John Anderson, My Jo – My Jim – My John – My Tom and My, What a Lunatic!

Image of this Irish couple (Luke and Bridget Reilly) is from the Photopol blog.

The parodies continue:

ANSWER TO “JOHN ANDERSON MY JO.”

BY MRS. CRAWFORD.

Jean Anderson, my ain Jean!
Ye’ve been a leal gude wife;
Ye’ve mair than shared by pain, Jean,
Ye’ve been my joy through life;
I loved ye in your youth, Jean,
Wi’ bonny snooded brow;
But maun I tell the truth, Jean,
I love ye better now.

*     *     *     *     *     *     *
I’ve been a man ol toil, Jean,
And aye obliged to roam;
But still ye had the smile, Jean,
And canny “welcome home!”
Our hearth was aye a light, Jean,
The kail pot on the fire,
When I came back at night, Jean,
I found my hearts desire.

Our bairus hae bred some cares, Jean,
But thanks to thee my Jo,
They brought not our gray hairs, Jean,
Wi’ shame or sorrow low;
And when at last our bed, Jean,
Beside the kirk maun be,
They’ll honor us when dead, Jean,
And that’s enough for me.

Rock River Pilot (Watertown, Wisconsin) Mar 1, 1848

The original Robert Burns version (previously posted) for comparison.

Peddlin’ My Jo:

1886 Bicycle for Two – Image from the Copenhagen City Museum

John Anderson, My Jo.
John Anderson, my Jo, John,
When we were first acquent
You wouldn’t ride the bike, John,
But now your spine is bent.
I see you riding by, John,
And goodness how you go —
You’re the swiftest sco???er in the town,
John Anderson, my Jo.

John Anderson, my Jo, John,
We clamb the hill thegither —
I’ll ne’er forget the day, John,
Nor, ”aibelins, wil you ither!
We coasted on your tandem,
And, jinks, how we did go,
Till we struck that fence-rail at the foot,
John Anderson, my Jo.

— Chicago News.

The Daily Herald (Delphos, Ohio) Jun 17, 1899

Civil War Hero:

John Logan, O my Jo, John,
When we were first acquaint,
A soldier bold you were, John,
Bedecked with warlike paint;
And when your slogan sounded
It nerved your loyal clan,
For to the front they bounded —
You led them like a man.

Oshkosh Daily Northwestern (Oshkosh, Wisconsin) Jun 24, 1884

Image from Wiki.

Now for politics and corruption, but I repeat myself:

This one is about John Kelly and Tammany Hall:

John Kellyus, my jo, John,
When we were first acquaint,
You were a dreaded chief, John,
When you put on your paint;
But now your goose is cooked, John,
Your head is lying low —
It lies beneath old Sammy’s feet,
John Kellyus, my jo!

Albany Journal.

The Helena Independent (Helena, Montana) Oct 30, 1881

Image from The Old Photo Album website – American Civil War Portraits

COLFAX’S FAREWELL.

(“John Anderson, My Jo, John.“)

OLD subsidy, my Pomeroy,
When first we were acquaint,
The gospel of Sharpe’s rifles
Declared you quite a saint.
But now the cause of freedom
Will surely quick succumb —
In spite of all your bonds and things,
They cast you out, my Pom!

Well subsidized, my Pomeroy,
We fought the fight together,
And many a little picking, Pom,
Laid by for stormy weather.
Now we must tumble down, Pom,
But cheek by jowl we’ll fall,
And sink together in the mud
Where we were meant to crawl.

The Portsmouth Times (Portsmouth, Ohio) Mar 1, 1873

Image of Gov. J. Madison Wells from the Vangobot Pop Art Machine website.

“ADAPTED” FROM THE SCOTTISH.

Tom Anderson, my Jo, Tom,
When we were first acquaint,
For those electoral returns
In confidence you “went.”
You “fixed” ’em very bully, Tom,
With “Maddy” Wells and Co.,
And thought you had a certain thing,
Tom Anderson, my Jo!

But, Thomas A., my Jo, now
That matter “hasn’t went”
Entirely “serene,” and so
Your bonny brow is “brent,”
And your locks are prison locks, Tom,
And not at all like snow,
For they’ll not melt away with spring,
Tom Anderson, my Jo!

— Washington Post.

The Daily Constitution (Atlanta, Georgia) Feb 15, 1878

Image of John Sherman from Wiki.

ANOTHER CONFIDENTIAL LETTER.

FROM JOHN SHERMAN TO JAMES E. ANDERSON.

Jim Anderson, my jo, Jim,
When first we were acquaint,
You hadn’t kalsomined yourself
With pugilistic paint.
But now your jaw is oiled, Jim,
You’re telling what you know,
And I am shaking in my shoes —
Jim Anderson, my jo.

Jim Anderson, my jo, Jim,
We planned the fraud thegither,
And promised that we never would
Go back on one anither,
We juggled the returns, but James,
Jim James, how could you blow
And peach on me and Rutherford —
Jim Anderson, my jo?

Jim Anderson, my jo, Jim,
I promised we would pay,
But you despised a clerkship at
Three dollars every day,
Old Evarts should have sent you off
Consul to Cailao —
But hindsight isn’t foresight much
Jim Anderson, my jo!

Jim Anderson, my jo, Jim,
‘Twas not a fair divide,
You stole the mule for us and then
We wouldn’t let you ride.
And Stanley M. is sick, Jim,
And Hayes is lying low,
And I’m the deadest sort of duck,
Jim Anderson, my jo!

— N.Y. Sun.

The Daily Constitution (Atlanta, Georgia) Jun 9, 1878

Read more:

Title: A Political Crime: The History of the Great Fraud
Author: Albert M. Gibson
Publisher: W.S. Gottsberger, 1885

pg 214 [Wells, Tom Anderson]

Chapter XV pg 283 [Sherman and John E. Anderson]

President John Tyler image from the We Love the Prairie Primer homeschool blog.

From the United States Gazette.

A New Song to an Old Tune.

John Tyler, sir, my Jo John, when first we were acquaint,
You did pretend to be a Whig, for Harry, sir, you went;
But now you’ve got in power, John, the cloven foot you show;
A shame unto all traitors, John, John Tyler, sir my Jo.

John Tyler, sir, my Jo John, the Whigs they fought thegither,
And many a canty day, John, they had with one anither;
But you have betrayed them, John, and why did you do so?
A shame unto all traitors, John, John Tyler, sir, my Jo.

John Tyler, sir, my Jo John, when nature first began,
To try her canny hand, John, her master work was man,
But when she turned you out, John, she said it was “no go,”
You proved to be but journey-work, John Tyler, sir my Jo.

John Tyler, sir, my Jo John, why will you be a fool,
And sneak around the Locos, John, who use you as a tool?
They’re laughing in their sleeves, John, to think that you’ll veto
The only bill can save you, John, John Tyler, sir my Jo.

John Tyler, sir, my Jo John, the higher monkies go,
The more they show their tails, John, you know it’s even so;
Then get you out the White House, John, and homeward do you go,
And make the people happy, John, John Tyler, sir, my jo.

Huron Reflector (Norwalk, Ohio) Sep 27, 1842

Image from the Turn Back to God website.

Sweet, Long-lasting love:

IT’S MIGHTY COMFORTIN’.

Oh, it’s mighty comfortin’ when your hair is gettin’ thin,
And the wrinkles in your face have come to stay,
Just to feel her little hand smoothin’ out each silver strand,
While you meet her lovin’ look and hear her say:

“John, my dear, it seems as tho’ every day you live you grow
Handsomer than in olden day.”
And you smile back at your wife while you think, in all your life
You never heard a sweeter word of praise.

Then somehow, the teardrops rise to your dim, old fadin’ eyes,
While you kiss the tender hand still white and small,
And you try to tell her how you loved her then — you love her now,
But, bless me, if the words will come at all!

For just then it comes to you to think of trials she’s gone thro’,
And borne without a murmur for your sake;
You can only bow your head at the lovin’ things she’s said,
And your poor old heart can only ache and ache.

But she knows what ails you then, and she kisses you again,
While you hear her gently whisper, sweet and low;
“Life has bro’t more hopes than fears; we have known more smiles than tears;
You are the dearest dear of dears, John Anderson, my Jo!”

So it’s comfortin’, I say, when your hair is gettin’ gray,
And our slippin’ down life’s hill a mighty fast,
Just to feel her little hand strokin’ back each silver strand,
While she whispers that she loves you to the last.

— Farmer’s Voice.

The Daily Herald (Delphos, Ohio) Feb 26, 1898

Image of Lunatic Asylum, Columbus, Ohio from Wiki.

Kind of odd, dare I say crazy, for this Judge to out “riding” with this  “lunatic.” Maybe he was jilted:

A Poetic Fancy.

Judge Gilmore, of Columbus, has the original manuscript of the following verse, written by a young man who went to the lunatic asylum about a week later. The young poet asked the Judge out for a drive, and when they had gone some miles into the country said his object was to submit something to him. He then recited, “John Anderson, my jo,” and when he came to the sad ending: “We’ll sleep the gither at the fit, John Anderson, my jo,” he exclaimed, “That’s not the end of it. Burns never finished it. That’s not the end of such life-long love. There’s more to it. I have the closing verse here.” Then he read it:

John Anderson, my jo, John,
We wilna min’ that sleep;
The grave, so cauld an’ dark, John,
The spirit canna keep
For we will wake in heaven, John;
An’ hand in hand we’ll go
An live for aye in blissfu’ love
John Anderson, my jo.

Lima Daily News (Lima, Ohio) Jul 9, 1889

*****

Previous “John Anderson, My Jo” posts:

Robert Burns: “John Anderson, My Jo”

and

John Alcohol and the Poor Man’s Club

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