose Green

He traveled through the State;

And to Virginia, finally,

Was guided by his fate.

Within the Old Dominion’s bounds,

He wandered up and down;

To-day at Buzzard’s Roost ensconced,

To-morrow, at Hell Town.

At Pole Cat, too, he spent a week,

Till friends from Bull Ring came

And made him spend a day with them

In hunting forest game.

Then, with his carpet-bag in hand,

To Dog Town next he went;

Though stopping at Free Negro Town,

Where half a day he spent.

From thence, into Negationburg

His route of travel lay;

Which having gained, he left the State,

And took a southward way.

North Carolina’s friendly soil

He trod at fall of night,

And, on a bed of softest down,

He slept at Hell’s Delight.

Morn found him on the road again,

To Lousy Level bound;

At Bull’s Tail, and Lick Lizard, too,

Good provender he found.

The country all about Pinch Gut

So beautiful did seem

That the beholder thought it like

A picture in a dream.

But the plantations near Burnt Coat

Were even finer still,

And made the wondering tourist feel

A soft, delicious thrill.

At Tear Shirt, too, the scenery

Most charming did appear,

With Snatch It in the distance far,

And Purgatory near.

But, spite of all these pleasant scenes,

The tourist stoutly swore

That home is brightest, after all,

And travel is a bore.

So back he went to Maine, straightway;

A little wife he took;

And now is making nutmegs at