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 THE LIBRARY OF THE 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF 
 
 NORTH CAROLINA 
 
 AT CHAPEL HILL 
 
 ENDOWED BY THE 
 
 DIALECTIC AND PHILANTHROPIC 
 
 SOCIETIES 
 
 PN6161 
 .H3235 
 1867 
 
.,-> 
 
 21 
 
 m § 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF N.C. AT CHAPEL HILL 
 
 10001249490 
 
 This book is due at the WALTER R. DAVIS LIBRARY on 
 the last date stamped under "Date Due." If not on hold it 
 may be renewed by bringing it to the library. 
 
 DATE 
 DUE 
 
 RET. 
 
 DATE 
 DUE 
 
 RET. 
 
 JAN 1 8 199! 
 
 I fl 2 Q0J 
 
 j< TED 2 6 t ig 
 
 FEB15'92 
 
 SEB-J 
 
 1A 
 
 
 \ MAR 2 
 
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 ,.?.•'/ 
 
 Form No. 513, 
 Rev, 1/84 
 
SUT LOVINGOOD'S YARIS. 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2012 with funding from 
 
 University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill 
 
 http://archive.org/details/sutlovingopdyarnhafr 
 
SUT L0V1NG00D. 
 
 YARNS SPUN 
 
 ' 
 
 "NAT'RAL BORN DURN'D FOOL. 
 
 WARPED AND WOVE FOR PUBLIC WEAR, 
 
 it 
 
 GEORGE W. HARRIS. 
 
 "A little nonsense, now and then. 
 Is relished by the wisest men." 
 
 'Suppose I am to hang the morrow, and 
 Can laugh to-night, shall I not ?"— Old Plat- 
 
 
 DICK & FITZGERALD, PUBLISHERS 
 
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1867, by 
 
 DICK & FITZGERALD. 
 
 In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the 
 Southern District of New York. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 "You must have a preface, Sut ; your book will then be ready. 
 What shall I write ?" 
 
 "Well, ef I must, I must ; fur I s'pose the perducktion cud no 
 more show hitsef in publick wifout hit, than a coffin-maker cud wif 
 out black clothes, an' yet what's the use ove either ove em, in pint ove 
 good sense? Smells tu me sorter like a durned humbug, the hole 
 ove hit— a littil like cuttin ove the Ten Cummandmints intu the rine 
 ove a warter-million ; hits jist slashed open an' the inside et outen 
 hit, the rine an' the cummandmints broke all tu pieces an' flung tu 
 the hogs, an' never tho't ove onst — them, nur the 'tarnil fool what 
 cut em thar. But ef a orthur mus' take off his shoes afore he goes 
 intu the publick's parlor, I reckon I kin du hit wifout durtyin my 
 feet, fur I hes socks on. 
 
 " Sumtimes, George, I wishes I cud read an' write, jis' a littil ; but 
 then hits bes' es hit am, fur ove all the fools the worild hes tu contend 
 wif, the edicated wuns am the worst ; they breeds ni ontu all the 
 devilment a-gwine on. But I wer a-thinkin, ef I cud write mysef, 
 hit wud then raley been my book. I jis' tell yu now, I don't like the 
 qq idear ove yu writin a perduckshun, an' me a-findin the brains. 'Taint 
 <3 the fust case tho' on record by a durned site. Usin uther men's 
 brains is es lawful es usin thar plunder, an' jis' es common, so I 
 don't keer much nohow. I dusn't 'speck this yere perduckshun will 
 
 *- 
 
 in 
 
X PREFACE. 
 
 sit purfeckly quiet ontu the stumicks ove sum pussons— them hu hea 
 a holesum fear ove the devil, an' orter hev hit, by geminey. Now, 
 fur thar speshul well-bein herearter, I hes jis' this tu say : Ef yu ain't 
 fond ove the smell ove cracklins, stay outen the kitchin ; ef yu is 
 fear'd ove smut, yu needn't climb the chimbley ; an' ef the moon 
 hurts yer eyes, don't yu ever look at a Dutch cheese. That's jis' all 
 ove hit. 
 
 " Then thar's sum hu haint much faith in thar repertashun standin 
 much ove a strain ; they'll be powerful keerful how an' whar they 
 reads my words. Now, tu them I haint wun word tu say : they hes 
 been preached to, an' prayed fur, now ni ontu two thousand years 
 an' I won't dart weeds whar thuty-two poun shot bounces back. 
 
 "Then thar's the book-butchers, orful on killin an'cuttinup, but 
 cud no more perjuce a book, than a bull-butcher cud perjuce a bull. 
 S'pose they takes a noshun tu stick, skin, an' cut up this yere one. 
 Ef they is fond ove sicknin skeers, I advises em tu take holt tu onst ; 
 but fust I begs tu refer em respectively tu the fate ove three misfor 
 tinit pussons menshun'd inside yere — Passun Bullin, Dock Fabin, an 
 Sheriff Dolton. Eead keerfully what happened tu them afore yu 
 takes eny ove my flesh ontu yer claws, ur my blood ontu yer bills, an' 
 that I now is a durnder fool then I wer in them days, fur I now con- 
 siders mysef a orthur. I hes tuck my stan amung the nashuns ove 
 the yeath, fur I, too, hes made me a book, so ef enybody wants dish 
 rags, I thinks hit wud be more healthy fur em not tu tare em ofen 
 my flag. 
 
 "Mos' book-weavers seem tu be skeery folks, fur ginerlly they 
 cums up tu the slaughter pen, whinin an' waggin thar tails, a-sayin 
 they ' knows they is imparfeck' — that • yu'd scace 'speck one ove my 
 ge,' an* so forth, so on, so along. Now ef I is a-rowin in that boat, I 
 
PBEFACE. XI 
 
 ain't awar ove hit, I ain't, fur I knows the tremenjus gif I hes fui 
 breedin skeers amung durned fools, an' then I hes a trustin rehance 
 ontu the fidelity, injurance, an' speed ove these yere laigs ove mine 
 to tote me an' my sins away beyant all human ritribushuns ur revenge. 
 Now, 'zamin yer hans, ole ferrits an' weazels, an' ef yu don't hole bqf 
 bowers an' the ace, yu jis' 'pass' hit. / 
 
 ' ' Ef eny poor misfortinit devil hu's heart is onder a mill-stone, 
 hu's raggid children am hungry, an' no bread in the dresser, hu is 
 down in the mud, an' the lucky ones a-trippin him every time he 
 struggils tu his all fours, hu hes fed the famishin an' is now hungry 
 hissef, hu misfortins foller fas' an' foller faster, hu is so foot-sore an 
 weak that he wishes he wer at the ferry — ef sich a one kin fine a 
 laugh, jis' one, sich a laugh as is remembered wif his keerless boy- 
 hood, atwixt these yere kivers — then, I'll thank God that I hes made 
 a book, an' feel that I hev got my pay in full. 
 
 "Make me a Notey Beney, George. I wants tu put sumwhar 
 atween the eyebrows ove our book, in big winnin-lookin letters, the 
 sarcbin, meanin words, what sum pusson writ ontu a 'oman's garter 
 onst, long ago " 
 
 " Evil be to him that evil thinks." 
 
 " Them's em, by jingo ! hed em clost apas' yu, didn't yu? I want 
 em fur a gineral skeer — speshully fur the wimen. 
 
 "Now, George, grease hit good, an' let hit slide down the hill hit« 
 own way." 
 
DEDICATORY. 
 
 " Well, Sut, your stories are all ready for the printer ; 
 to whom do you wish to dedicate the work ?" 
 
 " I don't keer much, George ; haint hit a kine ove lick- 
 skillet bisness, enyhow — sorter like the waggin ove a 
 dorg's tail, when he sees yu eatin ove sassengers ? But 
 yere goes : How wud Anner Dickinson du tu pack hit 
 ontu ?" 
 
 " Oh, Sut, that would never do. What ! dedicate such 
 nonsense as yours to a woman ? How will this do? 
 
 DEDICATED TO 
 THE MEMORY OF 
 
 ELBBJDGE GEEKY EASTMAN, 
 
 THE ABLE EDITOR, AND FINISHED GENTLEMAN, THE FRIEND, WHOSE KINDLY 
 
 VOICE FIRST INSPIRED MY TIMID PEN WITH HOPE. 
 
 GRATEFUL MEMORY 
 
 DROPS A TEAR AMONG THE FLOWERS, AS AFFECTION STREWS THEM 
 
 O'ER HIS GRAVE." 
 
 " Won't begin tu du, George. The idear ove enybody 
 bein grateful, ur rememberin a dead friend now-a-days ! 
 
XIV DEDICATORY. 
 
 Why, if that wer tu git out onto me, I'd never be able tu 
 mix in decent s'ciety while I lived. Tare that up, 
 George." 
 
 " Well, what do you say to this, Sut ? 
 
 WILLIAM CRUTCHFIELD, OF CHATTANOOGA, 
 
 MY FRIEND IN STORM AND SUNSHINE, BRAVE ENOUGH TO BE TRUE, AND TBUK 
 
 ENOUGH TO BE SINGULAR ; ONE WHO SAYS WHAT HE THINKS, 
 
 AND VERY OFTEN THINKS WHAT HE SAYS." 
 
 " That won't du either, hoss. 'Tis mos' es bad tu be 
 grateful tu the livin es the dead. I tell yu hit ain't 
 smart. Ef ever yu is grateful at all, show hit tu them 
 what yu expeck will du a favor, never tu the 'tarnil fool 
 what hes dun hit. Never es yu expeck tu git tu heaven, 
 never pay far a ded hoss. An' more, every fice ur houn 
 dorg what either him ur me has wallop'd fur thar nasti- 
 ness, wud open ontu our trail — ontu him fur buyin me, 
 an' ontu me fur bein bought. No, George, I'll do ontill 
 Bill gets poor ur dus sum devilmint. I'll tell yu what 
 I'll du, I'll jis' dedercate this yere perduction tu the 
 durndest fool in the United States, an' Massachusets too, 
 he or she. An then, by golly, I'll jis* watch hu claims 
 hit." 
 
 " Very well, Sut ; how shall I write it ? how designate 
 the proper one ?" 
 
DEDICATOBY. XV 
 
 " Jis' this way ; hits the easiest dun thing in the 
 world: 
 
 DEDERCATED 
 
 ■WIT THE STMPEETHTS OVE THE OBTHUB, 
 
 TU THE MAN UK 'OMAN, HUEVEE THEY BE, 
 
 WHAT DOISPT READ THIS YERE BOOK. 
 
 Don't that kiver the case tu a dot? Hu knows bu^ 
 what I'se dedercatin hit tu mysef at las'. Well, I don't 
 keer a durn, I kin stan hit, ef the rest ove em kin." 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 •/Sut Lovtnggod's Daddy, Acting Hobse 19 
 
 Sur's New Fangled Shxrt, (a brilliant idea) .... 29 
 
 ./The Widow McCloud's Maee 37 
 
 /Parson Bullin's Lizaeds, (retributiou) 48 
 
 ■S A Bazob Geindek in a Thundkb Stoem 60 
 
 s Old Skissim's Middle Boy - 66 
 
 y Blown up with Soda . . . . 75 
 
 ^ Sicily Buens's "Wedding 86 
 
 .•Old Buens's Bull Bide 98 
 
 sljake-bit ieishman 108 
 
 Eaves-deopping a Lodge of Free-masons 114 
 
 Taueus in Lynchburg Market 123 
 
 <s Mes. Yaedley's Quilting 134 
 
 Sut Lovtngood's Dog 149 
 
 Sut Assisting at a Negeo Night-Meeting 157 
 
 ^Sut's Seemon — "Ye Cat Fishe Tavern" 173 
 
 , Baet Davk's Dance (a lively time) 181 
 
 J Tbtpetown — Twenty Minutes foe Beeakfast . . . .193 
 
 •Hen Bally's Befobmation 198 
 
 v Frustrating a Funeeal (never to be read by candle light) . 210 
 
 v Bare Bd?e Garden-seed (for newly married folks) . . . 227 
 
 t/Contempt of Court — Almost 245 
 
 j/Tbapping a Shebeff (a vile conspiracy) ...... 256 
 
 v Dad's Dog School ("jist like 'im") 278 
 
 * 
 
SUT LOVDfGOOD'S DADDY, ACTING HORSE. 
 
 "Hole that ar hoss down tu the yeath." "He's a 
 fixin fur the heavings." " He's a spreadin his tail 
 feathers tu fly. Look out, Laigs, if you aint ready 
 tu go up'ards." " Wo, Shavetail." " Git a fiddil ; he's 
 tryin a jig." "Say, Long Laigs, rais'd a power ove 
 co'n didn't yu ?" " Taint co'n, hits redpepper." 
 
 These and like expressions were addressed to a queer 
 looking, long legged, short bodied, small headed, white J 
 haired, hog eyed, funny sort of a genius, fresh from ^ 
 some bench-legged Jew's clothing store, mounted on 
 " Tearpoke," a nick tailed, bow necked, long, poor, pale 
 sorrel horse, half dandy, half devil, and enveloped in a 
 perfect net-work of bridle, reins, crupper, martingales, 
 straps, surcingles, and red ferreting, who reined up in 
 front of Pat Nash's grocery, among a crowd of moun- 
 taineers full of fun, foolery, and mean whisky. 
 This was Sut Lovingood. 
 
 " I say, you durn'd ash cats, jis' keep yer shuts on, 
 will ye? You never seed a rale iioss, till I rid up; 
 
20 sut lovingood's daddy, acting house. 
 
 you's p'raps stole ur owned shod rabbits ur sheep wif 
 borrerd saddils on, but when you tuck the fus' be- 
 grudgin look jis' now at this critter, name Tarpoke, yu 
 wer injoyin a sight ove nex' tu the bes' hoss what 
 ever shell'd nubbins ur toted jugs, an' he's es ded es a 
 still wum, poor ole Tickytail ! 
 
 " "Wo ! wo ! Tarpoke, yu cussed infunel fidgety 
 hide full ove hell fire, can't yu stan' still an listen 
 while I'se a polishin yer karacter off es a mortul hoss 
 tu these yere durned fools ?" 
 
 Sut's tongue or his spurs brought Tearpoke into 
 something like passable quietude while he continued : 
 
 n Say yu, sum ove yu growin hogs made a re-mark 
 jis' now 'bout redpepper. I jis' wish tu say in a gine- 
 ral way that eny wurds cupplin redpepper an Tarpoke 
 tugether am durn'd infurnal lies." 
 
 "What killed Tickeytail, Sut?" asked an anxious in- 
 quirer after truth. 
 
 "Why nufnn, you cussed fool ; he jis' died so, stand- 
 in up et that Warn't that rale casteel hoss pluck? 
 Yu see, he froze stiff; no, not that adzactly, but starv'd 
 fust, an' froze arterards, so stiff that when dad an' me 
 went tu lay him out an' we push'd him over, he stuck 
 out jis' so, (spreading his arms and legs,) like ontu a 
 carpenter's bainch, an' we hed tu wait ni ontu seventeen 
 days fur 'im tu thaw afore we cud skin 'im." 
 
 "Skin 'im?" interrupted a rat-faced youth, whittling 
 on a com gtalk, " I thot yu wanted tu lay the hoss out" 
 
sut lovingood's daddy, acting horse. 21 
 
 " The hell yu did ! Aint skinin the natral way ove 
 layin out a hoss, I'd like tu no ? See a yere, soney, 
 yu tell yer mam tu hev yu sot back jis' bout two years, 
 fur et the rate yu'se a climbin yu stan's a pow'ful chance 
 tu die wif yer shoes on, an' git laid hoss way, yu dus." 
 
 The rat-faced youth shut up his knife and subsided. 
 
 " "Well, thar we wer — dad, an' me A (counting on his 
 fingers,) an' Sail, an' Jake, (fool Jake we calls 'im fur 
 short,) an' Jim, an' Phineass, an' Callimy Jane, an' Shar- 
 lottyann, an' me, an' Zodiack, an' Cashus Clay, an' 
 Noah Dan Webster, an' the twin gals, (Castur and 
 Pollox,) an' me, an' Catherin Second, an' Cleopatry 
 Antony, an' Jane Barnum Lind, an' me, an' Benton 
 Bullion, an' the baby what haint nam'd yet, an' me, 
 an' the Prospect, an' mam hersef, all lef in the woods 
 alone, wifout ara hoss tu crup wif" 
 
 "Yu'se counted yersef five times, Mister Lovin- 
 good," said a tomato-nosed man in ragged overcoat 
 
 " Yas, ole Still-tub, that's jis the perporshun I bears in 
 the famerly fur dam fool, leavin out Dad in course. 
 Yu jis let me alone, an' be a thinkin ove gittin mora 
 hoops ontuyu. Yus leakinnow; see thar." Ha! ha I 
 from the crowd, and " Still-tub " went into the dog 
 gery. 
 
 " Warnt that a devil's own mess ove broth fur a 'speo 
 tabil white famerly tu be sloshin about in ? I be durned 
 ef I didn't feel sorter like stealin a hoss sumtimes, an' I 
 speck I'd a dun hit, but the stealin streak in the Lovin- 
 
22 sitt lovingood's daddy, acting horse. 
 
 goods, all run tu dumed 'fool, an' the onvartus streak 
 all run tu laigs. Jis look down the side ove this yere 
 hoss rnos' tu the groun'. Dus yu see em ? 
 
 " Well we waited, an' wished, an' rested, an' plan'd, 
 an' wished, an' waited agin, ontil ni ontu strawberry 
 time, hopin sum stray hoss mout cum along ; but dorg 
 my cats, ef eny sich good luck ever cums wifin reach 
 ove whar dad is, he's so dod-dratted mean, an' lazy, an' 
 ugly, an' savidge, an' durn fool tu kill. 
 
 " "Well, one nite he lay awake till cock-crowin a-snor- 
 tin, an' rollin, an' blowin, an' shumin, an' scratchin his- 
 sef, an' a whisperin at mam a heap, an' at breckfus' 
 I foun' out what hit ment. Says he, ' Sut, I'll tell yu 
 what we'll du: I'll be hoss mysef, an' pull the plow 
 whilst yu drives me, an' then the " Ole Quilt " (he ment 
 that fur mam,) an' the brats kin plant, an v tend, ur jis 
 let hit alone, es they darn pleze; I aint a carein.' 
 
 " So out we went tu the pawpaw thicket, an' peel'd a 
 rite smart chance ove bark, an' mam an' me made 
 geers fur dad, while he sot on the fence a-lookin at us, 
 an' a studyin pow'rful. I arterards foun' out, he wen 
 a-studyin how tu play the kar-acter ove a hoss puf- 
 fectly. 
 
 i " Well, the geers becum him mitily, an' nuffin wud 
 du 'im but he mus hev a bridil, so I gits a umereller 
 brace — hit's a litil forked piece ove squar wire bout a 
 foot long, like a yung pitch-fork, yu no — an' twisted hit 
 sorter intu a bridil bit snaffil shape. Dad wanted hit 
 
sut lovdstgood's daddy, acting horse. 23 
 
 made kurb, es lie hedn't work'd fur a good while, an' 
 said lie mout sorter feel his keepin, an' go tu ravin an* 
 cavortin. 
 
 " When we got the bridil fix'd ontu dad, don't yu bleve \ 
 he sot in tu chompin hit jis like a rale hoss, an' tried { 
 tu bite me on the arm, (he allers wer a mos' complika- 
 ted durned ole fool, an' mam sed so when he warnt 
 about.) I put on the geers, an' while mam wer a-tyin 
 the belly ban', a-strainin hit pow'rful tite, he drapt ontu 
 his hans, sed 'Whay-a-a' like a mad hoss wud, an' 
 slung his hine laigs at mam's hed. She step'd back a 
 littil an' wer standin wif her arms cross'd a-restin em 
 on her stumick, an' his heel taps cum wifin a inch ove j 
 her nose. Sez she, ' Yu plays hoss better nur yu dus 
 husban.' He jis' run backards on all fours, an' kick'd at 
 her agin, an' an' pawd the groun wif his fis. 
 
 " ' Lead him off tu the field, Sut, afore he kicks ur 
 bites sumbody,' sez mam. I shoulder'd the gopher 
 plow, an' tuck hole ove the bridil. Dad leaned back 
 sulky, till I sed cluck cluck wif my tounge, then he 
 started. When we cum tu the fence I let down the 
 gap, an' hit made dad mad ; he wanted tu j ump hit on 
 all fours hoss way. Oh' geminy ! what a durn'd ole 
 fool kin cum tu ef he gins up tu the complaint. 
 
 " I hitch'd 'im tu the gopher, a-watchin him pow'ful 
 clost, fur I'd see how quick he cud drap ontu his hans, 
 an' kick, an' away we went, dad leanin forard tu his 
 pullin, an' we made rite peart plowin, fur tu hev a green 
 
24 sut lovingood's daddy, acting horse. 
 
 hoss, an' bark gears ; lie went over the sprowts an' bushea 
 same as a rale boss, only be traveled on two laigs. I 
 W3r mitily bope up bout co'n ; I cud a'mos' see hit a 
 cumin up ; but thar's a heap ove whisky spilt twixt the 
 counter an' the mouf, ef hit ain't got but two foot tu 
 travil. 'Bout the time he wer beginin tu break sweat, 
 we cum tu a sassafrack bush, an tu keep up his 
 kar-acter es a hoss, he buljed squar intu an' thru hit, 
 tarin down a ball ho'nets nes' ni ontu es big es a hoss's 
 hed, an' the hole tribe kiver'd 'im es quick es yu cud 
 kiver a sick pup wif a saddil blanket. He lit ontu 
 his hans agin, an kick'd strait up onst, then he rar'd, 
 an' fotch a squeal wus nur ara stud hoss in the State, an' 
 sot in tu strait runnin away jis es natral es yu ever 
 seed any uther skeer'd hoss du. I let go the line an' 
 holler'd, Wo ! dad, wo ! but yu mout jis' es well say 
 Woa ! tu a locomotum, ur Suke cow tu a gal. 
 
 " Gewhillitins ! how he run : when he cum tu bushes, 
 he'd clar the top ove em wif a squeal, gopher an' all. 
 P'raps he tho't thar mout be anuther settilment ove 
 ball ho'nets thar, an' hit wer safer tu go over than 
 thru, an' quicker dun eny how. Every now an' then 
 he'd fan the side ove his hed, fust wif wun fore laig 
 an' then tuther, then he'd gin hissef a roun-handed slap 
 what soundid like a waggin whip ontu the place whar 
 the breechbands tetches a hoss, a-runnin all the time 
 an' a-kerrin that ar gopher jis 'bout as fas' an' es hi 
 frum the j eath es ever eny gopher wer kerried I'll swae 
 
8UT LOVINGOOD'S DADDY ACTING HORSE. 
 
 " H« seemM tti run jis adzactly es fas' es a ho'net oud fly ; hit Trer the titest race I ere* 
 t—i, far won hose to fit all the whipin.'" Page 36. 
 
sut lovetoood's daddy, acting horse. 25 
 
 When lie cum tu the fence, he jis tore thru hit, bustin 
 an' scatterin ni ontu seven panils wif lots ove broken 
 rails. Rite yere he }ef the gopher, geers, close, clevis, 
 an' swingltress, all mix'd up, an' not wuf a durn. Mos' 
 ove his shut staid ontu the aind ove a rail, an' ni ontu 
 a pint ove ho'nets stop'd thar a stingin all over ; hits 
 smell fool'd em. The balance on em, ni ontu a gallun, 
 kep' on wif dad. He seem'd tu run jis adzactly es fas' 
 es a ho'net cud fly ; hit wer the titest race I ever seed, 
 fur wun hoss tu git all the whipin. Down thru a saige 
 field they all went, the ho'nets makin hit look like thar 
 wer smoke roun' dad's bald hed, an' he wif nuffin on 
 the green yeath in the way ove close about im, but the 
 bridil, an' ni ontu a yard ove plow line sailin behine, 
 wif a tir'd out ho'net ridin on the pint ove hit. I seed 
 that he wer aimin fur the swimin hole in the krick, 
 whar the bluff am over-twenty five foot pupendiculer 
 tu the warter, an' hits ni ontu ten foot deep. 
 
 " Well, tu keep up his karacter es a hoss, plum thru, 
 When he got tu the bluff he loped off, ur rather jis' 
 kep on a runnin. Kerslunge intu the krick he went 
 I seed the warter fly plum abuv the bluff from whar I 
 wer. 
 
 " Now rite thar, boys, he over-did the thing, ef actin 
 hoss tu the scribe wer what he wer arter ; fur thars nara 
 hoss ever foaldid durned fool enuf tu lope over eny 
 sich place ; a cussed muel mout a dun hit, but dad 
 warn't actin muel, tho' he orter tuck that karacter ; hits 
 2 
 
26 SUT LOVINGOOD S DADDY, ACTING HORSE. 
 
 adzactly sooted tu his dispersition, all but not breedin, ^ 
 I crept up tu the aidge, an' peep'd over. Thar wei 
 dad's bald bed fur all the yeatb like a peeled inyin, a 
 bobbin up an' down an' aroun, an' the bo'nets sailin 
 joun tuckey buzzard fasbun, an' every onst in a 
 while one, an' sum times ten, wud take a dip at dad's 
 bald head. He kep' up a rite peart dodgin onder, sum- 
 times afore they hit im, an' sumtimes arterard, an' the 
 warter wer kivered wif drownded ball ho'nets. Tu 
 look at hit frum the top ove the bluff, hit wer pow'ful 
 inturestin, an' sorter funny ; I wer on the bluff myse'f, 
 mine yu. 
 
 " Dad cudent see the funny part frum whar he wer, 
 but hit seem'd tu be inturestin tu him frum the 'ten- 
 shun he wer payin tu the bisness ove divin an' cus- 
 sin. 
 
 " Sez I, ' Dad, ef yu's dun washin yersef, an hes drunk 
 enuff, less go back tu our plowin, hit will soon be pow- 
 ful hot' ' Hot — hell !' sez dad ; ' hit am hot rite now. 
 Don't (an onder went his hed) yer see (dip) these 
 cussed (dip) infun — (dip) varmints arter mer" (dip.) 
 ' What,' sez I, ' them ar hoss flies thar, that's nat'ral, dad ; 
 you aint raley fear'd ove them is yu ?' ' Hoss flies ! h — 1 
 &n' (dip) durnation !' sez dad, ' theyse rale ginui — (dip) 
 ball ho'nets, (dip) yu infunel ignurant cuss !' (dip.) 
 ' Kick em — bite em — paw em — switch em wif yure tail, 
 dad,' sez I. ' Oh ! soney, soney, (dip) how I'll sweeten 
 yure — (dip) when these (dip) ho'nets leave yere.' ' Yu'd 
 
SUT lovingood's daddy, acting hoese. 27 
 
 better du the levin yursef dad,' sez I. 'Leave yere ! 
 Sturn yu d — n fool ! How (dip) kin I, (dip) when they 
 won't (dip) let me stay (dip) atop (dip) the warter even.' 
 ' Well, dad, yu'l hev tu stay thar till nite, an' arter they 
 goes tu roos' yu cum home. I'll hev yer feed in the 
 troft redy ; yu won't need eny curyin tu-nite will yu ?' 
 ' I wish (dip) I may never (dip) see to-morrer, ef I (dip) 
 don't make (dip) hame strings (dip) outer yure hide 
 (dip) when I dus (dip) git outen yere,' sez dad. 
 'Better say yu wish yu may never see anuther ball 
 ho'net, ef yu ever play hoss agin,' sez I. 
 
 " Them words toch dad tu the hart, an' I felt they 
 mus' be my las, knowin dad's onmollined nater. I 
 broke frum them parts, an' sorter cum over yere tu the 
 copper mines. When I got tu the hous', ' Whar's yer 
 dad ?' sez mam. ' Oh, he tum'd durn fool, an' run away, 
 busted every thing all tu cussed smash, an's in the 
 swimin hole a divin arter minners. Look out mam, he'll 
 cum home wif a angel's temper; better sen' fur sum 
 strong man body tu keep him frum huggin yu tu deth. 
 ' Law sakes !' sez mam ; ' I know'd he cudent act hoss 
 fur ten minutes wifout actin infunel fool, tu save his 
 life.' 
 
 "I staid hid out ontil nex' arternoon, an' I seed a 
 feller a-travelin'. Sez I, ' How de do, mister ? What wer 
 agwine on at the cabin, this side the crick, when yu 
 pass'd thar ?' ' Oh, nuthin much, only a pow'ful fat man 
 wer a lyin in the yard ontu his belly, wif no shut on, 
 
28 SUT lovingood's daddy, acting house. 
 
 an' a 'oman wer a greasin ove his shoulders an' arms 
 outen a gourd. A pow'ful curious, vishus, skeery look- 
 in cuss lie is tu b'shure. His head am as big es a wash 
 pot, an' he hasent the fust durned sign ove an eye — -jist 
 two black slits. Is thar much small pox roun yere ?' 
 ' Small hell !' sez I, ' no sir.' ' Been much fightin in this 
 neighborhood lately?' 'Nun wuf speakin ove,' sez I. 
 He scratched his head — ' Nur French measils ?' ' Not 
 jis clost,' sez I. ' Well, do yu know what ails that man 
 back thar ?' ' Jist gittin over a vilent attack ove dam 
 fool,' sez I. 'Well, who is he eny how?' I ris tu 
 my feet, an' straiched out my arm, an' sez I, ' Strainger, 
 that man is my dad.' He looked at my laigs an' pus- 
 sonel feeters a moment, an' sez he, 'Yas, dam ef he 
 aint.' 
 
 " Now boys, I haint seed dad since, an' I dusent hev 
 roach appertite tu see im fur sum time tu cum. Less 
 all drink ! Yere's luck tu the durned old fool, an' the 
 ho'nets too. 
 
SUT'S NEW-FANGLED SHIRT. 
 
 I met - Sut, one morning, weaving along in his usual 
 rambling uncertain gait. His appearance satisfied me 
 at once that somethinsr was wron^. He had been sick 
 "—whipped in a free fight, or was just getting on his 
 legs again, from a ''big drunk." 
 
 But upon this point I was soon enlightened 
 
 : ' Why, Sut, what's wrong now ?" you look sick. 
 
 " Heaps wrong, durn my skin — no my haslets — ef I 
 haint mos' ded, an' my looks don't lie when they hints 
 that I'se sick. I is sick — I'se skin'd," 
 
 " Who skinned you — old Bullen ?" 
 
 " No, hoss, a durnder fool nor Bullen did hit ; I jis 
 skin'd mysef." 
 
 " What in the name of common sense did you do it 
 for?" 
 
 i " Didn't du hit in the name ove common sense ; did 
 hit in the name, an' wif the sperit, ove plum natral , 
 born durn fool. 
 
 " Lite ofen that ar hoss, an' take a ho'n ; I wants two 
 ove 'em, (shaking his constant companion, a whisky 
 
30 sut's new-fangled shirt. 
 
 flask, at me,) an' plant yersef ontu that ar log, an' I'll 
 tell ef I kin, but hit's a'mos beyant tellin. 
 
 " I'se a durnder fool nor enybody outside a Assalum, 
 ur Kongriss, 'sceptin ove my own dad, fur he actid 
 hoss, an' I haint tried that yet. I'se allers intu sum 
 trap what wudn't ketch a saidge-field sheep. I'll drownd 
 mysef sum day, jis see ef I don't. I spects that wud 
 stop the famerly dispersition tu act durn fool, so fur es 
 Sut's consarn'd." 
 
 " Well, how is it Sut ; have you been beat playing 
 cards or drinking?" 
 
 " N"ara wun, by geminy ! them jobs can't be did in 
 these yere parts, es enybody no's on, but seein hits yu 
 I'll tell hit. I'se sick-sham'd-sorry-sore-an'-mad tu kill, I 
 is. Yu no I boards wif Bill Carr, at his cabin ontu the 
 mountin, an' pays fur sich es I gits when I hes munny, 
 an' when I hesent eny, why he takes wun third outer 
 me in holesum hot cussin ; an' she, that's his wife Betts, 
 takes tuther three thirds out wif the battlin stick, an' 
 the intrus' wif her sharp tongue, an' she takes more 
 intrus' nur principal. She's the cussedes' oman I ever 
 seed eny how, fur jaw, breedin, an' pride. She kin 
 scold a blister rite plum ontu a bull's curl in two min- 
 its. She outbreeds enything frum thar tu the river, 
 takin in the minks — an' patterns arter all new fangl'd 
 fashuns she hears tell on, frum bussils tu britches. Oh ! 
 she's wun ove em, an' sumtimes she's two ur three, 
 she is, 
 
 / 
 
sut's new-fangled shirt. 81 
 
 " Well, yu see I'd got hole on sum homade cottin 
 cloff, fur a skirt, an' coax'd Betts tu make hit, an' bout 
 the time hit wer dun, yere cum a cussed stuck up law- 
 yer, name Jonsin, an' ax'd fur brekfus' — rite yere I 
 wishes the bread had been asnick, an' the meat strike- 
 nine, an' that he'd a staid an tuck dinner too, fur he 
 hes ni ontu fotch about my aind, durn his sashararer 
 mitimurs ole soul tu thunder ! 
 
 " I wonder hit didn't work 'im pow'ful es hit wer ; fur 
 Betts cooks up sum tarifyin mixtrys ove vittils, when 
 she tries hersef. I'se pizen proof my sef ; fur thuty 
 dullars, I jis' let a sluice ove aquafotis run thru me fur 
 ha'f a day, an' then live tu spen' the las' durn cent, fur 
 churnbrain whiskey ; ef I warnt (holding up his flask 
 and peeping through it,) I'd dun been ded long ago. 
 
 " "Well, while he wer eatin, she spied out that his shut 
 wer mons'ous stiff, an' es slick es glass, so she never 
 rested ontill she wurmed hit outen 'im that hit wer 
 dun wif a flour preparashun. She went wif 'im a piece 
 ove the way down the mountin, tu git the purticulers, 
 an' when she cum back she sed she had em. I thot 
 she had myse'f 
 
 " She imejuntly sot in, an' biled a big pot ove paste, 
 ni ontu a peck ove hit, an' tole me I wer gwine tu hev 
 'the gonest purty shut in that range.' Well, she wer 
 sorter rite, fur when I las seed hit hit wer purty — yas 
 orful purty, tu a rat, ur a buzzard, ur eny uther varmint 
 fon ove dirty, skary lookin things ; but frum the time I 
 
32 sut's new-fangled shirt. 
 
 staid inside ove hit, I can't say that es a human shut 
 I'd gin a durn fur a dozin ove em. ' Gonest purty 
 shut ' — the cussed ole hen jay bird, I jis' wish she hed 
 tu war it wif a redpepper linin' on till she gits a-pas' 
 hatchin, an' that wud be ni ontu eleving year, ef she 
 tells the truff. 
 
 "She soused my shut intu the pot, an' soaked hit 
 thar, ontil hit tuck up mos' ove the paste ; then she 
 tuck hit an' iron'd hit out flat, an' dry, an' sot hit on 
 hits aidge agin the cabin in the sun. Thar hit stood, 
 like a dry hoss hide, an' hit rattiled like ontu a sheet 
 ove iron, hit did, pasted tugether all over — 'gonest 
 purty shut !' — durn'd huzzy ! 
 
 " When I cum tu dinner, numn wud du Betts, but I 
 mus' put myse'f inside hit rite thar. She partid the tails 
 a littil piece wif a case nife, an' arter I got my hed star- 
 ted up intu hit, she'd pull down, fus' at wun tail, an' 
 then tuther, ontil I wer farly inside ove hit, an' but- 
 ton'd in. Durn the everlastin, infunel, new fangled 
 sheet iron cuss ove a shut ! I say. I felt like I'd crowd- 
 ed intu a ole bee-gum, an' hit all full ove pissants •, but 
 hit wer a 'born'd twin ove Lawyer Jonsin's,' Betts 
 sed, an' I felt like standin es much pussonal discumfart 
 es he cud, jis tu git tu sampil arter sumbody human. 
 I didn't know, tu, but what hit hed the vartu ove makin 
 a lawyer outen me agin hit got limber. 
 
 " I sot in tu bildin ove a ash-hopper fur Betts, an 1 
 work'd pow'ful hard, sweat like a hoss, an' then the 
 
StJT'S NEW-FANGLED SHIKT. 83 
 
 shut quit hits hurtin, an' tuck tu feelin slippery. 
 Thinks I, that's sorter lawyer like enyhow, an 1 1 wer hope 
 up bout the shut, an' what mout cum on ten hit 
 
 " Arter I got dun work, I tuck me a four finger dost 
 ove bumble-bee whisky, went up intu the lof an' fell 
 asleep a-think'n bout bein a rale sashararer lawyer, 
 hoss, saddil bags, an' books ; an' Bets went over the top 
 tu see her mam. 
 
 " Well, arter a while I waked up ; I'd jis' been dream- 
 in that the judge ove the supreme cort had me sowed 
 up in a raw hide, an' sot up agin a hot pottery kill tu 
 dry, an' the dryin woke me. 
 
 " I now thort I wer ded, an' hed died ove rhumaticks 
 ove the hurtines' kind. All the jints I cud muve wer 
 my ankils, knees, an' wrists ; cudn't even move my hed, 
 an' scarsely wink my eyes ; the cussed shut wer pasted 
 fas' ontu me all over, frum the ainds ove the tails tu 
 the pints ove the broad-axe collar over my years. Hit 
 sot tu me es clost es a poor cow dus tu her hide in March. 
 I worm'd an' strain'd an' cuss'd an' grunted, till I got hit 
 sorter broke at the shoulders an' elbows, an' then I dun 
 the durndes' fool thing ever did in these yere moun- 
 tins. I shuffl'd an' tore my britches off, an' skin'd 
 loose frum my hide bout two inches ove the tail all 
 roun in orful pain, an quick-stingin trebulashun. Oh ! 
 great golly grampus, how it hurt ! Then I tuck up a 
 plank outen the lof, an' hung my laigs down thru the 
 hole, sot in, an' nail'd the aidge ove the frunt tail tu 
 2* 
 
34 sut's new-fangled shirt. 
 
 the floor afore me, an' the hine tail I nail'd tu the plank 
 what I sot on. I flung the hammer outen my reach, tu 
 keep my hart frum failin me, onbutton'd the collar an' 
 risbans, raised my hans way abuv my hed, shot up 
 my eyes, sed a short grace, an' jump'd thru tu the 
 groun' floor, jis' thuteen foot wun inch clear ove 
 jists." 
 
 Here Sut remarked, sadly shaking his head, " George, 
 I'se a durnder fool nor dad, hoss, ho'nets, an' gopher. 
 I'll hev £u drown'd mysef sum ove these days, see ef I 
 don't." 
 
 " Well, go on Sut ; did the shirt come off?" 
 
 " I— t-h-i-n-k— h-i-t d-id. 
 
 " I hearn a nise like tarin a shingle ruff ofen a hous' at 
 wun rake, an' felt like my bones wer all what lef the 
 shut, an' reach'd the floor. I stagger'd tu my feet, an' 
 tuck a moanful look up at my shut. The nails hed 
 hilt thar holt, an' so hed the tail hem ; thar hit wer hangm 
 arms down, inside out, an' jis' es stiff es ever. Hi. 
 look'd like a map ove Mexico, arter one ove the wurst 
 battils. A patch ove my skin 'bout the size ove a dul- 
 lar, ur a dullar an' a 'alf bill yere, a bunch ove har bout 
 like a bird's nes' thar, then sum more skin, then sum 
 paste, then a littil more har, then a heap ove skin — ■ 
 har an' skin straight along all over that newfangl'd 
 everlastin', infunel pasted cuss ove a durnd shut ! Hit 
 wer a picter tu look at, an' so wer I. 
 
 " The hide, har, an' paste wer about ekally devided 
 
SUT'S NEW-FANGLED SHIRT. 
 
 " I hearn a nMse ta-in 1 a shingle ruff ofen a hous' at wun rake, an' felt like my bonei wer 
 ill what lef the shut, an' reached the floor." Page 84. 
 
sut's new-fangled shiet. 35 
 
 atwix me an' hit. George, listen tu me : hit looked ad- 
 zaetly like the skin ove sum wile beas' tore off alive, 
 ur a bag what hed toted a laig ove fresh beef frum a 
 shootin match. ; 
 
 " Bill cum home wif Betts, an' wer the fust inter the 
 cabin. He backed outen hit agin an' sez he, ' Marcyful 
 payrint ! thar's been murderin dun yere ; hits been ole 
 Bullen ; he's skinn'd Sut, an' ihars his hide hung up tu 
 dry.' Betts walked roun hit a zaminin hit, till at 
 las' she venter'd clost, an' know'd her sowin 
 
 " Sez she, ' Yu dad dratted ole pot-head, that's his 
 Sunday shut Hes hed a drefrul rite tho' wif sum- 
 body ; didn't they go fur his har of en ?' ' An rine in 'bun 
 dance,' sed Bill. ' Yashoss,' sed Betts agine, 'an' ef I'< 
 been him, Id a shed hit, I wudnt a fit es nasty a rite ei. 
 that wer, in my fines' shut, wu'd yu, Bill ?' 
 
 " Now, George, I's boun tu put up Jonsin's meat fur im 
 on site, wifout regardin good killin weather, an' ef ever 
 a 'oman flattins out a shut fur me agin, durn my ever- 
 lastin picter ef I dont flattin her out, es thin es a step- 
 chile's bread an' butter. I'll du hit ef hit takes me a 
 week. 
 
 " Hits a retribushun sartin, the biggest kdne ove a 
 preacher's regular retribushun, what am tu be foun' in 
 the Holy Book. 
 
 " Dus yu mine my racin dad, wif sum ho'nets, an' so 
 forth, intu the krick ? 
 
 " "Well, this am what cums ove hit. I'll drownd mysefj 
 
36 sut's new-fangled shirt. 
 
 see ef I don't, that is ef I don't die frum that hellfired 
 shut. Now George, ef a red-heded 'oman wif a reel 
 foot axes yu tu marry her, yu may du hit ; ef an 'oman 
 wants yu tu kill her husbun, yu may do hit ; ef a gal 
 axes yu tu rob the bank, an' take her tu Californy, yu 
 may du hit ; ef wun on em wants yu tu quit whisky, 
 yu mout even du that. But ef ever an 'oman, ole ur 
 yung, purty es a sunflower ur ugly es a skin'd hoss, 
 offers yu a shut aninted wif paste tu put on, jis' yu kill 
 her in her tracks, an' burn the cussed pisnus shut rite 
 thar. Take a ho'n? 
 
THE WIDOW MC CLOUD'S MIRE. 
 
 " Thar cum tu this country, onst, a cussed sneakin 
 lookin rep-tile, name Stilyards. He wer hatched in a 
 crack — in the frosty rocks, whar nutmaigs am made 
 outen maple, an' whar wimmin paints clock-faces an' 
 pints shoe-paigs, an' the men invents rat-traps, man- 
 traps, an' new fangled doctrins fur the aid ove the devil. 
 In fac' hit am his gardin, whar he kin grow what won't 
 sprout eny whar else. 
 
 " Well, this critter look't like a cross atween a black 
 snake an' a fireman's ladder. He wer eighteen an' a 
 'alf hans high, an' modeled like ontu a shingle maker's 
 shavin hoss, an' wer es yaller as a warter dorg wif the 
 janders. His eyes wer like ontu a coon's, an' his foot 
 wer the biggest chunk ove meat an' knotty bones I 
 ever seed tu hev no guts intu hit. Now ef he hed wun 
 gif what wud make yu take tu him, I never seed hit, 
 an' ef he ever did a good ur a straight ahead thing, I 
 never hearn ove hit. He cud praps be skar'd intu 
 actin rite fur a minit ur two at a time, but hit wudn't 
 las'. He cum amung us a ole field school-marster--- 
 
38 THE WIDOW MC CLOUD'S MARE. 
 
 soon shed that shell, an' cum out es oily, slippery a 
 lawyer as ever tuck a fee. Why, he'd a hilt his own 
 in a pond full ove eels, an' a swallerd the las durn one 
 ove em, an' then sot the pond tu turnin a shoe-paig 
 mill. "Well he practised on all the misfortinat devils 
 roun that sarkit, till he got sassy, got niggers, got rich, 
 got forty maulins fur his nastiness, an' tu put a cap 
 sheaf ontu his stack ove raskallity, got religion, an' 
 got tu Congress. 
 
 " The fust thing he did thar, wer to proffer tu tend 
 the Capitol grouns in inyuns, an' beans, on the shears, 
 an' tu sell the statoot ove Columbus tu a tenpin alley, 
 fur a sign, an' the she injun wif him, tu send back the 
 balls. He stole the Eomun swoard ofen the stone picter 
 ove War thar, an' fotch hit tu his wife fur a meat-chop- 
 per. He practised lor ontu yu fur eny thing yu hed, 
 frum a hanful ove chesnuts tu a plantushun, an' tu tell 
 hit all in a minit, when he dies, he'll make the fastes 
 trip tu the senter ove soot, sorrer, an' smoke, on record, 
 aot even sceptin ole Iskariott's fas' time. 
 
 " Well, a misfortinit devil happen'd tu steal a hoss by 
 tccidint, got Stilyards tu 'fend him, got intu the peni- 
 tensary, an' Stilyards got all he hed — a half houn' dorg, 
 an' a ole eight day Yankee clock, fur sendin him thar. 
 
 " He tuck a big young mar frum a widdar name Mc 
 Cloud, fur losin a land case. So he walked out intu 
 that neighborhood tu gether up an' tote home his fees, 
 an' I met up wif him. He hed the clock tied ontu his 
 
THE WIDOW MC CLOUD'S MAEE. 39 
 
 back pedler fashun, leadin the mar in wun han' an' the 
 dorg by a rope wif tuther. The dorg wer interprisin an 
 led too fas' — the mar wer sulky an' led tu slow, an' the 
 clock wer heavy, an' the day hot, an' he wer hevin ove 
 a good time gineraly wif his fees, his sweat, an' his 
 mean thoughts. So he cumenced tryin tu hire me tu 
 help him tu town, fur a gill ove whisky. 
 
 " Now, whu the devil ever hearn tell ove a gill ove 
 whisky, in these parts afore ? Why hit soundid sorter 
 like a inch ove cord- wood, ur a ounce ove cornshuks. 
 Hit 'suited me. So I sot in tu fix a way tu put a gill 
 ur so ove pussonal discumfort onder his shut, an' I did 
 hit. Sez I, ' Yu mout save that whisky ef yu dus' es / 
 I tells yu : 
 
 " ' Jis' yu git atop, an' outside that she hoss thar, tie 
 that ar dorg's rope roun her neck, set the time-mill up 
 ontu her back, ahine yu, an' tie hit roun yersef ; that 
 makes her tote the furniture, tote yu, an' lead yer 
 valerabil dorg, while yu governs the muvemint wif a 
 good hickory, an' them bridil strings, don't yu see ?' 
 
 " He pouched out his mouf, nodded his hed five ur six 
 times, a-bendin but wun jint 'bout the midil ove that 
 long yaller neck ove hisn, an' said, ' Yas, a good sur- 
 gistshun, mister Lovingood,' an' I sot in tu help him 
 fix things. I peeled lots ove good bark, sot the clock 
 on aind, back tu back wif him ontu the mar's bar cup- 
 plin, an' I tied hit roun his cackus like I ment them tu 
 stick es long es hit run, ur he lived, an' hit cum durnd 
 
40 THE WIDOW MC CLOUD'S MARE. 
 
 ni doin hit. He sed lie thot the thing wild work, am, 
 so did I. By golly, I seed the redish brown fire a play* 
 in in the mar's eyes, an' a quick twitchin in her flank, 
 what I knowd, an' onderstood tu mean, that she'd 
 make orful things happen purty dnrn'd soon. The 
 sharp pint ove Stilyard's tail bone, an' the clock laigs 
 wer a makin lively surgistshins tu a devil intu her es 
 big as a yearlin. 
 
 " All wer redy fur the show tu begin. ' Yu git up, 
 yu pesky critter,' sed he, a-makin his heels meet, an' 
 crack onder her belly. Well she did ' git up,' rite 
 then an' thar, an' staid up long enuf tu lite twenty foot 
 further away, in a broad trimblin squat, her tail hid 
 a-tween her thighs, an' her years a dancin a-pas' each 
 uther, like scissors a-cuttin. The jolt ove the litin sot 
 the clock tu strikin. Bang-zee-bang-zee whang-zee. 
 She listined pow'ful 'tentive tu the three fus' licks, an' 
 they seem'd tu go thru an' thru her as quick es quick- 
 silver wud git thru a sifter. She waited fur no more, 
 but j is' gin her hole soul up tu the wun job ove run- 
 nin frum onder that infunel Yankee, an' his hive ove 
 bumble bees, ratil snakes, an' other orful hurtin things, 
 es she tuck hit tu be. I knows how she felt ; I'se been 
 in the same 'bout five hundred times, an' durn my 
 cackus ef she didn't kerry out my idears ove gittin outei? 
 trubil fas' rate. 
 
 " Every jump she made, she jerk't that misfortinai 
 dorg six foot upard, an' thurty foot onward, 3umtimep 
 
THE WIDOW MC CLOUD'S MAKE. 41 
 
 he lit on his starn, sumtimes on his snout, then ontu 
 bof ainds at wunst. He changed sides every nther 
 lunge, clar over Stilyards, an' his hour-mill tu. He 
 sed O ! Outch ! every time he lit, in houn talk loud 
 enuff tu skeer the devil. An the road wer sprinkled 
 worm fence fashun, like ontu a drunken man a-totin a 
 leaky jug. 
 
 " The durn'd ole clock, hit got exhited too, an' los' 
 control ove hits sef, an' furgot tu stop, but jis scizzed 
 an' whang'd away strait along, an' the mar a hearin hit 
 all, an' a b'levin the soun' tu be cumin nigher tu her 
 inards every pop. She thort, too, that four hundred 
 black an' tan houn' dorgs wer cumpassin her etarnal 
 ruin. 
 
 " She seed em above her, below her — behine her — 
 afore her — an' on bof sides ove her, eny whar, every 
 whar, nuffin but houn' dorgs. An she jis' tried tu run 
 outen her sorril hide. I seed her two hine shoes shinin 
 way up in the a'r, like two new moons. I know'd she 
 wer a-mixin in sum high pressure vishus kickin, wif a 
 heap ove as yearnest, an' fas' runnin es hosses ever 
 'dulges in. 
 
 " ' Wo yeow now !' I hearn this, sprinkled in now 
 an' then wif the yowls ove the dorg, an' the whangin 
 ove the clock, an' all hit out-dun wif the mity nise ove 
 clatterin huffs, an' crashin brush. 
 
 " Stilyards sot humpt up, his puddin foots lock'd on- 
 der that skeerd critter's bellv, an' his paws wove intu 
 
42 THE WIDOW MC CLOUD'S MAKE. 
 
 her mane, double twill'd. I speck she thot the deyi] 
 wer a-huggin her, an' she wer durnd near right. 
 
 "Thinks I, ole feller, tfyu gain this suit, yu may 
 ax Satun, when yu sees him, fur a par ove lisence tu 
 practize at his cort. He'll sign em, sura 
 
 " I cut acrost the ridge, what the road woun roun', an* 
 got whar I cud see em a cummin, sorter to'ards me 
 agin. She wer streched out strait as a string, an' so 
 wer he — he wer roostin pow'ful low ontu her withers, 
 his long •arms locked roun her neck, his big feet a fly- 
 in about in the air, each side ove her tail, sorter lim- 
 ber like, an' the dorg mus' hev been nigh ontu killed 
 dead, fur bof his hine laigs wer gone plumpt up tu his 
 cuplin, an' a string ove inards cumin outen the hole his 
 laigs hed lef, wer a flutterin arter him like a bolt ove 
 grey ribbon, slappin agin the saplins, an' stumps, an' 
 gettin longer every slap. His paunch wer a bobbin up 
 an' down about a foot ahine whar the pint ove his tail 
 used tu be. Ef he yowld any now, I didn't hear hit. 
 
 "That clock, the cussed mischeaf-makin mercheen, 
 the cause ove all this onyeathly nise, trubbil, an' vex4 
 flshun ove sperit, wer still ontu ole Stilyards's back, ari 
 a maulin away as ef hit wer in the strait line ove a 
 houshole juty, an the bark wer a holdin hits holt pow- 
 ful well, considerin the strain. They met a ole bald- 
 heded, thick-sot feller a-cummin frum mill, a-ridin 
 ontu a grist ove meal, an' hit on a blaze-face hoss, wif 
 burs iii his tail. He wer totin a kaig ove strain'd hon« 
 
THE WIDOW MC CLOUD'S MARE. 43 
 
 ey in his lap, an' a 'oman behine him, wif a spinnin 
 wheel ontn her hip. The mar run squar intu the mil- 
 lin experdishun Jis' es she did hit, Stilyards holler'd, 
 
 ' Yeow, cut the bar ' He never addid the K tu that 
 
 word, fur sumthin happen'd, jis' then an' tharabouts." ( 
 
 Sut scratched his head, and seem'd to be in deep 
 thought. 
 
 "Well, Sut, goon." 
 
 " I wer jis' a-studyin how tu gin yu a sorter idear ove 
 how things look'd arter them two hoss beastes mixed. 
 Spose yu take a comon size frame doggery, sortar old 
 an' rotten, wif all the truck generly inside them neses- 
 ary instertushuns ; sit hit down squar ontu a railroad 
 track, jis' so — an' du hit jis' in time fur the kerrs a-cum- 
 min forty miles a hour, an' thar whistil string broke. 
 How du yu say things wud look bout a minit arter< 
 ards?" 
 
 " Yery much injured, I'd say, Sut." 
 
 "An' pow'fuly mixt?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " An' tremenjusly scattered ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " An' orfully changed in shape ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "An' in nater?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "An' in valuer?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
44 THE WIDOW MC CLOUD'S MAEE. 
 
 " An' a heap more pieces ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "An' smaller wuns?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Splinters, an' scraps perdominant ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " An' not wuf a durn, by a duller an' a 'alf ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Well, yu kin sorter take in the tremenjus idear ovo 
 that spot ove sandy road, whar Stilyards met the bald- 
 heded man. That onlucky ole cuss lit twenty foot out 
 in the woods, never look'd back, but sot his trampers 
 tu work, an' distributed hissef sumwhar toward the 
 Black Oak Ridge. The 'oman hung by wun foot in the 
 fork ove a black-jack, an' a-holdin tu a dogwood lim' wi 
 her hans, an' she hollerin, surter spiteful like — ' Split 
 the black-jack, ur fetch a quilt !' Nuffin ove the sort 
 wer dun whilest I wer thar, es I knows on. Stilyards 
 wer ni tuther side ove the road, flat ontu his back, 
 fainted cumfortabil, an' quiet as a sick sow in a snow- 
 storm, his arms an' laigs stretched till he look'd like a 
 big letter X. His hat wer sumwhar, an' a boot sum- 
 whar else. His clothes wer in strings, like he'd been 
 shot thru a thorn thicket, outen a canyun. His nose 
 wer a bleedin jis' about rite tu bring 'im too sumtime 
 to'ards the middil ove the artemoon. His eyes wer 
 shot up, an' his face wer pucker'd like a wet sheep-skin 
 afore a hot fire, an' he look'd sorter like he'd been 
 
THE WIDOW MC CLOUD'S MARE. 45 
 
 studyin a deep plan tu cheat sumbody, an' hed miss'd. 
 The dorg — that is what wer lef ove 'im — wer a-lyin 
 bent over the top ove a saplin stump, an' the tuthef 
 aind ove his inards wer tangled up amung the mar'3 
 hine laigs, an' she wer sti etched out in runnin shape, not, 
 hurt a bit, only her naik wer broke, an' a spinin-whee]j 
 spoke a-stickin atween her ribs a foot ur so deep. Ole 
 Ball-face wer ontu his side, now an' then liffcin his head 
 an' takin a look at the surroundin deserlashun an' 
 sorrer. The ole time counter wer a-leanin up agin a 
 tree, sum bark still roun hit, the door gone, the face 
 smashed, but still true tu what hit thort hits juty, jis 
 bangin away es reguler es ef hit wer at home ; an' I 
 reckon hits at hit yet. Thar wer honey-kaig hoops, 
 heads, an' staves, an' spinnin-wheel spokes, permiskusly 
 scattered all about, an' meal sprinkiled over everybody, 
 an' everything. 
 
 " Jis' then a feller what look't like he mout be a 
 tract sower, ur a map agent, rid up an' tuck a big look 
 all roun. Sez he, 'Mister, did the litenin hurt yuf 
 Sez I, ' Wus nur litenin ; a powder mill busted.' The 
 'oman in the black-jack holler'd at him jis' then, 
 savidge as a cat, ' Look tuther way, yu cussed imperdint 
 houn !' He hed tu turn his hed tu see whar the vise 
 cum frum ; he jis' look't one squint, an' sed, ' Great 
 hevings !' an' gin his hoss a orful dost ove whip an' 
 spurs, an' lef a-fiyin, an' he tolt at town what he'd 
 seed. The feller wer orful skeer'd, an' no wonder; 
 
46 THE wmow mc cloud's mabe. 
 
 he'd seed enuf tu skeer a saw-mill plum ofen the 
 krik. 
 
 " I now tuck the meal-bag, put in the remnant ove 
 the dorg, an' sich ove the honey es I cud scoop 
 up, an' draw'd hit over Stilyards's head, tied hit tite 
 roun his naik, in hopes hit mout help fetch him tu 
 sooner; split the black-jack, an' lef in a lope. I hearn 
 the 'oman squall arter me, ' Never mind, laigs, TU pay 
 yu /' She haint dun hit yet 
 
 "I tuck the road Stilyards, an' the mar, an' his 
 tuther geer, hed cum over so fur, an' pass'd a cabin 
 whar a ole 'oman dress'd in a pipe an' a stripid aprun 
 wer a-standin on the ash-hopper lookip up the road like 
 she wer 'spectin tu see sumthin soon. Sez she, talkin 
 'bout es fas' es a flutter-mill : ' Say yu, mister, did yu 
 meet enything onkimon up thar ?' I shook my head. 
 'Well,' sez she, jupmin ofen the hopper an' a-shakin 
 the ashes outen her coteail, an' settin her specks back, 
 'Mister, I'se plum outdun Thar's sumthin pow'ful 
 wickid gwine on A crazy organ-grinder cum a-pas' 
 yere jis' a small scrimpshun slower nur chain litenin, 
 on a hoss wif no tail. His organ wer tied ontu his 
 back, an' wer a-playin that good tchune, ' Sugar in the 
 Gourd,' ur ' Barbary Allin,' I dunno which, an' his mon- 
 key wer a-dancin Hail Columby all over the road, ari 
 hits tail wer es long es my clothes-line, an' purfeckly 
 bar ove har. He hed no hat on, an' wun ove his boots 
 flew off as he passed yere, an' lit on the smoke-'ous. 
 
THE WIDOW MC CLOUD'S MARE. 47 
 
 Thar hit is ; he mus' been a pow'ful big man, fur hits 
 like ontu a indigo ceroon.' 
 
 " All this wer sed wifont takin one breff. 
 
 "I tole her hit wer the advance gard ove a big 
 Barkis purclaimin hits cummin, ur the merlennium, an' 
 durn'd ef I know'd which. 
 
 " She 'lowed hit cudent be the merlennium, fur hit 
 warnt a playin hyrne-tchunes ; nur a sarkis either, far 
 the hoss warn't spotted. But hit mout be the Devil 
 arter a tax collector, ur a missionary on his way tu 
 China ; hit look'd ugly enuf tu be one, an' fool enuf tu 
 be tuther. She wer pow'fully exersised ; she sweat an' 
 snorted onder hit. 
 
 " Now don't yu b'leve, es soon es Stilyards cum tu, 
 an' got outen the bag, he sot in an' burried the mar' so 
 es tu hide her, an' then, at nex' cort, indited me fur 
 stealin her, an' durn'd ni provin hit ; now haint that the 
 Devil?" 
 
 " What ever become of Stilyards, Sut, anyhow ?" 
 
 " I dono ; ef he haint in Congriss he's gone tu h — L n 
 
PARSON JOHN BULLEFS LIZARDS. 
 
 AIT ($8^ DULLAKS EEW-AKD. 
 
 ^TENSHUN BELEVERC AND KONSTABLES ! KETCH 'iMl 
 KETCH 'IM ! 
 
 This kasli wil be pade in korn, ur uther projuce, ta 
 be kolected at ur about nex camp-meetin, ur thararter, 
 by eny wun what ketches him, fur the karkus ove a 
 sartin wun Sut Lovingood, dead ur alive, ur ailin, 
 an' safely giv over tu the purtectin care ove Parson 
 John Bullin, ur lef ' well tied, at Squire Mackjunkins. 
 fur the raisin ove the devil pussonely, an' permiskusly 
 discumfurtin the wimen very powerful, an' skeerin ove 
 folks generly a heap, an' bustin up a promisin, big 
 warm meetin, an' a makin the wickid larf, an' wus, an' 
 wus, insultin ove the passun orful. 
 
 Test, Jehu Wethero. 
 
 Sined by me, 
 
 John Bullen, the passun. 
 
 I found written copies of the above highly intelligi- 
 ble and vindictive proclamation, stuck up on every 
 
PARSON JOHN BULLEN'S LIZARDS. 49 
 
 blacksmith shop, doggery, and store door, in the Frog 
 Mountain Range. Its blood-thirsty spirit, its style, and 
 above all, its chirography, interested me to the extent 
 of taking one down from a tree for preservation. 
 
 In a few days I found Sut in a good crowd in front 
 of Capehart's Doggery, and as he seemed to be about in 
 good tune, I read it to him. 
 
 " Yas, George, that ar dockymint am in dead yearn- 
 ist sartin. Them hard shells over thar dus want me 
 the wus kine, powerful bad. But, I spect ait dullers 
 won't fetch me, nither wud ait hundred, bekase thar's 
 nun ove 'em fas' enuf tu ketch me, nither is thar hosses 
 by the livin jingo ! Say, George, much talk 'bout this 
 fuss up whar yu're been?" For the sake of a joke I 
 said yes, a great deal. 
 
 " Jis' es I 'spected, durn'em, all git drunk, an' skeer 
 thar fool sefs ni ontu deth, an' then lay hit ontu me, a 
 poor innersent youf, an' es soun' a belever es they is. 
 Lite, lite, ole feller an' let that roan ove yourn blow a 
 litil, an' I'll 'splain this cussed misfortnit affar : hit hes 
 ruinated my karacter es a pius pusson in the s'ciety 
 roun' yere, an' is a spreadin faster nur meazils. When 
 ever yu hear eny on 'em a spreadin hit, gin hit the dam 
 lie squar, will yu ? I haint dun nuffin tu one ove 'em, 
 Hits true, I did sorter frustrate a few lizzards a littil, 
 but they haint members, es I knows on. 
 
 "You see, las' year I went tu the big meetin at 
 Rattlesnake Springs, an' wer a sittin in a nice shady 
 
50 PARSON JOHN BULLEN'S LIZARDS. 
 
 place convarsin wif a frien' ove mine, intu the huckii 
 berry thickit, jis' duin nuffin tu nobody an' makin no 
 fuss, when, the fust thing I remembers, I woke up 
 frum a trance what I hed been knocked inter by a four* 
 year old hickory-stick, hilt in the paw ove ole Passun 
 Bullin, durn his alligater hide; an' he wer standin a 
 striddil ove me, a foamin at the mouf, a-chompin his 
 teeth — gesterin wif the hickory club — an' a-preachin 
 tu me so you cud a-hearn him a mile, aV*>it a sartin 
 sins gineraly, an' my wickedness pussonely * -an' men- 
 sunin the name ove my frien' loud enuf tu J . hearn 
 tu the meetin 'ous. My poor innersent frien' wer dun 
 gone an' I wer glad ove hit, fur I tho't he ment tu kill 
 me rite whar I lay, an' I didn't want her tu see me die. " 
 
 "Who was she, the friend you speak of Sut?" Sut 
 opened his eyes wide. 
 
 " Hu the devil, an' durnashun tole yu that hit wer a 
 she?" 
 
 "Why, you did, Sut" ■ 
 
 " I didn't, durn ef I did. Ole Bullin dun hit, an' I'll 
 hev tu kill him yet, the cussed, infernel ole tale- 
 barer !" 
 
 " Well, well, Sut, who was she ?" 
 
 " Nun ove y-u-r-e b-i-s-n-i-s-s, durn yure littil ankshus 
 picter ! I sees yu a lickin ove yure lips. I vtill tell you 
 one thing, George ; that night, a neighbor gal got a all 
 fired, overhandid stroppin frum her mam, wif a stirrup 
 leather, an' ole Passun Bullin, hed et supper thar, a> 
 
PARSON JOHN BULLEN'S LIZARDS. 51 
 
 wliat's wus nur all, that poor innersent, skeer'd gal hed 
 dun her levil bes' a cookin hit for 'im. She begged 
 him, a trimblin, an' a-cryin not tu tell on her. He et 
 her cookin, he promised her he'd keep dark — an' then 
 went strait an' tole her mam. Warnt that rale low 
 down, wolf mean? The durnd infunel, hiperkritikal, 
 pot-bellied, scaley-hided, whisky-wastin, stinkin ole 
 groun'-hog. He'd a heap better a stole sum man's hoss ; 
 I'd a tho't more ove 'im. But I paid him plum up far 
 hit, an' I means tu keep a payin him, ontil one ur 
 tuther, ove our toes pints up tu the roots ove the grass. 
 
 " Well, yere's the way I lifted that note ove han'. At 
 the nex big meetin at Rattilsnaik — las' week hit wer — I 
 wer on han' es solemn es a ole hat kiwer on collection 
 day. I hed my face draw'd out intu the shape an' 
 perporshun ove a taylwer's sleeve-board, pint down. I 
 hed put on the convicted sinner so pufeckly that an' 
 ole obsarvin she pillar ove the church sed tu a ole he 
 pillar, es I walked up tu my bainch : 
 
 " ' Law sakes alive, ef thar ain't that orful sinner, Sut 
 Lovingood, pearced plum thru ; hu's nex ?' 
 
 " Yu see, by golly, George, I hed tu promis the ole 
 tub ove soap-greas tu cum an' hev myself' convarted, 
 jis' tu keep him frum killin me. An' es I know'd hit 
 wudn't interfare wif the relashun I bore tu the still 
 housis roun' thar, I didn't keer a durn I jis' wanted 
 tu git ni ole Bullin, onst onsuspected, an' this wer the 
 bes' way tu du hit I tuk a seat on the side steps ove 
 
52 PARSON JOHN BOLLEN'S LIZARDS. 
 
 the pulpit, an' kivvered es much ove my straitch'd face 
 es I could wif my han's, tu prove I wer in yearnis. 
 Hit tuck powerful — fur I hearn a sorter thankful kine 
 ove buzzin all over the congregashun. Ole Bullin his- 
 sef looked down at me, over his ole copper specks, an' 
 hit sed jis' es plain es a look cud say hit: 'Yu am 
 thar, ar you — durn yu, hits well fur yu that yu cum.' I 
 tho't sorter diffrent frum that. I tho't hit wud a been 
 well fur yu, ef I hadent a-cum, but I didn't say hit jis 
 then. Thar wer a monstrus crowd in that grove, fur the 
 weather wer fine, an' b'levers wer plenty roun' about 
 Rattilsnaik Springs. Ole Bullin gin out, an' they sung 
 that hyme, yu know : 
 
 "Thar will be mournin, mournin yere, an' mournin thar, 
 On that dredral day tu cum." 
 
 " Thinks I, ole hoss, kin hit be possibil enybody hes 
 tole yu what's a gwine tu happin ; an' then I tho't that 
 nobody know'd hit but me, and I wer cumforted. He 
 nex tuck hisself a tex pow'fly mixed wif brimstone, an' 
 trim'd wif blue flames, an' then he open'd. He cum- 
 menced ontu the sinners ; he threaten'd 'em orful, tried 
 tu skeer 'em wif all the wust varmints he cud think 
 ove, an' arter a while he got ontu the idear ove Hell- 
 sarpints, and he dwelt on it sum. He tole 'em how the 
 ole Hell-sarpints wud sarve em if they didn't repent ; 
 how cold they'd crawl over thar nakid bodys, an' how 
 like ontu pitch they'd stick tu 'em es they crawled ; how 
 
PABSON JOHN BULLEN'S LIZARDS. 53 
 
 they'd rap thar tails roun' thar naiks chokin clost, poke 
 thar tungs up thar noses, an' hiss intu thar years. This 
 wer the way they wer tu sarve men folks. Then he 
 turned ontu the wimmen : tole 'em how they'd quile in- 
 tu thar buzzims, an' how they wud crawl down onder 
 thar frock-strings, no odds how tite they tied 'em, an' how 
 sum ove the oldes' an' wus ones wud crawl up thar 
 laigs, an' travil onder thar garters, no odds how tight 
 they tied them, an' when the two armys ove Hell- 
 
 sarpents met, then That las' remark fotch 'em. Ove 
 
 all the screamin, an' hollerin, an' loud cryin, I ever 
 hearn, begun all at onst, all over the hole groun' jis' 
 es he hollered out that word 'then.' He kep on a bel- 
 lerin, but I got so buisy jis' then, that I didn't listen tu 
 him much, fur I saw that my time fur ackshun hed 
 cum. Now yu see, George, I'd cotch seven ur eight big 
 pot-bellied lizzards, an' hed 'em in a littil narrer bag, 
 what I had made a-purpus. Thar tails all at the bot' 
 tim, an' so crowdid fur room that they cudent turn 
 roun'. So when he wer a-ravin ontu his tip-toes, an' 
 a-poundin the pulpit wif his fis' — onbenowenst tu eny- 
 body, I ontied my bag ove reptiles, put the mouf ove 
 hit onder the bottim ove his britches-laig, an' sot intu 
 pinchin thar tails. Quick es gunpowder they all tuck 
 up his bar laig, makin a nise like squirrils a-climbin a 
 shell-bark hickory. He stop't preachin rite in the 
 middil ove the word ' damnation,' an' looked fur a mo- 
 meat like he wer a listenin fur sumthin— sorter like 9 
 
54 PAESON JOHN BTJLLEN'S LIZABDS. 
 
 ole sow dus, when she hears yu a-whistlin far the dorgs. 
 The tarifick shape ove his feeters stopp't the shoutin 
 an' sereamin ; instuntly yu cud hearn a cricket chirp, 
 I gin a long groan, an' hilt my head a-twixt my knees. 
 He gin hisself sum orful open-handed slaps wif fust one 
 han' an' then tuther, about the place whar yu cut the 
 bes' steak outen a beef. Then he'd fetch a vigrus ruflf 
 rub whar a hosses tail sprouts ; then he'd stomp one 
 foot, then tuther, then bof at onst. Then he run his 
 han' atween his waisbun an' his shut an' reach'd way 
 down, an' roun' wif hit ; then he spread his big laigs, 
 an' gin his back a good rattlin rub agin the pulpit, like 
 a hog scratches hisself agin a stump, leanin tu hit 
 pow'ful, an' twitchin, an' squirmin all over, es ef he'd 
 slept in a dorg bed, ur ontu a pisant hill. About this 
 time, one ove my lizzards scared an' hurt by all this 
 poundin' an' feelin, an' scratchin, popp'd out his head 
 frum the passun's shut collar, an' his ole brown naik, 
 an' wer a-surveyin the crowd, when ole Bullin struck 
 at 'im, jis' too late, fur he'd dodged back agin. The 
 hell desarvin ole raskil's speech now cum tu 'im, a'n 
 sez he, ' Pray fur me brethren an' sisteren, fur I is a- 
 rastilin wif the great inimy rite now ! an' his voice wer 
 the mos' pitiful, trimblin thing I ever hearn. Sum ove 
 the wimmen fotch a painter yell, an' a young docter, 
 wif ramrod laigs, lean'd toward me monstrus knowin 
 like, an' sez he, ' Glar case ove Delishus Tremenjus.' I 
 nodded my head, an' sez J, ' Yas, spechuly the tremen* 
 
PAESON JOHN BULLEN'S LIZAEDS. 55 
 
 jus part, an' Ise feard hit haint at hits worst. Ole 
 Bullin's eyes wer a-stickin out like ontu two buckeyes 
 flung agin a mud wall, an' he wer a-cuttin up more 
 shines nor a cockroach in a hot skillet. Off went the 
 clamhammer coat, an' he flung hit ahine 'im like he wer 
 a-gwine intu a fight ; he hed no jackid tu take off, so 
 he unbuttond his galluses, an' vigrusly flung the ainds 
 back over his head. He fotch his shut over-handed a 
 durnd site faster nor I got outen my pasted one, an' then 
 flung hit strait up in the air, like he jis' wanted hit tu 
 keep on up forever ; but hit lodged ontu a black-jack, 
 an' I sed one ove my lizzards wif his tail up, a-racin 
 about all over the ole dirty shut, skared too bad tu. 
 jump. Then he gin a sorter shake, an' a stompin kine 
 ove twis', an' he cum outer his britches. He tuck 'em 
 by the bottim ove the laigs, an' swung 'em roun' his 
 head a time ur two, an' then fotch 'em down cherall-up 
 over the frunt ove the pulpit. You cud a hearn the 
 smash a quarter ove a mile ! Ni ontu fifteen shorten'd 
 biskits, a boiled chicken, wif hits laigs crossed, a big 
 dubbil-bladed knife, a hunk ove terbacker, a cob-pipe, 
 sum copper ore, lots ove broken glass, a cork, a sprinkil 
 ove whisky, a squirt, an' three lizzards flew permis- 
 kusly all over that meetin-groun', outen the upper aind 
 ove them big flax britches. One ove the smartes' ove 
 my lizzards lit head-fust intu the buzzim ove a fat 
 'oman, es big es a skin'd hoss, an' ni ontu es ugly, who 
 sot thuty yards off, a fannin hersef wif a tucky-tail. 
 
56 PARSON JOHN BULLEN'S LIZAEDS. 
 
 Smart tu tlie las', by golly, lie imejuntly commenced 
 runnin down the centre ove her breas'-bone, an' kep on, 
 I speck. She wer jis' bonn' tu faint ; an' she did hit 
 fust rate — flung the tucky-tail up in the air, grabbed 
 the lap ove her gown, gin hit a big histin an' fallin 
 shake, rolled down the hill, tangled her laigs an' garters 
 in the top ove a huckilberry bush, wif her head in the 
 branch an' jis' lay still. She wer interestin, she wer, 
 ontil a serious-lookin, pale-faced 'oman hung a nankeen 
 ridin skirt over the huckilberry bush. That wer all that 
 wer dun to'ards bringin her too, that I seed. Now 
 ole Bullin hed nuffin left ontu 'im but a par ove heavy, 
 low quarter'd shoes, short woolen socks, an' eel-skin 
 garters tu keep off the cramp. His skeer hed druv him 
 plum crazy, fur he felt roun' in the air, abuv his head, 
 like he wer huntin sumthin in the dark, an' he beller'd 
 out, 'Brethren, brethren, take keer ove yerselves, the 
 Hell-sarpints lies got me /' When this cum out, yu cud 
 a-hearn the screams tu Halifax. He jis' spit in his 
 han's, an' loped over the frunt ove the pulpid kerdiff! 
 He lit on top ove, an' rite amung the mos' pius part ove 
 the congregashun. Ole Misses Chaneyberry sot wif her 
 back tu the pulpit, sorter stoopin forrid. He lit a* 
 stradil ove her long naik, a shuttin her up wif a snap, 
 her head atwix her knees, like shuttin up a jack-knife, 
 an' he sot intu gittin away his levil durndest ; he went 
 in a heavy lumberin gallop, like a ole fat waggon hoss, 
 dcgrecl frt ft locomotive, When, he jumpt a, bainch h<? 
 
PARSON JOHN BULLEN'S LIZARDS. 57 
 
 shook the yeath. The bonnets, an' fans clar'd the waj 
 an' jerked most ove the children wif em, an' the rest he 
 scrunched. He open'd a purfeckly clar track tu the 
 woods, ove every livin thing. He weighed ni ontu 
 three hundred, hed a black stripe down his back, like 
 ontu a ole bridil rein, an' his belly wer 'bout the size^ 
 an' color ove a beef paunch, an' hit a-swingin out frum 
 side tu side ; he leand back frum hit, like a littil fel- 
 ler a-totin a big drum, at a muster, an' I hearn hit 
 plum tu whar I wer. Thar wer cramp-knots on his 
 laigs es big es walnuts, an' mottled splotches on his 
 shins ; an' takin him all over, he minded ove a durnd 
 crazy ole elephant, pussessed ove the devil, rared up on 
 hits hind aind, an' jis' gittin frum sum imijut danger ur 
 tribulashun. He did the loudest, an' skariest, an' fus- 
 siest runnin I ever seed, tu be no faster nur hit wer, 
 since dad tried tu outrun the ho'nets. 
 
 "Well, he disapear'd in the thicket jis' bustin — an' 
 ove all the noises yu ever hearn, wer made thar on that 
 camp groun' : sum wimen screamin — they wer the 
 skeery ones ; sum larfm — they wer the wicked ones ; 
 sum cryin — they wer the fool ones, (sorter my stripe yu 
 know ;) sum tryin tu git away wif thar faces red — they 
 wer the modest ones ; sum lookin arter ole Bullin — they 
 wer the curious ones ; sum hangin clost tu thar sweet- 
 hearts — they wer the sweet ones ; sum on thar knees 
 wif thar eyes shot, but facin the way the ole mud turtil 
 wer a-runnin — they wer the 'saitM ones; sum duin 
 
58 PARSON JOHN BULLEN'S LIZARDS. 
 
 nuthin — they wer tlie waitin ones; an' the mos' dan 
 gems ove all ove em by a durnd long site. 
 
 ' 'I tuck a big skeer mysef arter a few rocks, an' sich 
 like fruit, spattered ontu the pulpit ni ontu my head ; 
 an' es the Lovingoods, durn em ! knows nuffin but tu 
 run, when they gits skeerd, I jis' put out fur the swamp 
 on the krick. As I started, a black bottil ove bald-face 
 smashed agin a tree furninst me, arter missin the top 
 ove my head 'bout a inch. Sum durn'd fool professor 
 dun this, who hed more zeal or sence ; fur I say that 
 eny man who wud waste a quart ove even mean 
 sperrits, fur the chance ove knockin a poor ornary 
 devil like me down wif the bottil, is a bigger fool nor 
 ole Squire Mackmullen, an' he tried tu shoot hissef wif 
 a onloaded hoe-handle." 
 
 "Did they catch you Sut?" 
 
 "Ketch thunder! No sir! jis' look at these yere 
 laigs ! Skeer me, hoss, jis' skeer me, an' then watch 
 me while I stay in site, an' yu'll never ax that fool 
 question agin. Why, durn it, man, that's what the ait 
 dullers am fur. 
 
 " Ole Barbelly Bullin, es they calls 'im now, never 
 preached ontil yesterday, an' he hadn't the fust durn'd 
 'oman tu hear 'im, they hev seed too much ove Hm. Pas- \/ 
 suns ginerly hev a pow'ful strong holt on wimen ; but, 
 hoss, I tell yu thar ain't meny ove em kin run start 
 nakid over an' thru a crowd ove three hundred wimen 
 an' not injure thar karacters sum, Enyhow, hits a 
 
PAKSON JOHN BULLEN'S LIZAEDS. 59 
 
 kind ove show they'd rather see one at a time, an' pick 
 the passun at that. His tex' wer, ' Nakid I cum intu 
 the world, an' nakid I'm a gwine outen hit, ef I'm 
 spard ontil then. ' He sed nakidness warnt much ove a 
 sin, purtickerly ove dark nights. That he wer a weak, 
 frail worn ove the dus', an' a heap more sich truck. 
 Then he totch ontu me ; sed I wer a livin proof ove the 
 hell-desarvin nater ove man, an' that thar warnt grace 
 enuf in the whole 'sociation tu saften my outside rind ; 
 that I wer ' a lost ball ' forty years afore I wer born'd, 
 an' the bes' thing they cud du far the church, wer tu 
 turn out, an' still hunt fur me ontil I wer shot. An' he 
 never said Hell-sarpints onst in the hole preach. I 
 b'leve, George, the durnd fools am at hit. 
 
 " Now, I wants yu tu tell ole Barbelly this fur me, ef 
 he'll let me an' Sail alone, I'll let him alone — a-while ; 
 an' ef he don't, ef I don't lizzard him agin, I jis' wish I 
 may be dod durnd ! Sheer him if yu hen. 
 
 " Let's go tu the spring an' take a ho'n. 
 
 " Say George, didn't that ar Hell-sarpint sermon ove 
 his'n, hev sumthin like a Hell-sarpint aplicashun ? Hit 
 looks sorter so tu ma" 
 
A RAZOR-GRINDER IN A THUNDER-STORM, 
 
 " Frum the orful faces yu's a-makin at tliat ar scrap 
 ove lookin-glass, yu wants tu skeer yure picter, ur yu's 
 et sumthin what hes cuttin aidges ; which is hit, 
 George ?" 
 
 " Neither " said I. 
 
 " Well, p'raps sumbody hes been a-cuttin shoe-strings 
 outen a sandy deer-skin wif yur rayshure; yu wants 
 hit ground, don't yu ? Bake Boyd's man end a dun 
 hit." 
 
 " Who was Bake Boyd's man ? was he a negro ?" 
 
 " Wus nor that ; he wer a mighty mean Yankee ray- 
 shure grinder, what wunst cum tu Knoxville a foot- 
 back, wif a mercheen strapt ontu his shoulders like on- 
 tu a patent corn-sheller, an' he narated hit about, that 
 he would grind raysures, scissors, ur pint needils, mon 
 s'ous cheap. He soon got tu grindin away fas' rate, 
 He wer a pow'ful slow-speakin, dignerfied sorter vais 
 mint, an' thort that hissef an' mercheen cummanded 
 the respeck an' submishun ove the poperlashun, whar- 
 ever he went. That idear wus chased outen his skull 
 
A RAZOR-GRINDER IN A THUNDER-STORM. 61 
 
 thru his years, mons'ous quick, at Knoxville. He 
 cudn't hev cum tu a better place than hit wer in them 
 days, fur sweepin out the inside ove stuffc up fellers' 
 skulls clean ove all ole rusty, cob-web, bigited idears, 
 an' then a fillin hit up fresh wif sumthin new an' activ ; 
 an' in the 'sort-mint wer allers wun king idear sure, an' 
 hit wer in words sorter so : ' If I gits away alive, durn 
 ef ever I cum yere agin.' I speck ni ontu a thousin 
 fellers, off an' on, cum tu that ole town sufferin pow'ful 
 wif a onintemitant attack ove swell-head, an' every 
 durn'd wun ove em lef thar wif the words I spoke jis 
 now, a-drapin ofen thar limber onder lips, sorter like a 
 ole heart-broken hoss slobbers. 
 
 " Bake Boyd (Bake wer the short far Bacon, an' 
 Bacon wer his nickname yu know) wer ni ontu es clev- 
 er a feller es ever wer born'd. Thar wer durn'd littil 
 weevil in his wheat, mity small chance ove warter in 
 his whisky, an' not a drap ove streakid blood in his 
 veins. But he hed a besettin sin : he wer pow'fully pur- 
 sessed wif the devil ; he wer so chock full ove hit that 
 his har wudn't lie still. He watched for openins tu 
 work off sum kind ove devilment, jist es clost es a ole 
 'oman what wer wunst onsanctified hersef, watches her 
 darters when a suckus ur a camp meetin am in heat. 
 ' " Well, Bake thort he seed a openin in that ar ray- 
 sure-grindin establishmint, so he sot in tu make the 
 durnd fool bleve that lecterin ontu the skyance ove 
 raysure-sharpenin wer his speshul gif, an' that rite thar 
 
J 
 
 62 A RAZOR-GRINDER IN A THUNDER-STORM. 
 
 wer the place tu try that sock on. Bake dwelt long 
 ontu the crop ove dimes tu be gethered frum that field ; 
 that he'd make more than thar wer spots ontu forty 
 fawns in July, not tu speak ove the big gobs ove rep- 
 ertashun he'd tote away, a shinin all over his close, like 
 litnin bugs ontu a dorg fennil top. The argymint fotch 
 him, purticularly the spotted fawn part ove hit. But 
 he wer a Yankee, an' wanted tu know, afore he begun, 
 how many spots thar wur ontu wun fawn : so he went 
 tu the stabil, an' axed ole Dick, Bake's hossler. 
 
 "The ole niggar scratched his hed, an' tole him, 
 Marster, I'se never counted em, but I specks thar am 
 & gallun, suah an' sartin. ' 
 
 "He got Bake tu git sum 'vartisments printed, an' 
 stuck up all over town. Bake show'd that he onder- 
 stood the 'vartisment bisness, fur he put the picter ove 
 a rarin stud hoss at the top, a runaway buck niggar wif 
 a bundil each side, while two barrils marked whisky, a 
 wool-cardin mersheen, an' a cider mill top't off the bot- 
 tum. 
 
 " While Bake wer a-doin ove this, ole Grinder wet 
 
 a-ritin out the lecter. Hit wer a complikated sort ove 
 
 dockymint — talked sorter like a feller wud tu a Kon* 
 
 stable, tu take his mind ofen the warrant he know'd he 
 
 hed fur him, ontill he seed a chance tu run. Hit spoke 
 
 in purtickeler ove the commit, Niagray Falls, the mer- 
 
 lennium, hatchin chickins, fallin frum grace, an' makin 
 
 mush outen sawdust, an' generally ove everything on 
 
 i 
 
A RAZOR-GRINDER IN A THUNDER-STORM. 68 
 
 the A'mitey's green yeath, sceptin raysure-grindin, ari 
 the depravity ove man, when he am a boy. He ortent 
 tu hev lef that pint out, fur hit wer boys what he wer 
 dealin wif jis' then, an' a rite tight preacher mont hev 
 call'd them deprav'd or onsanctified at leas'. 
 
 " Well, that nite the Court Hous wer plum full ; 
 everybody wer thar, sceptin Lum Jones, an' he wer 
 hid out frum the Free Masons. Bake sot ahine the 
 lecterin-mersheen, tu read frum the paper tu him when 
 he furgot what wer in hit. Thar wer fotch intu the 
 yard, clost tu the winder whar they wer a-standin, a ole 
 brass canyun full tu the muzzle, wif powder an' red 
 clay. Up in the lof by a trap door, an' plum over the 
 feller's hed, sot Joe Jacksin, a-holdin ontu a half barril 
 full ove warter outen a puddil, whar a misfortinat dead 
 sow hed been floatin fur ten days. 
 
 " "Well, the lecter begun, an' promised tu las' till day- 
 break, fur the mersheen soon stall'd, an' Bake's juty 
 wer tu gin hit ile by readin frum the paper ; but he 
 red so low that the man cudn't make out what he sed, 
 so he twistid roun his hed an' whisper'd, 'louder an' 
 plainer.' Bake, instid ove duin better, got wus — sot 
 intu readin in sum furrin tung, sorter like Cherokee, 
 wif a sprinkil ove Irish. Hit wer loud enuf ; so fur 
 so good ; but hit lacked a durn'd site ove bein plainer. 
 The ray sure renovator stood wif his hed high an' 
 squar tu the congregashun, his eyes takin a site jis' 
 abuv thar heds< an' a-gittin rounder an' bigger at ever^ 
 
64 A RAZOR-GRINDER IN A THUNDER-STORM. 
 
 word ; you cud see the whites all roun them ; an' ha 
 wer a pursin up his mouf like ontu a tied bag. I wer 
 listnin fur him tu whistil nex thing. 
 
 " ' Tshish ! tshish !' sorter low like, now begun tu cum 
 outen the wimin an' boys, all over the house. The 
 ole men's specks begun tu shine, an' thar mouf ainds 
 hed started towar'd thar years. The feller hissef begun 
 tu twist sorter like pisants wer surveyin a railroad 
 route up his laigs ; eyes still spreadin, an' the infunel 
 Cherokee gittin louder — not a durnd word in Inglish — 
 when ' bo-lang ' went the canyun, litin up all the town 
 smashin in the winders, an' shakin down the plasterin. 
 Imejuntly Joe Jacksin up-sot the kaig, kerswish-se- 
 lush cum the warter ontu Mr. Grinder's hed, every drap 
 ove hit 
 
 " Fur a momint he look'd like a iron statoot ove a 
 durn'd fool in a playin fountin. 
 
 " He wer dresst in a linnin bob-tail coat, an' trowsis, 
 an' no drawers ; the warter made them hug him pow'ful 
 clost, an' look a heap thinner ; yu cud see the adjact 
 laingth ove his shut-tail, the width ove the hem, an' 
 even tu the moles on his laigs, an' the har on his shins. 
 
 " He cum tu hissef like he wer used tu bein difck't, 
 shook the warter ofen hissei like ontu a dorg, an' sez 
 he : ' Ladies an' gentlemen, when I seed the litenin, 
 an' hearn the thunder, I 'spected a pow'ful rain-storm, 
 an' hit am here." (Here he tuck a smell ove fust wun 
 coat sleeve, an' then tuther, an' turn'd up the pint ove 
 
A. RAZOR-GRINDER IN A THUNDER-STORM. 65 
 
 his nose. ) ' So, owin tu the inclemuncy ove the nite, I 
 dismissis this yere congregashun, siner diar,' (here he 
 tuck anuther smell at his sleeve ;) 'an' ef yu hesn't been 
 vaxinashun'd for the yaller fever, cholery, an' the 
 black-tung, yu'd better leave this yere town, fur they's 
 all a-cummin if thar's enything in the smell ove a rain. 
 Nobody claim'd baek thar dime, an' Bake can't fur the 
 soul ove him fix that case up tu this day, hu got the 
 bes' of hit, the raysure-grinder ur tuther side ; sum- 
 times he thinks mm, sumtimes tuther." 
 
 While Sut was telling this story, a fat-headed young 
 man listened throughout without moving a muscle of 
 his face ; when it was finished he raised his expression- 
 less eyes and asked : " Did anybody laugh at the un- 
 fortunate man that night, Mr. Lovingood ?" 
 
 Sut eye'd him for a moment, from head to foot and 
 back again, with an expression of supreme contempt, 
 and shambling off, looking back over his shoulder, 
 said: "Yu mus' be a dam fooL" 
 
OLD SKISSIM'S MIDDLE BOY. 
 
 "Wheist I war a littil over half grown, hed sprouted 
 my tail feathers, an' wer beginnin tu crow, thar wer a 
 livin in the neighborhood a dredful fat, mean, lazy boy, 
 'bout my age. He wer the middil son ove a ole lark, 
 name Skissim. He tinkered ontu ole clocks, an' spin- 
 in wheels, et lye hominy, an' exhortid at meetin fur a 
 livin, while this middil boy ove hisen, did the sleepin 
 fur the hole famurly. He cud beat a hog an' a hungry 
 dorg eatin, an' then beat his eatin wif his sleepin, es bad 
 es his eatin beat the eatin ove a rat, arter bein shut in a 
 church, ur a snake in a jug wif no mouf tu hit. They 
 waked him tu eat, an' then hed tu wake him agin tu 
 make him quit eatin ; waked him tu go tu the spring, 
 an' waked him tu start back agin ; waked him tu say 
 his prayers, an' waked him tu stop sayin 'em. In fac 
 they wer allers a-wakin him, an' he wer allers a-goin 
 tu sleep agin. Ole Skissim waked 'im wif a waggin 
 whip, an' a buckshot in the cracker, what he toted 
 apupus. His mam waked him wif the tea-kittil an' 
 scaldin warter. Bof the buck-shot cracker an' the war- 
 ter los thar vartu et las, an' they jis' gin him over tu 
 
/ 
 
 OLD SKISSIm's MIDDLE BO?. 6? 
 
 onaindin sleepin, an' onmitigated hardness ove hed. 
 Charley Dickins's son, the fat boy, mout been es ni kin 
 tu him es a secund cuzzin, ef his mam wer a pow'ful 
 wakeful 'oman. 
 
 I hedn't foun' out then, sartinly, that I wer a natr'l ^ 
 born durnd fool. I sorter suspishiond hit, but still hed 
 hopes. So I wer fool enuf tu think I wer smart enufli 
 tu break him frum snoozin all the time, so I lay wake 
 ove nites fur a week, fixin the way tu du hit ; an' that 
 minds me tu tell yu what I thinks ove plannin an' stud- 
 dyin : hit am ginerly no count. All pends, et las' on 
 what yu dus an' how yu kerries yursef at the moment 
 ove ackshun. Sarcumstances turn about pow'ful fas', 
 an' all yu kin du is tu think jis' es fas es they kin turn, 
 an' jis' es they turn, an' ef yu du this, I'm durnd ef yu 
 don't git out sumhow. Long studyin am like preparin 
 a supply ove warter intu a wurm hole barril, tu put out 
 fire : when the fire dus cum, durn'd ef yu don't hev tu 
 hustil roun pow'ful fas', an' git more warter, fur thar's 
 nun in the barril. But es I wer a-tellin yu, I studied 
 out at las' a plan what I thort wud wake the devil ; an' 
 I sot in tu kerrin hit out. 
 
 The ole man Skissim an' his wife went tu a nite 
 meetin, an' tuck the ballance ove his ur rather her brats 
 ■ — a feller shu'd allers be pow'ful keerful in speakin on 
 that pint . I'se allers hearn that hit tuck a mons'us 
 wise brat tu know hits daddy, an' I thinks hit takes a 
 wiser daddy tu know his own brats. Dad never wud 
 
68 old skissim's MIDDLE boy. 
 
 speak sartin bout eny ove our famerly but me, an' he 
 counted fur that by sayin I wer by a long shot tu cus- 
 sed a fool tu belong tu eny body else, so I am a Lovin* 
 good. My long laigs sumtimes sorter bothers me, but 
 then mam tuck a pow'ful skeer et a san-hill crane a-sit- 
 tin on a peel'd well-pole, an' she out-run her shadder 
 thuty yards in cumin half a mile. I speck I owes my 
 laigs an' speed tu that sarcumstance an' not tu eny fraud 
 on mam's part. 
 
 Well, they went tu nite meetin an' lef him in the 
 kitchin fas' asleep, belevin tu fine him right thar when 
 they cum back ; but they wer mistaken'd that pop, fur 
 when they cum they foun the widest awake boy ever 
 born'd in that ur eny uther house, ur outen doors either, 
 an' es tu bein rite thar he warn't by a durn'd site ; he 
 wer here, thar, an' every whar, et the same time, an' ef 
 he hed any apertite fur vittils jis' then, he didn't hang 
 out his sign, that I cud see. 
 
 They lef him sittin ontu a split-bottom cheer, plum 
 asleep all over, even tu his ole hat. I tuck about thuty 
 foot ove clothes line, an' tied him tu the cheer by his 
 neck, body, an' arms, levin his laigs loose. He looked 
 sorter like the Lion in the spellin-book, when the rat 
 wer a-cuttin a fish net off ove him. That wern't a 
 skeer'd rat, wer he ? I hed him safe now tu practize on, 
 an' I sot in tu duin hit, sorter this way : I painted his 
 face the culler ove a nigger coal-burner, scept a white 
 ring roun his eyes ; an' frum the corners ove his moufj 
 
old skissim's middle bot. 69 
 
 sorter downards, slouch-wise, I lef a white strip. Hit 
 made his mouf look sorter like ontu a hoss track an 1 
 ni ontu es big. He wer a fine picter tu study, ef your 
 mind wer fond ove skeery things. He look't savidge 
 es a sot steel trap, baited wif asnick, an wer jis' fit fur 
 tresun, straterjim, an' tu spile things. Tu this day, 
 when I dreams ove the devil, dad, Passun Bullin, an' 
 uther orful oppressive things, that infunel boy, es he 
 look't that nite, am durnd intermitly mix't wif the hole 
 ove em. I speck he's dead is the reason ove hit. 
 
 I screw'd ontu each ove his years a par ove iron han- 
 vices, what his dad squeezed ole clocks, an' crac't war- 
 nuts wif, an' they hung down like over-grow'd year- 
 rings ; I tied a gridiron tu wun ankil, an' a par ove 
 fire-tongs tu tuther; I pour'd a bottil ove groun red- 
 pepper down his back, onder his shut ; I turn'd loose a 
 pint ove June-bugs, what I kotch apupus, intu his buz- 
 zum, an' buttoned em up ; I tied a baskit full ove fire 
 crakers tu the cheer back, tu his har, an' tu his wrists ; 
 I button'd up a big grey-whisker'd aggravated ole rat, 
 tied wif a string intu the slack ove his britches ; tuther 
 aind ove the string wer fas' ontu his gallus button, an 
 the rat, like all the res' ove that tribe, imejuntly sot in 
 cuttin his way out ; but owin tu his parvarse nater ur 
 the darkness ove the place, he sot in tu cuttin the wrong 
 way ; he wer a workin towards the back-bone, an' fur- 
 der frum the britches, every cut. I learnt this fac' 
 frum the cheer risin frum the flure, an' fallin agin jis' 
 
70 OLD SKISSIM ; S MIDDLE BOY. 
 
 tu rise imejuntly a littil higher, an' sum souns, a mix' 
 try ove snort, snore, grunt, an' groan, which he wer be 
 ginin tu isoo tolabil fas', an' gettin louder every bounce 
 ove the cheer, an' becumin more like ontu a howl every 
 pop. In the beginin ove his oneasines he dream'd ove l/ 
 wagin whip, nex' he dream'd ove a tea-kittil es big es a 
 still, an' lots ove bilin wartar, an' nex he drempt ove 
 bof ove 'em ; an' now he wer a dreamin that the tea- 
 kittil wer a steam ingine, a drivin the waggin whip, an' 
 a cottin gin wif red hot saws fifteen hundred licks a 
 minit, an' that he wer in the cottin hopper. 
 
 I now thot hit ni ontu the proper time tu tetch the 
 crackers, so es tu hev everything bar hits shar in the 
 kontemplated cummin waknin. An' I did hit. The 
 fust handful ur so gwine off help'd, wif the industry ove 
 that energetic ole rat, the sarchin ove the red pepper, an' 
 the permiskus scratchin roun ove the bugs, tu begin tu 
 wake him sorter gradully, a littil faster nor light bread 
 rises, an' a littil slower then a yeathquake wakes-wea- 
 zels. A few hundred more gwine off, still hevin the 
 rat, pepper, an' insex tu back em, got him wide enuf 
 awake tu bleve that he wer threatened wif sum orful 
 pussonal calamerty, what wanted pow'ful quick work 
 on his part tu dodge. He wer awake now all over 
 even tu his durnd ole hat, an' he show'd hit in es meny 
 ways es a cat dus, lock'd up in a empty room wif a 
 strange an' interprisin big dorg. 
 
 He grabbed the fire shovil, an' bounc'd half bent 
 
OLD SKISSIM S MIDDLE BOY. 71 
 
 (the cheer kep him frum straitin up) all over that kitch- 
 en, a strikin over-handed, onder-handed, up-handed, 
 down-handed, an' lef-handed, at every 'spishus shadder 
 he seed. He fit by the light ove ten million sparks ; he 
 wer es active as a smut-mercheen in full blast, an' every 
 grain ove wheat a spark. An' he wer a hollerin every- 
 thing anybody ever did holler in dredful tribulashun ove 
 spirit, even tu, "Now I lay me down tu sleep," an' 
 "Gloree." 
 
 When I'se in trubbil, skeer, ur tormint, I dus but 
 wun thing, an' that's onresistabil, onekeled, an' durn'd 
 fas' runnin, an' I jis' keeps at hit till I gits cumfort. 
 Now his big idear onder nise an' varigated hurtin wer 
 tu fite, an' keep on a-fitin, ontil peace ove mine cum. 
 I never seed sich keryins on in all my bom'd days. 
 He made more fuss, hit more licks at more things, wer 
 in more places, an' in more shapes, in a shorter time, 
 then eny mortal auctioneer cud tell ef he hed es meny 
 tungs es a baskit full ove buckils. Every now an' then 
 he'd gin his head a vishus, vigrus shake, an' the han- 
 vices wud hit him fore an' arter, till his skull rattiled 
 like ontu a ole gourd. 
 
 The ole Skissim an' his tribe cum home frum meet- 
 in, an' hearin the onyeathly riot, thort sumbody hed 
 opened a dorggery in thar kitchen, an' that a neighoor- 
 hood fite wer gwine on, an' every feller's dorg along. 
 They rushed in tu drive out the crowd, an' capter the 
 whisky, an' a durnder more misfortinit mistake never 
 
72 old skissim's middle boy. 
 
 wer made by a man, 'oman, an' a string ove fifteen 
 brats, since ole Bill Shivers went fur a runnin threshin« 
 meesheen tu smash hit, thinkin hit wer a big musick> 
 box. 
 
 The ole hoss hisse'f imejuntly cum in contack wif 
 a holesum knock down, what calm'd him intu sumthin 
 mons'us like sleep, fur about a minit. Now a heap ove 
 things ken happen in a minit, purtickerly ef thar's sum- 
 body who hes sot his hole soul tu the bisiness ove 
 makin em happen. Hit wer so in that kitchen. Agin 
 the ole feller cum tu the ole 'oman wer knocked hed 
 fust intu the meal-barril, whar she wer breathin more 
 meal nur air, an' she wer snortin hit up over the aidges 
 ove the barril like hit wer a fountin playin corn meal. 
 The ol'est gal wer sturn fas' in a soap-kittil, an' she wor 
 a-makin suds outen sum ove hit. The nex' wun wer 
 laingthwise belly down in the pot corner. The biggest 
 boy wer whar the back-log orter been, ontu his all fours 
 a-scratchin up all the embers an' ashes, a-tryin tu cum 
 out frum thar. Anuther cub, in a jackid wif a wun 
 inch tail, wer knocked plum thru the tin intu the safe 
 amung the cold vitils an' things. A littil gal, doll baby 
 an' all, wer on the top shelf ove the cup-board, amung 
 the delf, a-screamin like a littil steam whistil. 
 
 The neighbors wer a-getherin in roun the nise an' 
 rumpus, an' not a durn'd wun hed the least idear ove 
 what wer wrong, sceptin ove me. I onderstood hit all, v 
 durn'd fool e3 I is. Tu 'scape frum bein 'spishioned, I 
 
old skissim's MIDDLE BOY. 75 
 
 sot in tu cuttin the cheer loose es I got chances, an' 
 a-keepin outen the range ove that flyin fire shovil, far hit 
 wer still spreadin hurtin an' mischief on a perpetul 
 moshun plan. Everybody hit totch fell, an' everything 
 hit cum agin got grief. The tin buckits look'd like 
 drunk men's hats. Pails hed lef ' thar hoops, an' the 
 delf war was in scrimpshuns. When he got divorced 
 frum the cheer, I tho't he'd sorter simmer down. But 
 no sir ! He got wus, an' did his work faster an' better ; 
 he wer as crazy as a bed-bug, an' as savidge as a mad- 
 dorg. 
 
 I seed a-cummin, a ole widder, what wer a pow'ful 
 pius turn'd pusson, in the same church wif ole Skissim, 
 an' she wer the news-kerrier gineral ove the neighbor- 
 hood. Folks sed that they hed a religus feelin fur each 
 uther, what led tu meny love-feas, wif nobody at em but 
 tharsefs, an' wer bof doin mouns'ous well, considerin 
 the thorn in the flesh. Sez she — 
 
 " Oh, my soul ! Du tell me what lies happened I Oh, 
 lordy massy!" sed I, "hits a-happenin yet!" a-lookin 
 orful solemn in the moonshine. -Sez I, " I'll tell yu, es 
 I knows yu won't speak ove hit ; fur ef hit gits out, hit 
 mout make the pepil sorter think hard ove Mister Skis- 
 sim. He cum home frum meetin plum crazy, talkin 
 about the seventh cumandment, an' he's sot intu mur- 
 derin hes folks wif a crowbar. He hes dun got his wife 
 an' six ove the brats ; thar a-lyin in thar es cold es 
 krout ; an' he's hot arter the rest ove em ; sez he's in a 
 
74 old skissim's middle boy. 
 
 hurry tu git thru, es he hes yu tu kill an' salt down 
 afore day. Now I know by that he's turn'd durned 
 fool." 
 
 1 She never sed a word, but put out fur Squir 
 Haley's, an' swore her life agin ole Skissim, an' tuck 
 out a warrint fur him a-chargin murder, arson, blasfemy, 
 fleabottomry an' rape. Hit skeer'd ole Skissim ontil 
 he run away. 
 
 By the time I got dun inlitenin the widder, that ar 
 onquinchable boy hed the kitchen all tu hissef. Every- 
 body wer feard tu go ni the door. Now yu cudent 
 guess in ten year what he then went an' did. He jis' 
 made a piller outen the cheer, an' sot intu sleepin agin. 
 Ef ever I'se call'd on tu stop his sleepin eny more agin. 
 I'll try a muskit an' sixteen buckshot, at jis' about ten 
 stepe. . 
 
BLOWN UP WITH SODA. 
 
 Sut's hide is healed — the wounds received in his 
 sudden separation from his new shirt have ceased to 
 pain, and, true to his instincts, or rather " a famerly 
 dispersition," es he calls it, he "pitches in," and gets 
 awfully blown up by a wild mountain girL Hear him, 
 poor fellow ! 
 
 "George, did yu ever see Sicily Burns? Her dad 
 lives at the Rattil-snake Spring, clost ontu the Georgia 
 line." 
 
 " Yes, a very handsome girl." 
 
 " Handsome ! that ar word don't kiver the case ; hit 
 souns sorter like callin good whiskey strong water, 
 when yu ar ten mile frum a still -hous, hit a rainin, an' 
 yer flask only haf full. She shows amung wimen like 
 a sunflower amung dorg fennil, ur a hollyhawk in a 
 patch ove smartweed. Sich a buzzim ! Jis' think ove 
 two snow balls wif a strawberry stuck but-ainded intu 
 bof on em. She takes adzactly fifteen inches ove garter 
 clar ove the knot, stans sixteen an' a 'alf hans hi, ari 
 weighs one hundred an' twenty-six in her petticoatai] 
 
76 BLOWN UP WITH SODA. 
 
 afore brekfus'. She cudent crawl thru a whisky barrel 
 wif bof heads stove out, nur sit in a common arm-cheer, 
 while yu cud lock the top hoop ove a chun, ur a big 
 dorg collar, roun the huggin place." 
 
 "The what, Sut?" 
 
 "The Wats' yu durn oninishiated gourd, yu! Her 
 har's es black es a crow's wing et midnite, ur a nigger 
 hanlin charcoal when he's hed no brekfus' ; hit am es 
 slick es this yere bottil, an' es long es a hoss's tail. I've 
 seed her jump over a split-bottim cheer wifout showin 
 her ankils, ur ketchin her dress ontu the knobs. She 
 cud cry an' larf et the same time, an' either lov'd ur 
 hated yu all over. Ef her hate fell ontu yu, yu'd feel 
 like yu'd been whipp'd wif a pizen vine, ur a broom 
 made outen nettils when yer breeches an' shut wer bof 
 in the wash-tub. She kerried enuf devil about her tu 
 run crazy a big settilment ove Job's ch'ldren; her skin 
 wer es white es the inside ove a frogstool, an' her 
 cheeks an' lips es rosey es a pearch's gills in dorgwood 
 blossum time — an' sich a smile ! why, when hit struck 
 yu far an' squar hit felt jis' like a big ho'n ove onrecti- 
 fied ole Munongahaley, arter yu'd been sober fur a 
 month, a tendin ove a ten hoss prayer-meetin twist a 
 day, an' mos' ove the nites. 
 
 " Three ove her smiles when she wer a tryin ove her- 
 sef, taken keerfully ten minutes apart, wud make the 
 gran' captin ove a temprunce s'iety so durn'd drunk, he 
 wudn't no his britches frum a par ove bellowses, ur a 
 
BLOWN UP WITH SODA. 7> 
 
 pledge frum a — a — warter-pot. Oh ! I be chimed ei 
 hits eny use talkin, that ar gal cud make me murder ole 
 Bishop Soul, hissef, ur kill mam, not tu speak ove dad, 
 ef she jis' hinted she wanted sich a thing dun. Sich an 
 'oman cud du more devilmint nur a loose stud hoss et 
 a muster groun', ef she only know'd what tools she 
 totes, an' I'se sorter beginin tu think she no's the use 
 ove the las' durnd wun, tu a dot. Her ankils wer es 
 roun', an' not much bigger nur the wrist ove a rifle-gun, 
 an' when she wer a-dancin, ur makin up a bed, ur gittin 
 
 over a fence Oh durn sich wimen ! Why aint they 
 
 all made on the hempbreak plan, like mam, ur Betts 
 Carr, ur Suke Miller, so they wundn't bother a feller's 
 thinker et all. 
 
 " George, this worl am all 'rong enyhow, more tem- 
 tashun than perventitive ; ef hit wer ekal, I'd stand hit 
 What kin the ole prechurs an' the ugly wimen 'spect 
 fve us, 'sposed es we ar tu sich invenshuns es she am ? 
 Oh, hits jis' no use in thar talkin, an' groanin, an' 
 sweatin tharsefs about hit ; they mus' jis' upset nater on- 
 tu her head, an' keep her thar, ur shet up. Less taste 
 this yere whisky." 
 
 Sut continued, wiping his mouth on his shirt-sleeve : 
 " I'se hearn in the mountins a fust rate fourth proof 
 smash ove thunder cum onexpected, an' shake the yeath, 
 bringin along a string ove litenin es long es a quarter 
 track, an' es bright es a weldin heat, a-racin down a big 
 pine tree, tarin hit intu broo«> splits, an' toof pickers, 
 
78 BLOWN UP WITH SODA. 
 
 an' raisin a cloud ove dus', an' bark, an' a army ovfl 
 lim's wif a smell sorter like the devil wer about, an 1 
 the long darnin needil leaves fallin roun wif a tif — tif— 
 quiet sorter soun, an' then a quiverin on the yeath es 
 littil snakes die ; an' I felt quar in my in'ards, sorter 
 ha'f cumfurt, wif a littil glad an' rite smart ove sorry 
 mix'd wif hit 
 
 " I'se seed the rattil-snake squar hissef tu cum at me, 
 a savin z-e-e-e-e, wif that nisey tail ove his'n, an' I felt 
 quar agin — mons'rous quar. I've seed the Oconee Riv- 
 er jumpin mad frum rock tu rock wif hits clear, cool 
 warter, white foam, an' music " 
 
 "What, Sut?" 
 
 " Music ; the rushin warter dus make music ; so dus 
 the wind, an' the fire in the mountin, an' hit gin me an 
 oneasy queerness agin ; but every time I look'd at that 
 gal Sicily Burns, I hed all the feelins mix'd up, ove the 
 litenin, the river, an' the snake, wif a totch ove the 
 quicksilver sensashun a huntin thru all my veins fur 
 my ticklish place. 
 
 " Tu gether hit all in a bunch, an' tie hit, she wer gal 
 all over, frum the pint ove her toe-nails tu the aind ove 
 the longes' har on the highis knob on her head — gal all 
 the time, everywhar, an' wun ove the exhitenis kine. 
 Ove corse I lean'd up tu her, es clost es I dar tu, an' in 
 spite ove these yere laigs, an' my appertite fur whisky, 
 that ar shut-skinin bisness, an' dad's actin hoss, she sor- 
 ter lean'd tu me, jis' a scrimpshun, sorter like a keerfuj 
 
BLOWN tJP WITH SODA. ?9 
 
 man salts uther pepil's cattil in the mountin, barly enuf 
 tn bring em back tu the lick-bog sum day — that's the 
 way she salted me, an' I 'tended the lick-log es reg'lar 
 es the old bell cow ; arc I wer jis' beginin tu think I 
 wer ontu the rite trail tu es much cumfurt, an' stayin 
 awake a-purpus, es ole Brigham Young wif all his sad- 
 dil-culler'd wimen, an' the papers tu fetch more, ef he 
 wants em. 
 
 "Well, wun day a cussed, palaverin, inyun-eatin 
 Yankee pedlar, all jack-nife an' jaw, cum tu ole man 
 Burns wif a carryall full ove appil-parin-mersheens, 
 jewsharps, calliker, ribbons, sody-powder, an' uther 
 durn'd truck. 
 
 " Now mine, I'd never heam tell ove sody-powder in 
 my born'd days ; I didn't know hit frum Beltashazur's 
 off ox ; but I no's now that hit am was nur gunpowder 
 fur hurtin, an' durn'd ni es smart tu go off. 
 
 " That ar Yankee pedlar hes my piusest prayer, an' I 
 jis wish I hed a kaig ove the truck intu his cussed 
 paunch, wif a slow match cumin out at his mouf, 
 an' I hed a chunk ove fire. The feller what foun a 
 mossel ove 'im big enuf tu feed a cockroach, orter be 
 turn'd loose tu pastur amung seventy-five purty wimen, 
 an' foun in whisky fur life, becase ove his good eyes in 
 huntin los' things. George, a Yankee pedlar's soul 
 wud hev more room in a turnip-seed tu fly roun in. 
 than a leather- wing bat hes in a meetin-hous; that's 
 jis' so. 
 
80 BLOWN UP WITH SODA. 
 
 " Sicily hed bot a tin box ove the cold bilin truck 
 an' hid hit till I cum tu the lick-log agin, yu know. 
 Well, I jis' happen'd tu pass nex' day, an' ove corse 
 stopp'd tu injoy a look at the temtashun, an' she wer 
 mity luvin tu me. I never felt the like — put mm arm 
 roun my naik, an' tuther whar the susingil goes roun a 
 hoss, tuck the inturn ontu me wif her lef ' foot, an' gin 
 me a kiss. Sez she 
 
 "Sutty, luv, I'se got sumthin fur yu, a new sen- 
 sashun " 
 
 " An' I b'leve in hit strong, fur I begun tu feel hit 
 pow'ful. My toes felt like I wer in a warm krick wif 
 minners a-nibblin at em ; a cole streak wer a racin up 
 an' down my back like a lizzard wif a tucky hen arter 
 'im ; my hans tuck the ager, an' my hart felt hot an on- 
 satisfied like. Then hit wer that I'd a-cut ole Soul's froat 
 wif a hansaw, an' never batted my eye, ef she'd a-hinted 
 the needsesity. 
 
 "Then she pour'd 'bout ten blue papers ove the 
 fizilin powder intu a great big tumbler, an' es meny 
 white papers intu anuther, an' put ni ontu a pint ove 
 warter intu bof on em, stir'd em up wif a case-nife, an' 
 gritted a morsel ove nutmaig on top, the 'saitful she 
 torment lookin es solemn es a jasack in a snow storm, 
 when the fodder gin out. She hilt wun, an' tole me tu 
 drink tuther. I swaller'd hit at wun run ; tasted sorter 
 salty like, but I tho't hit wer part ove the sensashun. 
 But I wer slitely mistaken'd ; hit wer yet tu cum, an' 
 
BLOWN tJP WITH SODA. 81 
 
 warn't long 'bout hit, boss, better b'leve. Ternally durn 
 all sensashuns ove every spot an' stripe ! I say. Then 
 she gin me tuther, an' I sent hit a chasin the fas' instal- 
 mint tu the sag ove my paunch, race-hoss way. Yu 
 see I'd got the idear onder my har that hit wer luv-pow 
 ders, an' I'd swaller'd the devil red hot frum home, 
 a-thinkin that. Luv-powders frum her ! jis' think ove 
 hit yerse'f solemnly a minit, an' sit still ef yu kin. 
 
 " Jis' 'bout the time I wer ketchin my breff, I tho't 
 t'd swaller'd a thrashin-meersheen in full blast, wif a 
 euppil ove bull-dorgs, an' they hed sot intu fitin ; an' I 
 felt sumthin cumin up my swaller, monstrus like a 
 hi pressur steamboat. I cud hear hit a-snortin, and 
 scizzin. Kotch agin, by the great golly ! tho't I ; same 
 famerly dispersishun tu make a durn'd fool ove myse'f 
 jis' es ofen es the sun sets, an' fifteen times ofener ef 
 thar's a half a chance. Durn dad evermore, amen! I 
 say. 
 
 "I happen'd tu think ove my hoss, an' I broke 
 far him. I stole a hang-dorg look back, an' thar 
 lay Sicily, flat ove her back in the porch, clapin 
 her hans, screamin wif laughin, her feet up in the 
 air, a-kickin em a-pas' each uther like she wer tryin 
 tu kick her slippers off. I'se pow'ful sorry I wer 
 too bizzy tu look at em. Thar wer a road ove foam 
 frum the hous' tu the hoss two foot wide, an' shoe 
 mouf deep — looked like hit hed been snowin — a-pop- 
 
 pin, an' a-hissin, an' a-bilin like a tub ove soap-suds 
 4* ~ 
 
82 BLOWN tJP WITH SODA. 
 
 wif a red hot mole-board in hit. I gethered a cherry 
 tree lim' es I run, an' I lit a-straddil ove ole Blackey, 
 a-thrashin his hide like the devil beatin tan-bark, an' 
 a-hissin wus nur four thousin mad ganders outen my 
 mouf, eyes, nose, an' years. All this waked the ole 
 hoss, an' he fotch one rar, one kiek, an' then he went 
 — he jis' mizzel'd, skar'd. Oh lordy ! how the foam 
 rolled, an' the hoss flew ! Es we turned the corner ove 
 the gardin lot, I hearn Sicily call, es clar es a bugle : 
 
 *' ' Hole hit down, Mister Lovingood ! hole hit down 1 
 Wits a cure fur puppy luv ; hole hit down /' 
 
 " Hole hit down ! Hu ever hearn sich a onpossi- 
 
 bil Why, rite then I wer a-feelin the bottim ove my 
 
 paunch cumin up arter hit, inside out, jis' like the bot- 
 tim ove a green champain bottil. I wer spectin tu see 
 hit every blast That, wif what Sicily sed, wer a-hurtin 
 my thinker pow'ful bad, an' then the ise-warter idear, 
 that hit warn't a luv-powder arter all that hurtin — takin 
 all tugether, I wer sorter wishin hit mout keep on till 
 I wer all biled tu foam, plum tu my heel-strings. 
 
 "I wer aimin fur Dr. Goodman's, at the Hiwasee 
 Copper Mine, tu git sumthin tu simmer hit down wif, 
 ♦vhen I met ole Clapshaw, the suckit-rider, a-travelin 
 to'ards sumbody's hot biskit an' fried chicken. As I 
 cum tarin along, he hilt up his hans like he wanted tu 
 pray fur me ; but es I wanted sumthin tu reach furder, 
 ?V take a ranker holt nur his prars cud, I jis' rambled 
 ahead I wer hot arter a ten-hoss dubbil-actin steam 
 
5 * 
 
 A Sh 
 
BLOWN UP WITH SODA. 83 
 
 paunch-pump, wif wun aind sock'd deep intu my soda 
 lake, an' a strong manbody doctur at tuther ; hit wei 
 my big want jis' then. He tuck a skeer, es I wer cumin 
 strait fur him ; his faith gin out, an' he dodged, flat 
 hat, hoss, an' saddil-bags, intu the thicket. I seed his 
 hoss's tail fly up over his back, es he disappear'd intu 
 the bushes; thar mus' a-been spurrin gwine on 'bout 
 thar. I liked his moshuns onder a skeer rite well ; he 
 made that dodge jis' like a mud-turkil draps ofen a log 
 when a big steamboat cums tarin a-pas'. Es he pass'd 
 ole man Burns's, Sicily hailed 'im tu ax ef he met eny- 
 body gwine up the road in a sorter hurry. The poor 
 devil tho't that p'raps he mout ; warnt sure, but he hed 
 seed a dreadful forewarnin, ur a ghos', ur ole Belzebub, 
 ur the Tariff. Takin all things tugether, however, in 
 the litil time spar'd tu 'im fur 'flection, hit mus' a-been 
 a crazy, long-laiged shakin Quaker, fieein frum the rath 
 tu cum, on a black an' white spotted hoss, a-whipin 'im 
 wif a big brush ; an' he hed a white beard what cum 
 frum jis onder his eyes down tu the pumil ove the sad- 
 dil, an' then forked an' went tu his knees, an' frum 
 thar drapp'd in bunches es big es a crow's nes', tu the 
 groun ; an' he hearn a soun like ontu the rushin ove 
 mitey warters, an' he wer pow'fully exersized 'bout hit 
 enyhow. Well, I guess he wer, an' so wer his fat hoss, 
 an' so wer ole Blackey, an' more so by a durn'd site wer 
 me mysef Arter be cumpos'd hissef he rit out his fool 
 noshuns fur Sicily, that hit wer a new steam invenshun, 
 
84 BLOWN UP WITH SODA. 
 
 tu spread the Catholic doctrin, an' tote the Pope's bulla 
 tu pastur in distant lans, made outen sheet iron, ingin 
 rubber, tann'd leather, ise cream, an' fat pine, an' that 
 the hoss's tail wer made outen iron wire, red hot at the 
 pint, an' a stream ove sparks es long es the steerin-oar 
 ove a flatboat foller'd thararter; an' takin hit all tu- 
 gether hit warnt a safe thing tu meet in a lane ove a 
 dark nite ; an' he tho't he hed a call over the mountin 
 tu anuther sarkit ; that chickens warnt es plenty over 
 thar, but then he wer a self-denyin man. 
 
 "Now, George, all this beard, an' spotted hoss, an' 
 steam, an' fire, an' snow, an' wire tails, wer durn'd 
 skeer'd suckit rider's humbug ; hit all cum outen my 
 paunch, wifout eny vomitin ur coaxin, an' ef hit hedn't, 
 I'd a dun been busted intu more scraps nur thar's aigs 
 in a big catfish. 
 
 " ' Hole hit down, Mister Lovingood ! hole hit down !' 
 Now warnt that jis' the durndes' onreasonabil reques' 
 ever an 'oman made ove man ? She mout jis es well 
 ax'd me tu swaller my hoss, an' then skin the cat on 
 a cob-web. She's pow'ful on docterin tho', I'll swar 
 tu that." 
 
 "Why, Silt?" 
 
 " Kase she cur'd my puppy-luv wif wun dost, durn 
 her ! George, am sody pizen ?" 
 ' "No; why?" 
 
 " I sorter 'spected hit wer, an' I sot in, an' et yarbs, 
 an' grass, an' roots, till J'se pounoh'd out like ontu a oh 
 
BLOWN UP WITH SODA. 85 
 
 cow ; my hole swaller an' paunch am tann'd hard es 
 sole leather. I axes rot-gut no odds now. Yere's a 
 drink tu the durndes' fool in the worl' — jis' me !" 
 
 And the bottom of Sut's flask flashed in the sun 
 light 
 
SICILY BUMS'S WEDDING. 
 
 " Hey Ge-orgi )" rang among the mountain slopes ; 
 and looking up to my left, I saw " Sut," tearing along 
 down a steep point, heading me off, in a long kangaroo 
 lope, holding his flask high above his head, and hat in 
 hand. He brought up near me, banteringly shaking 
 the half-full "tickler," within an inch of my face. 
 
 " Whar am yu gwine ? take a suck, hoss ? This yere 
 truck's ole. I kotch hit myse'f, hot this mornin frum 
 the still wum. Nara durn'd bit ove strike-nine in hit — 
 I put that ar piece ove burnt dried peach in myse'f tu 
 gin hit color — better nur ole Bullen's plan : he puts in 
 tan ooze, in what he sells, an' when that haint handy, 
 he uses the red warter outen a pon' jis' below his barn; 
 — makes a pow'ful natral color, but don't help the taste 
 much. Then he correcks that wif red pepper ; hits an 
 orful mixtry, that whisky ole Bullen makes ; no won- 
 der he seed 'Hell-sarpints.' He's pisent ni ontu three 
 quarters ove the b'levin parts ove his congregashun wif 
 hit, an' tuther quarter he's sot intu ruff stealin an' 
 cussin Ef his still-'ous don't burn down, ur he peg 
 out hisse'f, the neighborhood am ruinated a-pas' salva- 
 
SICILY BUBNS'S WEDDING. 87 
 
 shun. Haint lie the durndes sampil ove a passun yu 
 ever seed en yhow ? 
 
 " Say George, du yu see these yere well-poles what I 
 uses fur laigs ? Yu sez yu sees em, dus yu ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Yery well ; I passed 'em a-pas' each uther tuther day, 
 right peart I put one out a-head jis' so, an' then 
 tuther 'bout nine feet a-head ove hit agin jis' so, an' 
 then kep on a-duin hit. I'll jis' gin yu leave tu go tu 
 the devil ha'f hamon, ef I didn't make fewer tracks tu 
 the mile, an' more tu the minit, than wer ever made by 
 eny human man body, since Bark Wilson beat the saw- 
 log frum the top ove the Frog Mountin intu the Oconee 
 River, an' dove, an' dodged hit at las'. I hes allers 
 look'd ontu that performince ove Bark's as onekel'd in 
 histery, allers givin way tu dad's ho'net race, however. 
 
 " George, every livin thing hes hits pint, a pint ove 
 sum sort. Ole Bullen's pint is a durn'ed fust rate, 
 three bladed, dubbil barril'd, warter-proof, hypockracy, 
 an' a never-tirein appertite fur bal'-face. Sicily Burns's 
 pint am tu drive men folks plum crazy, an' then bring 
 em too agin. Gin em a rale Orleans fever in five min- 
 its, an' then in five minits more, gin them a Floridy 
 ager. Durn her, she's down on her heels flat-footed 
 now. Dad's pint is tu be king ove all durn'd fools, 
 ever since the day ove that feller what cribb'd up so 
 much co'n down in Yegipt, long time ago, (he run outen 
 his coat yu minds.) The Bibil tells us hu wer the 
 
^8 SICILY BURNS'S WEDDING. 
 
 stronges' man — hu wer the bes' man — hu wer the 
 meekis' man, an' hu the wises' man, but leaves yu tu 
 guess hu wer the bigges' fool. 
 
 " Well, eny man what cudent guess arter readin that 
 ar scrimmage wif an 'oman 'bout the coat, haint sense 
 enuf tu run intu the hous', ef hit wer rainin ded cats, 
 that's all. Mam's pint am in kitchen insex, bakin hoe- 
 cake, bilin greens, an' runnin bar laiged. My pint am in 
 takin aboard big skeers, an' then beatin enybody's hoss, 
 ur skared dorg, a-runnin frum onder em agin. I used 
 tu think my pint an' dad's wer jis' the same, sulky, un- 
 mix'd king durn'd fool ; but when he acted hoss, an' 
 mistook hossflies fur ho'nets, I los' heart. Never mine, 
 when t gits his 'sperence, I may be king fool, but yet 
 great golly, he gets frum bad tu wus, monstrus fas'. 
 
 "Now ef a feller happens tu know what his pint 
 am, he kin allers git along, sumhow, purvided he 
 don't swar away his liberty tu a temprins s'ciety, live 
 tu fur frum a still- 'ous, an' too ni a chu'ch ur a jail. 
 Them's my sentimints on 'pints,' — an' yere's my 
 sentimints ontu folks : Men wer made a-purpus jis' 
 tu eat, drink, an' fur stayin awake in the yearly 
 part ove the nites: an' wimen wer made tu cook 
 the vittils, mix the sperits, an' help the men du the 
 _stayin awake. That's all, an' nuthin more, onless hits 
 fur the wimen tu raise the devil atwix meals, an' knit 
 socks atwix drams, an' the men tu play short kerds, 
 swap hoasea wif fools, an' fite fur exersise, at odd apells, 
 
SICILY BURNS'S WEDDING. 89 
 
 " George, yu don't onderstan life yet scarcely at all, 
 got a heap tu larn, a heap. But 'bout my swappin my 
 laigs so fas' — these yere very par ove laigs. I hed got 
 about a fox squirril skin full ove biled co'n juice 
 packed onder my shut, an' onder my hide too, I mout 
 es well add, an' wer aimin fur Bill Carr's on foot 
 When I got in sight ove ole man Burns's, I seed ni on- 
 tu fifty hosses an' muels hitch'd tu the fence. Durna- 
 shun ! I jis' then tho't ove hit, 'twer Sicily's wedding 
 day. She married ole Clapshaw, the suckit rider. 
 The very feller hu's faith gin out when he met me 
 sendin sody all over creashun. Suckit-riders am sur- 
 jestif things tu me. They preaches agin me, an' I hes 
 no chance tu preach back at them. Ef I cud I'd make 
 the institushun behave hitsef better nur hit dus. They 
 hes sum wunderful pints, George. Thar am two things 
 nobody never seed : wun am a dead muel, an' tuther 
 is a suckit-rider's grave. Kaze why, the he muels all 
 turn intu old field school -masters, an' the she ones intu 
 strong minded wimen, an' then when thar time cums, 
 they dies sorter like uther folks. An' the suckit-riders 
 ride ontil they marry ; ef they marrys money, they 
 turns intu store-keepers, swaps hosses, an' stays away 
 ove colleckshun Sundays. Them what marrys, an' by 
 sum orful mistake misses the money, jis' turns intu pol- 
 ertishuns, sells ' ile well stock,' and' dies sorter in the 
 human way too. 
 
 " But 'bout the wedding. Ole Burns hed a big blac^ 
 
90 SICILY BUENS'S WEDDING. 
 
 an' white bull, wif a ring in his snout, an' the rope tied 
 up roun his ho'ns. They rid 'im tu mill, an' sich like 
 wif a saddil made outen two dorgwood forks, an' two 
 clapboards, kivered wif a ole piece ove carpet, rope girth, 
 an' rope stirrups wif a loop in hit fur the foot Ole 
 ' Sock,' es they call'd the bull, hed jis' got back frum 
 mill, an' wer turn'd intu the yard, saddil an' all, tu 
 solace hissef a-pickin grass. I wer slungin roun the 
 outside ore the hous', fur they hedn't hed the manners 
 tu ax me in, when they sot down tu dinner. I wer 
 pow'fully hurt 'bout hit, an' happen'd tu think — sody. 
 So I sot in a-watchin fur a chance tu du sumthin. 1 
 fus' tho't I'd shave ole Clapshaw's hoss's tail, go tu the 
 stabil an' shave Sicily's mare's tail, an' ketch ole Burns 
 out, an' shave his tail too. While I wer a-studyin 'bout 
 this, ole Sock wer a-nosin 'roun, an' cum up ontu a big 
 baskit what hilt a littil shattered co'n ; he dipp'd in his 
 head tu git hit, an' I slipp'd up. an' jerked the handil 
 over his ho'ns. 
 
 " Now, George, ef yu knows the nater ove a cow 
 brute, they is the durndes' fools amung all the beastes, 
 ('scept the Lovingoods ;) when they gits intu tribula- 
 shun, they knows nuffin but tu shot thar eyes, beller, 
 an' back, an' keep a-backin. Well, when ole Sock 
 raised his head an' foun hissef in darkness, he jis' 
 twisted up his tail, snorted the shatter'd co'n outen the 
 baskit, an' made a tremenjus lunge agin the hous'. I 
 hearn the picters a-hangin agin the wall on the inside 
 
SICILY BURNS'S WEDDING. 91 
 
 a-fallin. He fotch a deep loud rusty beller, mout been 
 hearn a miJe, an' tlien sot intu a onendin sistem ove 
 backm A big craw-fish wif a hungry coon a-reachin 
 fur him, wer jis' nowhar. Fust agin one thing, then 
 over anuther, an' at las' agin the bee-bainch, knockin 
 hit an' a dozen stan ove bees heads over heels, an' then 
 stompin back'ards thru the mess. Hit haint much wuf 
 while tu tell what the bees did, ur how soon they sot 
 intu duin hit. They am pow'ful quick-tempered littil 
 critters, enyhow. The air wer dark wif 'em, an' Sock 
 wer kivered all over, frum snout tu tail, so clost yu 
 cudent a-sot down a grain ove wheat fur bees, an' they 
 wer a-fitin one anuther in the air, fur a place on the 
 bull. The hous' stood on sidelin groun, an' the back 
 door wer even wif hit. So Sock happen tu hit hit 
 plum, jis' backed intu the hous' onder 'bout two hun- 
 dred an' fifty pouns ove steam, bawlin orful, an' every 
 snort he fotch he snorted away a quart ove bees ofen 
 his sweaty snout He wer the leader ove the bigges' 
 an' the madest army ove bees in the worild. Thar wer 
 at leas' five solid bushels ove 'em. They hed filled the 
 baskit, an' hed lodged ontu his tail, ten deep, ontil hit 
 wer es thick es a waggin tung. He hed hit stuck strait 
 up in the air, an' hit looked adzackly like a dead pine 
 kivered wif ivey. I think he wer the hottes' and wus 
 hurtin bull then livin ; his temper, too, seemed tu be 
 pow'fully frustrated. Ove all the durn'd times an' ker- 
 ryins on yu ever hearn tell on wer thar an' thar abouta 
 
92 SICILY BUENS'S WEDDING. 
 
 He cum tail fust agin the ole two story Dutch clock, an 1 
 fotch hit, bustin hits runnin geer outen hit, the littil 
 ■wheels a-trundlin over the floor, an' the bees even 
 chasin them. Nex pass, he fotch up agin the foot ove 
 a big dubbil injine bedstead, rarin hit on aind, an' 
 punchin one ove the posts thru a glass winder. The 
 nex tail fus' experdishun wer made aginst the cati- 
 corner'd cupboard, outen which he made a perfeck 
 momox. Fus' he upsot hit, smashin in the glass doors, 
 an' then jis' sot in an' stomp'd everything on the shelves 
 intu giblits, a-tryin tu back furder in that direckshun, 
 an' tu git the bees ofen his laigs. 
 
 "Pickil crocks, perserves jars, vinegar jugs, seed 
 bags, yarb bunches, paragorick bottils, aig baskits, an' 
 delf war — all mix'd dam permiskusly, an' not worth the 
 sortin, by a duller an' a 'alf. Nex he got a far back 
 acrost the room agin the board pertishun ; he went thru 
 hit like hit hed been paper, takin wif him 'bout six foot 
 squar ove hit in splinters, an' broken boards, intu the 
 nex room, whar they wer eatin dinner, an' rite yere 
 the fitin becum gineral, an' the dancin, squawkin, 
 cussin, an' dodgin begun. 
 
 " Clapshaw's ole mam wer es deaf es a dogiron, an 
 sot at the aind ove the tabil, nex tu whar ole Sock bus- 
 ted thru the wall; tail fus' he cum agin her cheer, 
 a-histin her an' hit ontu the tabil. Now, the smashin 
 ove delf, an' the mixin ove vittils begun. They hed 
 sot severil tabils tugether tu make hit long enu£ So 
 
SICILY BURNS'S WEDDING. 93 
 
 he jis' rolled 'em up a-top ove one anuther, an' thar sot 
 ole Missis Clapshaw, a-straddil ove the top ove the pile, 
 a-fitin bees like a mad wind-mill, wif her calliker cap 
 in one han, fur a wepun, an' a cract frame in tuther, 
 an' a-kickin, an' a-spurrin like she wer ridin a lazy 
 hoss arter the doctor, an' a-screamin rape, fire, an' mur- 
 der, es fas' es she cud name 'em over. 
 
 "Taters, cabbige, meat, soup, beans, sop, dumplins, 
 an' the truck what yu wallers 'em in ; milk, plates, 
 pies, puddins, an' every durn fixin yu cud think ove in 
 a week, wer thar, mix'd an' mashed, like hit had been 
 thru a thrashin-meesheen. Ole Sock still kep a-backin, 
 an' backed the hole pile, ole 'oman an' all, also sum 
 cheers, outen the frunt door, an' down seven steps intu 
 the lane, an' then by golly, turn'd a fifteen hundred poun 
 summerset hissef arter em, lit a-top ove the mix'd up 
 mess, fiat ove his back, an' then kicked hissef ontu his 
 ieet agin. About the time he ris, ole man Burns — yu 
 Jciow how fat, an' stumpy, an' cross-grained he is, eny- 
 how — made a vigrus mad snatch at the baskit, an' got a 
 savin holt ontu hit, but cudent let go quick enuf; fur ole 
 Sock jis' snorted, bawled, an' histed the ole cuss heels 
 fust up intu the air, an' he lit on the bull's back, an' hed 
 the baskit in his han. 
 
 " Jis' es soon es ole Blackey got the use ove his eyes, 
 he tore off down the lane tu out-run the bees, so durn'd 
 fas' that ole Burns wer feard tu try tu git off. So he 
 jis' socked his feet intu the rope loops, an' then cunv 
 
94 SICILY BITRNS'S WEDDING. 
 
 menc'd the durndes' bull-ride ever mortal man onder- 
 tuck. Sock run atwix the hitched critters an' the rail- 
 fence, ole Burns fust fitin him over the head wif the 
 baskit tu stop him, an' then fitin the bees wif hit I'll 
 jis' be durn'd ef I didn't think he hed four ur five bas- 
 Mts, hit wer in so meny places at onst Well, Burns, 
 baskit, an' bull, an' bees, skared every durn'd hoss 
 an' muel loose frum that fence — bees ontu all ove 'em, 
 bees, by golly, everywhar. Mos' on 'em, too, tuck a 
 fence rail along, fas' tu the bridil reins. Now I'll jis' 
 gin yu leave tu kiss my sister Sail till she squalls, ef 
 ever sich a sight wer seed ur sich nises hearn, es filled 
 up that long lane. A heavy cloud ove dus', like a 
 harycane hed been blowin, hid all the hosses, an' away 
 abuv hit yu cud see tails, an' ainds ove fence-rails 
 a-flyin about ; now an' then a par ove bright hine shoes 
 wud flash in the sun like two sparks, an' away ahead 
 wer the baskit a-sirklin roun an' about at randum. 
 Brayin, nickerin, the bellerin ove the bull, clatterin ove 
 runnin hoofs, an' a mons'ous rushin soun, made up the 
 noise. Lively times in that lane jis' then, warnt thar ? 
 " I swar ole Burns kin beat eny man on top ove the 
 yeath a-fitin bees wif a baskit Jis' set 'im a-straddil ove 
 a mad bull, an' let thar be bees enuf tu exhite the ole 
 man, an' the man what beats him kin break me. 
 Hosses an' muels wer tuck up all over the county, an' 
 sum wer forever los'. Yu cudent go eny course, in a 
 cirkil ove a mile, an' not find buckils, stirrups, straps, 
 
SICILY BURNS's WEDDING. 95 
 
 saddil blaakits, ur sumthin belongin tu a saddil hoss. 
 Now don't forgit that about that hous' thar wer a good 
 time bein had ginerally. Fellers an' gals loped outen 
 windows, they rolled outen the doors in bunches, they 
 clomb the chimleys, they darted onder the house jis' 
 tu dart out agin, they tuck tu the thicket, they rolled 
 in the wheat field, lay down in the krick, did every- 
 thing but stan still. Sum made a strait run fur home, 
 an' sum es strait a run frum home ; livelyest folks I 
 ever did see. Clapshaw crawled onder a straw pile in 
 the barn, an' sot intu prayin — yu cud a-hearn him a 
 mile — sumthin 'bout the plagues ove Yegipt, an' the 
 pains ove the secon death. I tell yu now he lumbered. 
 
 " Sicily, she squatted in the cold spring, up tu her 
 years, an' turn'd a milk crock over her head, while she 
 wer a drownin a mess ove bees onder her coats. I 
 went tu her, an' sez I, ' Yu hes got anuther new sensa- 
 shun haint }^u ? ' Sez she — 
 
 " ' Shet yer mouth, yu cussed fool !' 
 
 " Sez I, ' Power'ful sarchin feelin bees gins a body, 
 don't they ?' 
 
 " ' Oh, lordy, lordy, Sut, these yere 'bominabil insex 
 is jis' burnin me up !' 
 
 " ' Gin 'em a mess ove sody,' sez I, 'that'll cool 'em 
 off, an' skeer the las' durn'd one ofen the place.' 
 
 " She lifted the crock, so she cud flash her eyes at 
 me, an' sed, ' Yu go tu hell !' jis es plain. I thought, 
 takin all things tugether, that p'raps I mout es well put 
 
96 SICILY BURNS'S WEDDING. 
 
 the mountin atwix me an' that plantashun ; an' I did 
 hit. 
 
 " Thar warnt an' 'oman, nr a gal at that weddin, but 
 what thar frocks, an' stockins wer too tite far a week. 
 Bees am was on wimen than men, enyhow. They 
 hev a farer chance at 'em. Nex day I passed ole Haw- 
 ley's, an' his gal Betts wer sittin in the porch, wif a 
 white hankerchef tied roun her jaws ; her face wer es 
 red es a beet, an' her eyebrows hung 'way over heavy. 
 Sez I, ' Hed a fine time at the weddin, didn't yu ?' ' Yu 
 mus' be a durn'd fool,' wer every word she sed. I 
 hadent gone a hundred yards, ontil I met Missis Brady, 
 her hans fat, an' her ankils swelled ontil they shined, 
 Sez she, — 
 
 " ' Whar yu gwine, Sut ?' 
 
 " ' Bee huntin,' sez I. 
 
 " ' Yu jis' say bees agin, yu infunel gallinipper, an' 
 I'll scab yer head wif a rock.' 
 
 " Now haint hit strange how tetchus they am, on tho 
 subjick ove bees ? 
 
 " Ove all the durn'd misfortinit weddins ever since ole 
 Adam married that heifer, what wer so fon' ove talkin 
 tu snaix, an' eatin appils, down ontil now, that one ove 
 Sicily's an' Clapshaw's wer the worst one fur noise, dis- 
 appintment, skeer, breakin things, hurtin, trubbil, vexa* 
 shun ove spirrit, an' gineral swellin. Why, George, her 
 an' him cudent sleep tugether fur ni ontu a week, on ac 
 qo/unt ove the doins ove them ar hot-footed, 'vengeful 
 
SICILY BUENS'S WEDDING. 97 
 
 'bominabil littil insex. They never will gee tugether, 
 got tu bad a start, mine what I tell yu. Yu haint time 
 now tu hear how ole Burns finished his bull-ride, an' 
 how I cum tu du that lofty, topliftical speeiment ove 
 fas' runnin I'll tell yu all that, sum uther time. Ef 
 eny ove 'em axes after me, tell 'em that I'm over in Fan- 
 nin, on my way tu Dahlonega. They is huntin me tu 
 kill me, I is fear'd. 
 
 " Hit am an orful thing, George, tu be a natral born 
 durn'd fool. Yu'se never 'sperienced hit pussonally, 
 hev yu? Hits made pow'fully agin our famerly, an 
 all owin tu dad. I orter bust my head open agin a 
 bluff ove rocks, an' jis' wud du hit, ef I warnt a cussed 
 coward. All my yeathly 'pendence is in these yere 
 laigs — d've see 'em? Ef they don't fail, I may turn 
 human _an day, that is sorter human, enuf tu be a 
 Squire? or school cummisiner. Ef I wer jis' es smart 
 es I am mean, an' ornary, I'd be President ove a "Wild 
 Cat Bank in less nor a week. Is sperrits plenty over 
 wif yu?" 
 
\y 
 
 OLD BURNS'S BULL-RIDE. 
 
 Well, now, George, while yu am waitin' fur yer 
 chain-kerriers, I'll tell yu how old Burns flnish'd that 
 onspeakable Bull-ride, an' how I won my race agin all 
 his sons, thar houns, an the neighborhood ginirally- 
 Well, arter he got outen the lane, they struck a piece 
 ove timber Ian', an' thar he los' his baskit. Then he 
 betuck hissef tu onwindin the rope ofen the bull's ho'ns, 
 an' wrapp'd hit roun his lef han. 
 
 Now es hit happens, Squire Mills hes a bull too — a 
 mons'rous fitin, cross ole cuss, what hes the Frog Moun- 
 tain fur his surkit this year. He jis' goes whar he 
 durn'd please, an' thinks he is the bes' man in the 
 range. He happen'd tu be browsin about in this piece 
 ove woods, an' hearin ole Sock a-bellerin, tuck hit fur 
 a challenge ; so he raked up sum dirt wif his huff, an' 
 sprinkild hit over his back ; then he dug sum outen a 
 bank wif his ho'ns, an' smelt ove hit ; then he tuck a 
 twis' ur two intu his tail, an' histed hit, an' felt hissef 
 then ready fur activ sarvice. 
 
 Ole Sock an' his rider cum in site a-tarin, an' they 
 smelt each uther. Both wer dead game an' mad, so a 
 
OLD BURNS'S BULL-RIDE. 99 
 
 big fite wer morrily durn'd certin. Es soon es old 
 Burns seed tuther bull, he onderstood adzackly what 
 wer a-cumin, an' when ; so he leaned hissef back ontu 
 the rope pow'ful, till he pull'd the stirrup loops tight 
 ontu his feet, an' hauled ole Sock's nose an' lip 'way 
 up atween his eyes by the ring, sorter like bustin 
 a rawhide outen a rat wif a ho'n hook. His face look'd 
 like hit wer skin'd, ur a dead beef's head on a live 
 bull's body. He wer the wust lookin cow brute, in the 
 face, yu ever seed, an' hit made his bellerin soun like 
 he hed the rattils. But in spite ove all this, he steamed 
 strait ahead fur the inemy. He didn't keer a durn fur 
 enything, since his intercourse wif the bees, an' his 
 mistification in the baskit 
 
 Ole Burns cumenced snatchin brush frum the trees, 
 fust one side an' then tuther, es he pass'd, an' then wa- 
 rm ove em out over the inside ove ole Sock's histed 
 lip, squar down atwix his ho'ns. Es fas' es he wore em 
 out, he wud snatch fur more ; he's jis' the bes' man fur 
 usin baskits ur brush in an emargincy I ever seed. 
 How he'd thrive in a bad 'skeeter country ! They'd 
 never git in suckin distance ove him. But hit wer all 
 hard thrashin wasted. The bellerin-mersheans associa- 
 ted, ari they sot thar heads tugether like two drunk 
 locomotives wud. When they hit, down cum thai 
 tails, but they histed em agin in a moment, an' a-shakin 
 em at the pints, like they wanted tu git the dust outes 
 the har. The shock fotch ole Burns outen the dorg 
 
100 OLD BUBNS'S BULL-RIDE. 
 
 wood saddil, an' ontu the naik ; but he craw-fish'd back 
 durn'd quick, an' never stopt his thrashin ove em over 
 thar heads an' eyes fur one momunt The nex time 
 they mix'd, they cum by guess wif thar eyes shot, fur 
 fear ove that perpetul-motion brush. Hit jis' rain'd 
 brush, well mix'd wif sum orful off-han' cussin. 
 
 The Mills bull's a mity smart critter, tu be only a 
 cow beas', an' h© preshiated adzactly ole Burns's power 
 wif a hanful ove brush. So while old Sock wer a 
 gwine thru a gran' charge blind, he tuck a circumben- 
 dibus roun, an' gin him Marcy's game on ole Fuss an' 
 Feathers — a-bustin hot fire in the rar. He jis' cum in 
 atween his hine laigs, an' burried his head an' ho'ns 
 thar onder a full run, a histin Sock's starn two foot clar 
 ove the yeath, an' rite then down cum his tail wif a 
 swish, an' he wer tuck along wheel-barrow fashun, ontu 
 his fore laigs, pow'ful agin his will an' cumfort, wif 
 the smellin aind ove his head draw'd higher nor ever 
 to'ards his curl, the brush-mershean in full blast, an' 
 gittin faster an' harder, an' ole Burns a-snatchin ove 
 more. The bellerin an' cussin wer mix'd now ni ontu 
 es ekal es a keerful man mixes whisky an' wartar, an 1 
 the mixtry made a mos' doleful soun. Ef you'd a 
 hearn hit at half a mile, yu wud a know'd thar wer 
 a heap ove hurtin an' rath a-gwine on whar hit cum 
 frum. 
 
 Ole Sock wer hurried on in this onnaterel an' onman- 
 erly manner over a fell pine tree, an' thar old Mills 
 

 
 
 *5 
 
 * 3 
 
 E'- 
 er a> 
 
 e ( 
 
 3? 
 
OLD BUKNS'S BULL-KIDE. 101 
 
 stopt, I spose tu see the effeck ove his new plan ove 
 fitein, an' thar he did a durn'd fool thing ; fur if he hed 
 a-kept that ar head ove hisn in clost communion wif 
 old Sock's stum, he wud been boun' tu spoke the 
 word afore long. But es hit wer, hit gin him time tu 
 turn roun' wif 'cumulated rath, the natrel bull fitein 
 way. 
 
 Ole Mills hed a holesum fear ove the steam brush- 
 mill, what Sock toted on his upper deck. So he cum 
 it bline agin, an' the nex time they met they miss'd, an' 
 the ho'n run onder old Burns's laig, an' atwix the rope 
 girth an' ole Sock's hide. He gin a twis an' busted the 
 girth, swung that misfortinat ole man an' the saddil 
 roun, an' then lent em a big hist. Up they went, sad- 
 dil fust, an' hit hung ontu the snag lim ove a ded pine, 
 jis' high enuf tu let ole Burns's hans sorter tetch groun'. 
 Thar he hung by the heels. 
 
 He sot in now, an' cussed in rale yearnis. He mixed 
 in a littil prayin wif hit now an' then, fur thar wer a 
 streak ove skeer in his mad, es he foun' hissef hung 
 hog-fashun, an' a par ove bulls a-fitein roun him. His 
 voice wer changed so yu wudent a-know'd 'im by hit ; 
 hit sounded like he wer down in a well, ur hed a locus' 
 in his throat. He bemoan'd his condishun pow'ful, 
 cuss'd Sicily awhile as the fas' cause, an' Clapshaw as 
 the secon' cause, an' then went way back twenty-five 
 years an' cussed hissef fur ever marryin at all, as that 
 wer the beginnin ove hit ; talked dredful tu hear 'bout 
 
102 OLD BTJRNs's BULL-RIDE. 
 
 Bhot-guns, hickory clubs, an' the devil's brimstone 
 works, a-mensunin my name often in these las' re- 
 marks. 
 
 I tell yu hit wer tremenjusly orful tu listen tu, cumin 
 frum a man ove famerly an' property, hung up by the 
 heels whar two dredful ole bulls wer at war. Wun got 
 a-runnin go ontu tuther, an' backed in agin the old 
 man pow'ful fas' ; they pushed him es fur es the rope 
 let em, an' tu make hit wus, he, a durn'd ole fool, 
 grabb'd a death holt ontu the tail, an' hilt on as long 
 as he cud stan' hit fur his ankils. At las' he let 
 go, an' away he swung — tick, tick, like a durn'd ole 
 clock, what wer behine time, an' wer a-tryin tu ketch 
 up agin ; an' him a-snatchin at the weeds, an' grass, a 
 fetchin handsful every swing — the prayin an' cussin 
 never slackin off fur enything. I tell yu he lies lots 
 ove san' in his gizzard ; he is the bes' pluck I ever 
 seed. 
 
 Well thar they fit, roun an' roun, tarin up the yeath 
 an' roots, an' bull meat ; he a-watchin em es well es he 
 cud wif his head down. Torreckly they cum agin frum 
 ahine, slather agin the ole feller, an' kerried 'im forrid 
 this time, an' not clock-fashun, sidewise. Jis' es soon 
 £s the stum ove the Mills bull totch 'im, he went fur tail 
 holt agin, an' by golly, he hilt hit this time ontil his 
 shoes cum off, an' he fell smack atop ove Mills, face tu 
 the tail. He tuck hissef good han' holt intu each ove 
 the flanks, an' locked his laigs roun the critter's naik 
 
 S 
 
OLD BUENOS BULL-RIDE 103 
 
 Oh [ durn 'im ! he is jis' es redy an' quick es a cat ; his 
 'rangemints wer made tu stay thar all nite, an' far fear 
 ove acksidents he tuck a good bill holt on the tail wif 
 his teeth. 
 
 Ole Mills now dident begin tu onderstan' what wer 
 atop ove 'im ; hit wer sumthin sartin what hed bof 
 
 claws an' teeth, an' painter, flash'd ontu his mine 
 
 wif all the force the bill holt ontu his tail cud give hit. 
 Dredful, dredful tho't ! His pluck wilted, an' he jis' 
 turn'd tail tu the battil groun, an' went aimin fur North 
 Caliney, ole Sock a-trottin arter 'im, sorter keerless 
 like. 
 
 Now the ticklin intu his flanks, the chokin roun' 
 his naik, an' the steel trap sprung ontu his tail, did dis- 
 cumfort 'im pow'ful. He jis' mizzild. Every few 
 jumps, he'd giv a hurried hurtin short beller, an' kick 
 bof heels es hi es he cud ; but ole Burns wer thar, still 
 thar. By golly, golly, he wer groivd thar. He struck 
 the river at a pint whar the bluff wer sixty feet high, 
 abuv warter thuty foot deep. Durn'd ef ever he tho't 
 even ove measurin hit, but jis' loped over head down, 
 an' ove course the ole man wer gwine tail down. Jis' 
 es soon es he seed the warter onder 'im, quick es a cat 
 agin, he sot in tu climbin the tail, overhandid ; but hit 
 warn't eny use, George, fur they bof went outen site, 
 jis' bustin the river plum open. The las' part gwine 
 onder wer one ove Burns's hans a-huntin roun 1 fur 
 more tail tu climb. I never seed sich waves in the 
 
104 . OLD BURNS'S BULL-RIDE. 
 
 Oconee afore ur since, an' the bluff wer wet tu the top, 
 an' draps ove warter wer fallin off the cedars on hits 
 brow. 
 
 Thinks I, great Jemimy ! will they never cum up ? 
 Arter a long time, up popp'd the ole man, already a- 
 headin fur this shore, an' away yander, the bull ris 
 ho'ns fus, an' he aim'd fur tuther bank. They bof 
 crawl'd out, lay down in the san' an' eyed each uther 
 acrost the ruver. If iether ove em ho'nd up a mossel 
 ove dirt, I dident see em du hit ; but jis' took hit out 
 in restin, watchin each uther, an' 'vengeful tho'ts. 
 That man an' that bull wer mortul inemys fur life. 
 
 His sons foun' ole Burns, an' haul'd 'im home ontu a 
 sled, kivered wif straw an' a bed-quilt. Mills's bull 
 sought hissef aunther suckit, an' becum es morril es a 
 draft-steer. Ole Sock becum more depraved, an' run 
 wile in the mountins, an' I is jis' about es I wer, the 
 durndes' fool in the mess. 
 
 I jis' hearn frum ole Burns yesterday. He am pow- 
 erful bad off; made his will, a-cuttin off old Sock wif 
 a shillin, leavin Sicily an' me his maladickshuns, (what 
 am they eny how ?) an' fifty dullurs in trus' in ole Bul- 
 len's hans fur the cumpasmint ove my death. To ole 
 Clapshaw, he's lef fifteen feet ove new hemp rope, an' 
 tu his wife, an' ole Missis Clapshaw, a dullar tu buy 
 asnick. 
 
 Then thinkin the bissines ove this world dun, he jis f 
 went plum crazy — crazy es a bed-bug in July ; talks 
 
OLD BUENS'S BtJLL-RIDE. 105 
 
 nuffin but nonsince ; sez the house is upside down ; 
 hears bees a humin ove nights, an' sees hole droves 
 ove bulls a-ntein all day ; an' that I is a-standin atop 
 ove the bureau, wif a baskit ove bees, a flingin hanfuls 
 at his hed every time he looks tuther way — -jis' turn'd 
 dam fool, that's all. 
 
 All the old quilts ove wimen, an' the old soggy men 
 roun thar' visits 'im. The wimen fans 'im, fixes the 
 bed close, an' biles yarbs fur 'im ; an' the men iles his 
 bruses, an' poltusis his body. Ole Missis Burns is 
 mad as a ho'net bout that asnick claws in his will, an' 
 won't cum a-nigh him ; sez she lies plenty ove swellins 
 ove her own tu swage, an' haint time tu waste on no 
 durn'd old ongrateful murderin fool. An' strange tu 
 tell, George, she sticks tu me ; sez I am the bes' ove 
 the lot ; sez, too, that I haint one half es durn'd a fool 
 es ole Burns, an' ten times more ove a Cristshun than 
 Clapshaw. Wonder ef hit kin be possabil that 'oman 
 is right ? One thing am sartin, she am my frien'. 
 
 Well, the vardick ove the neighborhood wer, that I 
 
 wer the cause ove all the hole thing. Greater injestice 
 
 wer never dun ; fur all that I did in the worild, wer 
 
 jist tu help ole Sock git a few grains ove shatter'd co'n, 
 
 by liftin the baskit over his ho'ns ; an' when I did hit, 
 
 the fuss warn't begun a tall. Arter'ards, I did nuffin 
 
 but stan clar ove danger, an' watch things happen. 
 
 When they tuck the vote on hu wer the cause, every 
 
 durn'd one ove em voted "Sut," 'scept Sicily an' he J 
 5* 
 
106 OLD BUENS'S BULL-KIDE. 
 
 mam. Sicily voted " bull an' bees ;" her mam voted 
 " Clapshaw." 
 
 Well, they all got tugether, beaded bj Burns's two 
 big fox-huntin sons, an' tuck my case in ban'. The fust 
 tbing I know'ct, tbey wer ontu my trail, bosses, bouns, 
 bo'ns, muskits, shot-guns, cur dorgs, an' all. Now my 
 superfine runnin begun. I 
 
 Arter a long time, I seed frum a bigb pint that one 
 ove tbe bouns, down the mountin below me, wer a 
 great way abead ove everything else, an' wud soon 
 cum up wif tbe slack ove my britches, so I waited fur 
 'im ; when he bulged fur my throat, I reached fur hisn, 
 flung 'im down, slit a hole in each year, an' run his 
 hine laigs thro 'em over the hock, gin 'im sum cumfor* 
 tin advice wif a keen hickory, an' laid 'im down ontu 
 my trail — he did look powerful, sorry far what he had 
 dun — an' then I went tu travelimagin. When the bal- 
 lunce ove the dorgs cum up, (human like,) they all 
 pitched into the poor helpless devil, an' when the two- 
 laiged dorgs cum up, he wer a-pas' prayin fur, at leas' 
 ha'f a mile. I beat em so bad, my trail got too cold tu 
 foller. That's what 1 calls runnin. I feels, tho', George, 
 like my time mos' cum. Fifty dullars am a heap ove 
 money, an' the mos' ove the wimen am agin me ; that's 
 the danjerus part ove hit. 
 
 CC'se a goner I 'speck, an' I jis don't keer a durn. I'm 
 count, no how. Jis' look at me ! Did yu ever see 
 sich a sampil ove a human afore? I feels like I'd be 
 
OLD BUENS'S BULL-RIDE. 107 
 
 glad tu be dead, only I'se feard ove the dyin. I don't 
 keer fur herearter, fur hits onpossibil far me tu hev ara 
 soul. Who ever seed a soul in jis' sich a rack heap 
 ove bones an' rags es this ? I's nufnn but sum new- 
 fangil'd sort ove beas', a sorter cross atween a crazy 
 ole monkey an' a durn'd wore-out hominy-mill. I is 
 one ove dad's explites at ma kin cussed fool inven- 
 shuns, an' cum afore my time. I blames him fur all 
 ove hit, allers a-tryin tu be king fool. He hes a heap 
 tu count fur, George — a heap. 
 
THE SNAKE-BIT IfcMMM* 
 
 " What have you got there, Sut ?" 
 
 " Nuffin but a rattil-tail suake ; he's got livin rattils. 
 I kill'd him a-cumin tu camp on the spur thar. He 
 made me mind what happened tu a durn'd tater-eatin 
 Irishman las' fall in these yere mountins, an' I wanted 
 tu tell hit tu yu. So I fotch him along, tu keep me 
 frum forgittin hit. Now ef I wer that ar durn'd Paddy, 
 yu mout jis' bet that hoss ove yur'n, I wudent hev tu 
 tote a snake tu keep that ar scrape in mind. He's in 
 Irishdum now ef he kep his oath, whar thar's no 
 snakes, an' yet I'll swar he dreams ove em an' prays 
 agin em ove nights, an's watchin fur em an' a-cussin ove 
 em ove days, an' will keep up that habit till the devil 
 sends a supener fur him, even ef the ole feller waits 
 seventy-five years fust. 
 
 " If yu cud see that shovel-totin, pipe-smokin, raskil's 
 
 * This etory was originally prepared for, and published in the 
 New York Spirit of the Times, when that splendid paper was under 
 the control of the lamented William T. Porter. Having lost the 
 original draft, it has been re-written from memory and adapted to 
 the genius of "Sut." 
 
THE SNAKE-BIT IRISHMAN. 109 
 
 gizzard, yu'd fine the picter ove a big snake branded 
 intu hit es deep es we brands muels. 
 
 " Sum three ur four clever fellers frum Knoxville 
 fix'd tharselves up fur a camp hunt ove a cupple ove 
 weeks out yere, an' they met up wif me, an' pinted out 
 two kaigs tied across a muel's back, an' told me tu 
 smell at the bunghole. I follered em wifout ara halter. 
 "We camp't jist tuther side that high pint yu see yan- 
 der, an wer gittin on fust rate, killin lots ove deer an' 
 sich like, when wun nite here cum that cussed Irish- 
 man, wif a bundil ontu the aind ove a stick, an' jis' 
 tuck up boardin wif us, never so much es even lookin 
 tu see ef he wer welcum. He et, an' drunk, an' slep't 
 thar, es cumfortabil es ef he own'd this country, an' wer 
 the sassyest, meddelsumest, mos' imperdint son ove a 
 diggin-mersheen I ever seed, allers 'sceptin a young 
 suckit rider, ur a duck-laig'd Jew. Sez Jedge Alexan- 
 der tu me : 
 
 " 'Sut, ef yu'll manage tu run that raskil off frum 
 yere I'll gin ye a par ove boots.' 
 
 " Sez I, jumpin tu my feet, ' I'll du hit, durn'd ef I 
 don't! jis' wait till nite.' 
 
 " ' Now,' sez the kind-hearted Jedge, Sut, yu must- 
 n't hurt the poor feller, mine that; but I want him 
 skared away frum this camp.' 
 
 " Sez I, ' All the hurtin he'll git will cum frum skeer. 
 i" won't hurt him, but I specks the skeer may du hit ; 
 my sperience (an' hits sum on the nater an' workin ove 
 
110 THE SNAKE-BIT IRISHMAN. 
 
 skeers) is, Jedge, that the hurtin cumin outen a big 
 ripe skeer, jis' can't be beat on top ove this yeath, eny- 
 how. Hoss- whips, yaller jackits, an' fire, haint no- 
 whar. Yu wants him skeer'd clean away frum thia 
 camp. Now s'pose I happens tu put in a leetle too 
 much powder, an' skeer him plum outen the United 
 States — what then?' 
 
 " Sed he, larfin, ' I won't indite yu ; jis' go ahead. 
 Sut.' 
 
 " I fix'd things. 
 
 "Well, nite cum, an' arter we hed lay down, Irish 
 stole hissef anuther suck outen the barlm ove life kaig, 
 an' cum an' jis' rooted his way in atween me an' Jim, 
 an' fix'd hissef fur a big sleep, went at hit imejuntly, 
 an' sot up a systim ove the infunelest snorin yu ever 
 hearn ; hit wer the dolefulest, skeeriest soun ever blown 
 outen a human nose. The cussed allfired ole poshole 
 digger snored in Irish ! 
 
 " Now I hed cut off ni ontu about nine foot ove gut, 
 frum the offal ove a big buck what wer kill'd that day, 
 an' I tied the ainds wif twine, tu keep in the truck what 
 wer intu hit, an' sunk hit in the krick, so es tu hev hit 
 good cold. I ris up rite keerful, put on the Jedge's 
 spurs, got me a long black-thorn, an' greazed hit wif 
 hog's fat outen the skillet. I fotch the gut up frum the 
 krick, an' wer ready tu begin the sponsibil work I hed 
 on han. The tater-eater hed a hole inter the sittin 
 down part ove his britches, an' his shut tail hed cum 
 
THE SNAKE-BIT IRISHMAN. Ill 
 
 oaten hit tu git sum fresh ar. I tied wun aind ove thai 
 orful gut tite an' fas' tu the ole coarse shut-tail, arj' 
 quiled up the gut nice an' snake-like, clost tu him es 
 he lay. I lay'd down agin, an' reached down my han 
 wif the black-thorn in hit till I got in stickin distunce 
 ove his starn. I felt fur a saft place, an' jis' socked in 
 the thorn about a inch, four ur five times, 'bout es fas' 
 es a ho'net ken sting when he hesn't much time tu 
 spar, an' a big job ove stingin tu du sumwhar else. 
 Every time I socked in that thorn, I raked him up an' 
 down the shins wif them Mexican spurs. I hearn them 
 rattilin ontu his shin-bones like buckshot in a bottil, 
 an' I wer a-hollerin — yu cud hearn me a mile — ' snake ! 
 snake ! big snake ! oh, lordy ! oh, lordee ! a big copper- 
 headed black rattil-snake is crawlin up my britches, up 
 bof laigs, an' is a-tyin hissef intu a double bow-knot 
 roun my body. Help ! Lordee, oh !' 
 
 " The rest on 'em hed the hint, an' all wer shoutin 
 ' Snake ! snake ! big snake !' es I did. ISTow hits not 
 onreasonabil tu tell that this hurtin an' noise woke 
 Paddy purty eshenshully all over, an' all et onst tu. 
 
 " He slaped down his hans each side ove hissef tu 
 help 'im tu rise, an' laid one ove 'em fiat ontu the nice 
 cold quile ove gut. He went ofen that pallet an' outen 
 that camp jis' like a sparrer-hawk starts tu fly frum the 
 soun ove a shot-gun, an' he lit twenty foot out in the 
 dark, a-straitnin out that gut ontil the string on the hin- 
 mos' aind snapped like ontu a 'cussion cap. Es he 
 
112 THE SNAKE-BIT IBISHMAN. 
 
 went, his words wer — ' Howly mither ove Jayzus !' an 1 
 he sot inter runnin in a sirkil ove about fifty yards 
 thru the brush, roun an' aroun the camp, a-makin meny 
 surjestshuns, an prayers, an' uther dierbolical souns. 
 ' Shute the long divil ! Shute all ove yees, but don't 
 aim et his head ! Och Shint Patherick ! oh, Howly 
 Vargin ! Can't nun ove yees ketch 'im ? Stop him ! 
 Och howly wather ! how swate he's a-bitin ! I tell yees 
 he's got me by me bottum, an' he's a-mendin his hoult ! 
 Praist, praist, pope, praist! Howly wather! praist, 
 och, och ! Fitch me a cross — a big cross ! bring me 
 me bades, me bades ! The divil's own son is a-aitin in 
 strait fur me kednays.' 
 
 " In one ove his sarkits, he run thru the embers ove 
 the camp-fire, an' the string at the aind ove the gut hed 
 kotch, an' wer a-burnin like a slow match. Paddy hed 
 ventered tu peep over his shoulder, an' seed hit a-bob- 
 bin about arter him ; he got a bran new idear onder 
 his har. ' Och ! Howly Jayzus ! he'll ait now as he 
 plazes ; he's a-totin a lite tu see how tu bite by.' 
 
 " The very thought ove hit made him ni ontu dubbil 
 his speed. He tore thru that brush thicket like a bull 
 wif honey-bees arter him, an' made more nise than a 
 hoss a-doin the same work at the same speed, an' onder a 
 like skeer. I wer up ontu a stump, a-hollerin ' Snake 1 
 snake ! snake !' es regular es a steamboat snorts, an' in 
 a orful voice, like I hed a Jew's-harp in my froat 
 
 " Arter he'd run ni ontu a mile in that sirkil, an' hed 
 
THE SNAKE-BIT IRISHMAN. 113 
 
 broke a good sweat, an' when his back wer to'ards the 
 camp, I bellered out : 
 
 " ' Fling away yer spade ; hit makes agin yu,' 
 
 " I wish I may be dodrabbited ef he didn't go thru 
 the moshuns ove flingin a spade back'ards over his 
 head. He thought he hed his spade, sure ea yu ar 
 born'd. See what a skeer kin du in mixin up the 
 idears ove a critter what sorter leans to'ards bein a dam 
 fool, enyhow. Then I hollered, ' Go in a strait line an' 
 out-run yer snake, yu infunelly durn'd fool !' Tnat 
 idear happened tu go strait tu his brains afore hit tan- 
 gled, an' Pat tuck me at my word, an' wer outen site 
 in the shake ove a lamb's tail. In about a half minit, 
 
 way over ontu the nex ridge, I hearn ' Howly Jay ' 
 
 an' hit wer so far off I cudent hear the aind ove the 
 word. 
 
 " Nex day he wer makin a bee line thru town, to'ards 
 the East, in a stiff, short, dorg-trot, an' lookin like he'd 
 been thru a smut-mersheen. A feller hail'd 'im : 
 
 " ' Hollo, Pat, which way !' 
 
 " He looked slowly roun wifout stoppin, wif a hang- 
 dorg sorter face, an' a-feelin a-hine him wif one han, 
 he growl'd out a word fur every step he tuck — 
 
 " ' Strate tu swate Ireland, wher ther's no snakes.' 
 
 " An dam ef I don't b'leve he kep his word. I got 
 two par ove boots, an' ole tangle-foot whisky enui tu 
 fill 'em." 
 
EAVES-DROPPING A LODGE OF FREE- 
 MASONS. 
 
 "Sut, when you were telling the razor-grinder's 
 story, what did you mean by saying that Lum Jones 
 hid out from the mason's?" 
 
 "Now durn your littil sancterfied face, yu knows 
 mity well why he hid out. Yu an' Lum wer the fellers 
 what did hit, an' this crowd orter make yu tell ur treat. 
 I think yu orter du bof." 
 
 " The crowd " insisted on the story, so I commenced 
 in my way to tell it somewhat thus : 
 
 " Those who remember Knoxville thirty -five years 
 ago, must still almost see 'the old stone Court-house,' 
 with its steep gable front to the street ; its dispropor- 
 tionately small brick chimney, roosting on the roof at 
 the rear; its well-whittled door-jambs, its dusty win- 
 dows, its gloomy walls and ghostly echoes. Then its 
 history, crime unveiled, the ingenious defence, the pow- 
 erful prosecution, the eloquent 'charge,' the tears of 
 sorrow, the flashes of wit ; but like the sturdy old 
 Court-house itself, they belong to the past. But even 
 now, and here in the thickening twilight, I see gliding 
 
EAVES-DROPPING A LODGE OF FREE-MASONS. 115 
 
 past in misty ranks, the forms of Jackson, Hn Lawson 
 White, the Williamses, the Dunlaps, Haywood, Peck, 
 Powell, McKinny, Pleasant Miller, the Andersons, Car- 
 rick "White and Mynott Scott. In my boyish eyes they 
 seemed giants, and manhood's more discriminating gaze 
 sees them undiminished. The quiet grave has long 
 ago claimed the last of the band, but memory pre- 
 serves their fame, and deeds of well-doing. There too, 
 is ' College Hill,' with its clear cool spring at the foot. 
 The ' Bluff,' with its triple echo, the ' Flag Pond,' and 
 its sunny-sided inhabitants, ' Old Aunt Edy's cakes and 
 beer, the white mill and its dripping dam, Scuffietown 
 Crick, and its walnut-trees, ' the Dardis lot, and its for- 
 bidden grapes,' ' Witt's old field, and its forbidden black- 
 berries,' the 'old church,' and its graveyard. 'Tis 
 strange how faithfully memory paints the paths and 
 places belonging to our boyhood — happy, ragged, 
 thoughtless boyhood. The march of improvement first, 
 then the march and crash of armies, have nearly swept 
 away those, to me, almost sacred places. But they and 
 those who 'were boys then,' still have a place in mem- 
 ory that time nor distance can take, nor the pressing, 
 crowding, bloody events of now dim, nor sorrow obliter- 
 ate with its tears " 
 
 "Oh, komplikated dumashun! that haint hit," said 
 Sut. " Yu's drunk, ur yure sham'd tu tell hit, an' so 
 yu tries tu put us all asleep wif a mess ove durn'd 
 uonsince, 'bout echo's, m grapes, an' warnit trees ; oh, 
 
116 EAVES-DROPPING A LODGE OF FREE-MASONS. 
 
 yu be durn'd ! Boys, jis' gin me a hoult ove that ai 
 wilier baskit, wif a cob in bits mouf, an' tbat ar tin cup, 
 an' arter I'se spunged my froat, I'll talk bit all off in 
 English, an' yu. jis' watch an' see ef I say ' echo,' Ml 
 'grapes,' ur 'graveyard ' onst." 
 
 So Sut told it his way. 
 
 " Ahem ! I takes fur my tex, the fac' that eaves- 
 drappin am a durn'd mean sorter way tu make a livin. 
 Hits es bad es stealin frum blind folks, ur tellin lies on 
 widders ; an' hit hes hits retribushun, a orful wun, an' 
 yu'd all (not scept George thar) say so when I'se dun. 
 
 " The upstars ove that Court-hous' wer one big rume, 
 plastered over-head wif three quarter plank, an' no 
 floor ontu the jists in the loft abuv. The masons hed 
 fenced off a lodge in wun corner. The trap-door intu 
 the lof, wer jis' outside hit, an' a ladder cum down 
 clost by hits side, an' landed jis' a littil short ove the 
 door intu the lodge. So yu got tu the lof frum what 
 wer lef ove the big rume, an' jis' outside the mason den. 
 
 "Well, Lum an' George, thar, wer pow'fully ex- 
 ercised 'bout hit — wanted tu know the secret pow'ful 
 bad — hit pester'd 'em ni ontu es bad es the eatch. So 
 they conkluded arter much fastin an' prayin, in thar 
 way, that they'd evedrop 'em. 
 
 " Now they wer about, say thuteen years ole, an' jis* 
 two ove the durndest littil back-slidin devils outen jail. 
 Warn't much alike either. Lum, allers a/ore he did emf 
 4evilmint, studied out keerfully what wput happen ef 
 
EAVES-DKOPPING A LODGE OF FEEE-MASONS. 117 
 
 he did hit. George studied too, but hit wer allers arter 
 the deed wer dun, an' the orful consekences clost arter 
 him. 
 
 " Well, wun day 'bout sundown, they crawl'd up on- 
 benowen tu enybody inter the lof, an' clar tu the 
 tuther aind furthest frum the lodge room, an' trap-door, 
 an' lay pow'ful low, waitin fur night an' the masons. 
 Lots ove pidgeons cum in tu roost, an' as hit got dark, 
 their ' boo coo ah ! coo-ooin ! sorter made the littil 
 devils think ove thar trundil beds and the light at 
 home. In fac' a big onmitigated skeer wer a-settilin 
 like ontu a fog all over 'em, an' onder thar shuts at 
 that ; but they didn't own hit tu each uther yet a- while. 
 Well, arter hit got good dark outside, hit wer es black 
 inter that durn'd ole hanted loft, es hit wud be tu a 
 bline flea on a black catskin, onder the fur, an' hit on- 
 der forty bushil ove wet charcoal dust. 
 
 " The ole Socks ove the cumpus an' squar persuashun 
 begun tu gether in, an' sartin nises cummenced tu soak 
 up thru the ceilin — sich nises ! oh, lordy ! — groanin 
 nises, chokin nises, crunchin nises, ugly nises, orful nises 
 mix'd wif sum discumfurtin souns, not much loud, but 
 dredful plain, an' sure skeer-gitters, the las' one eve em. 
 " Torrectly they hearn sumthin like twenty foot ove 
 trace chain drap, aind fust on the floor, cherrash ! 
 Their skeer now broke out good all over em in 
 splotches es big es a craddil quilt, an' git outen this loft 
 wer the only idear lef in thar head, ' Let's go home/ 
 
118 EAVES-DROPPING A LODGE OF FREE-MASONS. 
 
 sed wun ; ' Oh, lordy yas !' sed tuther ; an' they started 
 fur the trap-door, a-steppin frum jise tu jise, quiet an' 
 quick es cats. 
 
 " The ole ruff wer leakin fur a long time, an' the 
 drip hed rotted the ceilin about in spots, an' wun ove 
 these spots wer rite plum over the middil ove the 
 lodge ; when they got thar, Lum he happen'd tu step 
 jis' a littil too short, an' he lit ontu the doated ceilin 
 insted ove the jise. Did yu ever hear a cart-load ove 
 brickbats dumpt'd ontu a pile ove clapboards frum the 
 top ove a high bank ? Ef yu did, yu then hearn sum- 
 thin ni ontu the soun he made gwine thru that ceilin. 
 Hit jis' rain'd rotten wood, nails, mud-daubers' nests, 
 chips, spiders, an' thar webs, black bugs, was' nests, an' 
 ole dust all over that lodge ove barheaded masons. 
 
 " Now they keeps thar secrets pow'ful well, fur most 
 on 'em tu be married men, yet hit sorter leak'd 
 out that they unanamusly an' individully thort that 
 hit wer the anti-masons, ole Morgin, ur the devil, 
 a-cumin down ontu 'em frum way abuve the roof, an' 
 a-bringin wif 'em all the trash frum Kenneday's saw- 
 mill. They huddled tugether intu wun corner, an' 
 star'd up et the forkid fernomonon, what wer a-hangin 
 in the hole, fur Lum hed cotch wif his arms over the 
 two nighes' jise, an' wer a-reachm an' a-feelin all roun 
 in the air, es far es he cud, wif his laigs spred out like a 
 par ove cooper's cumpuses, fur sumthin tangerbil, sum- 
 thin like ontu a foot-holt, ur sick, 
 
EAVES— DEOPPING A LODGE OF FEEE-MASOXS. 
 
 "They huddled together into wun corner, an' star'd up et the forkid femotnenon, wot 
 wor a-hongin' in the hoi*." Page 118, 
 
EATES-DROPPING A LODGE OF FREE-MASONS. 119 
 
 " Great Beltashashur ! [and Sut stretched his legs to 
 their utmost extent, knocking his feet together, and 
 affectionately surveying them from hip to toe,] spose 
 this yere par ove litnin-rods hed been hung thru that 
 hole, an' es big a skeer at the top ove em es wer a-restin 
 on Lum ! Why, I'll jis' be durn'd rite yere afore I kin 
 swaller this ho'n, ef I hadn't a swept the las' cockroach 
 outen the corners ove that room, broke all the winders, 
 haf the masons' necks, put out the candils, disparsed the 
 jewils, los' the mallits an' call'd that ar lodge frum 
 labor tu refreshmint furever more. I'd a-made em 
 reach everywhar, afore a quick-spoken 'oman cud say 
 'kiss,' wudnH I? 
 
 " Well, es it wer, Lum's fat latter aind looked like 
 ontu a yearlin's paunch a-swingin about, what hed died 
 pow'ful full ove grass an' wheat bran. His britches 
 wer draw'd so tite that the hems ove em wer six inches 
 abuv his knees. His short socks an' low-quarter'd 
 shoes made his red laigs look like two bedpostes sock'd 
 intu the pipe hole ove a par ove cookin-stoves, an' a 
 skeer'd divil intu the oven ove each stove, they husteled 
 roun so fas'. 
 
 " Ole Stack seed the true nater ove the fernomonon 
 afore eny ove the res' ove em. So he snatched a long 
 strip ove the broken ceilin plank, es broad es a canew 
 paddil at wur aind, in bof hans, an' jis busted hit intu 
 seventeen an' a 'alf pieces at wun swollopin lick ontu 
 the part ove Lum, what fits a saddil. Hit crack'd sor 
 
120 EAVES-DBOPPING A LODGE OP FEEE-MASONS. 
 
 ter like a muskit a-bustin, an' the tetchin sensashun 
 shot Lum up thru the hole like a rocket." 
 
 Here Sut raised himself slightly from the log on 
 which he was sitting, by the aid of his hands each side, 
 and rubbing himself sidewise quickly, a few times on 
 rough bark, said, with an air of startled surprise, "Boys, 
 I'm durn'd ef I can't feel Lum's sensashun frum that 
 orful lick rite now /" and he rubbed himself again. 
 
 " Well, him an' George bulged down that ar ladder 
 like rats wif a tarrier clost tu thar tails, an' at the foot ove 
 hit they met a sight — oh, sweet Jinny ! how glad I is I 
 warn't thar ! Thar sot a littil tabil wif a lit candil onxu 
 hit, an' thar stood, bolt up on aind, a grim, grey -haired 
 man, wif a glitterin drawn swoard in his han, es big an' 
 as long es a mowin blade ; ontu his breas' wer a par ove 
 littil silver crooked bowie-knives cross'd, an' he wore a 
 aprun like he wer gwine tu butcher ur cook supper. 
 They look'd at this, jis' 'bout es long es a weazel looks 
 at a cumin rock, an' they went a-scizzin pas', George 
 hinmos'. 
 
 "The ole man made a wicked cirklin lick at him wif 
 his orful nakid wepun. ' Voop,' hit went, an' cut the 
 flat crown outen his cap, smoof es yu cud onkiver a 
 huckleberry pie wif a case-knife." 
 
 "That part's not true, Mr. Sut," said I. 
 
 " Yes hit am, fur yu see he dun hit so slick that the 
 crown whirl'd roun like a tin plate in the ar, six foot 
 abuv yer hed, went faster nui yu did, an' lit afore yu, 
 
EAVES-DROPPING A LODGE OF FREE-MASONS. 121 
 
 es yu flew down stars fas' es yu wer gwine. Oh, littil 
 hoss, he did du hit, an 'ef he'd lower'd his sites jis' a 
 scrimpshun he'd a- saved a pow'ful site ove meat an' 
 bread frum befn wasted, an' cnrius pepil wud a-been 
 now a-readin ove yur vartu's frum a lyin stone news- 
 paper stuck in the yeath ove the graveyard yu wer 
 a-blatherin about jis' now. 
 
 " An I haint told all, fur in yer skeer a-gwine away 
 frum that orful place, yu run over the spot whar a 
 fancy hous' 'bout five foot squar hed been upsot, 
 slunged in up tu yur eyebrows, amungst the slush in the 
 hole, broke fur the krick, lunged in, onbuttoned yer shut 
 collar, dove plum thru that ar crownless cap — hit cum 
 oicn yer heels like a hoop — swum outen yer clothes, 
 an' jis' let every durn'd rag float away, an' then went 
 home es nakid es a well-scraped hog, but not half es 
 clean. The pepil what yu passed on yer way tu the 
 krick tho't yu wer the cholery a-cumin, an' burn't tar 
 in thar yards an' stuff'd ole rags onder thar doors, an' 
 intu the keyholes ; an' es yu sneaked back nakid frum 
 the krick, they tho't yu wer the ghost ove a skin'd bull- 
 frog, ur a forewarnin ove cumin famin. 
 
 " Yu see hit wer Lum what foun the saft soap mine 
 an' went tu the krick tu see what ©orter suds hit wud 
 make. Now jis' let enybody ax Lum an' see ef he 
 don't say hit wer yu, afore they'se dun axin him, an' 
 offer tu prove hit by Frank Dudley — try hit. 
 
 "Lum narrates hit that the masons' secret konsista 
 
122 EAVES-DROPPING A LODGE OF FREE-MASONS. 
 
 in a piece ove dry plank wif a strong, willin man at 
 wun aind, an' about thuty pounds ove live, tender, 
 thin-skin'd meat ni ontu tuther ; while yu sez hit am 
 nuthin but a hole in the groun, what orter be kivered 
 up ove nights ; yu bof orter know. 
 
 " Now I hes jis' wun remark tu make afore I drinks, 
 an' hit am this : neither ove em hes ever tried tu watch 
 eny thing in the dark since, an' jis' let wun ove em, 
 even tu this night, see a cumpus ur a squar, ef hits 
 even a-lyin ontu a carpenter's bainch, an' I'm durn'd ef 
 they don't hist thar noses an' take a sniff ove the air 
 all roun wif thar bristils sot. They s'pishions danger. 
 I don't blame em, du yu ? Thar's no muny nur credit 
 either, in evedroppin ; they'se bof sot agin hit, an' they 
 haint fear'd tu say so." 
 
TAURUS IN LYNCHBURG MARKET. 
 
 " Daddy kill'd the blind bull, 
 
 Human nater, human nater ! 
 " Mammy fried a pan full, 
 
 Sop an' tater, sop an' tater." 
 
 " Stop that noise Sut, I can't sleep." 
 
 "Nize? "Well, I be durn'd ! Calls superfine singin 
 ove a hart-breakin luv song, what's purtier bj a gallun 
 an' a 'alf, than that cussed fool thing yu wer a-readin, jis 
 arter supper 'bout the youf what toted a flag up a moun- 
 tin by hissef ove a nite, wif ' Exelcider ' writ ontu hit, 
 nize! Why, I speck yu'd call the singin ove the 
 cherrybeans, howlin. Yu be durn'd." 
 
 " That was no love song, you jackass, that you were 
 bawling just now." 
 
 " The devil hit warn't ! I hedn't got tu the luv 
 part Eatin allers goes jis' afore luv. 'Less a feller 
 hes his belly stretched wif vittils, he can't luv tu much 
 pupus, that's so. Yittils, whisky, an' the spring ove , 
 the year, is what makes luv ; an' yu jis' bring em all tu 
 bar tugether, an' yu'll see luv tu sum pupus, Tm 
 
124 TAURUS m LYNCHBURG MARKET. 
 
 durn'd if yu don't. Did yu ever try hit, wif a purty 
 gal sot on steel springs wif injun rubber heels, an 
 cinamint ile smell tu help yu ?" 
 
 "No; shut up!" 
 
 " Oh, yas, hit am onplesant tu yu, es the ole maid 
 sed when a gal kiss'd her ; hits sorter like smellin ole 
 Burbon thru a jail winder — aint jist the thing. 
 
 " Now yu's a cussin at my luv song, I wants tu say a 
 word about that ' Excelcider ' youf ove your'n, what 
 sum Longfeller writ. / say, an' I'll swar tu hit, that 
 eny feller, I don't keer hu the devil he is, what starts 
 up a mountin, kiver'd wif snow an' ise, arter sundown, 
 wif nuffin but a flag, an' no whisky, arter a purty gal 
 hed offer'd her bussum fur a pillar, in a rume wif a big 
 hath, kiver'd wif hot coals, an' vittils, [here Sut rose 
 to his tip-toes, and elevated his clenched fists high 
 above his head,] am a dod durn'd, complikated, full- 
 blooded, plum nat'ral born durn'd fool ; he warn'i. 
 smart enuf tu fine his mouf wifout a leadin string ; he 
 orter froze es stiff es a crow-bar, an' then been thaw'd 
 out by the devil ; dod durn him ! An' there's Lum 
 Jack yu tole about, darin the litenin." 
 
 " Ajax, I suppose you mean." 
 
 "Yas, ove cours; didn't I say so? An' he wer a 
 jack, ove the longes' year'd kine, fus', because eny fool 
 moat know the litenin wudn't mine him no more nur a 
 locomotum wud mine a tumble-bug. An' then, spose 
 hit hed met him dar, why durn me ef thar'd been a 
 
TAURUS IN LYNCHBURG MARKET. 125 
 
 scrimshun ove 'im lef big enuf tu bait a rninner hook 
 wif. 
 
 " Now I sets him down es wun ove the fore-daddys 
 ove the Lovingoods, sure. Our famerly am an' ole 
 wun. Dad used tu trace hit back tu Joseph in Yegipt, 
 an' he sed hit wer pufeckly useless tu hunt furder fur 
 better fool blood. I'se furgot what that feller's name 
 wer, hu's wife got his coat ! Hits no odds, he wer no 
 count, nohow. I sorter sumtimes thinks he mout been 
 the fust ove the unicks — poor 'oman ! 
 
 "Singin that song 'bout the bline bull, minds me 
 ove what happen' d tu me at Lynchburg, in ole Firginny. 
 Hits a town chock full ove clever fellers, an' jis' es few 
 nat'ral born durn'd fools as ever yu seed in any town. 
 A ole Dutchman bilt hit, an' sot hit up on hits aidge 
 tu dry. The Injuns chased him clean away, an' the 
 town stans on hits aidge tu this day. Sumtimes the 
 boys gits ontu a ' tare ' ove nites, an' tries tu upset hit 
 ontu hits side, but haint never got hit turn'd down 
 yet. 
 
 "A drovyer tuck sum hogs thar wunst frum Ten- 
 nessee, an' I foller'd his dorg the hole way. When I 
 got thar, I wer mon'sous shy an' keerful, fur thar aint 
 much good groun bout thar tu run on, ef a feller hap- 
 pen'd tu take a runnin skeer. 
 
 " Wun mornin I wer standin ni ontu the top ove the 
 hill, lookin roun stonish'd till I wer benum'd all over 
 at the sites. I seed, rite in the middil ove the street, a 
 
126 TAURUS IN LYNCHBURG MARKET. 
 
 hous' what mout been bilt fur a depot when railroads 
 wer jis' a-tasselin ; they warn't es far on es roasin-ear 
 time nohow, an' they foun hit too small at that; an' 
 hit sorter look't like wimen hed lived thar, an' the boys 
 hed stove in the sides an' ainds wif rocks, jis' leavin 
 the corners tu hole up the ruff. I larnt frum a nigger, 
 that hit wer a market hous, whar they sells oncook'd 
 vittils ove every kine, frum a rabbit tu a cow's laig, an 
 gardin truck tu kill. Hit wer plum fall. 
 
 " I wer wonderin my levil bes', keepin a skin'd eye 
 an' a open year fur trubbil ur a skeer, when I hearn a 
 tarin big fuss on tuther side, squawkin, cussin, hollerin, 
 an' a gineral soun ove things a-smashin, an' seed people 
 a-mixin tharsefs pow'ful, sorter like bees a-fixin tu 
 swarm. Thinks I, Look out Sut, hit am cumin ; hits 
 mos' time ; yu haint hed a skeer fur ni ontu three days 
 — when yere cum roun the corner ove the market house, 
 jis' a-tarin, a thuteen hunder' poun' black an' white 
 bull, wif his tail es strait up in the air es a telegraf 
 pole, an' a chesnut fence rail tied acrost his ho'ns wif 
 hickory withs. He wer a-totin his hed low, an' every 
 lick he made at eny pusson ur thing, he'd blow whoff, 
 outen his snout. He wer a citizen ove Amherst Coun- 
 ty, an' ove the Devonshear persuashun, an' mout a-hed 
 good standin at home far all I knows, but he wer actin 
 like a durn'd blackgard in Lynchburg, an' I b'leves he 
 wer one. 
 
 " I'se sorter fear'd tu try tu tell yu, George, the dev- 
 
TAURUS IN LYNCHBURG MARKET. 127 
 
 ilment that cussed infunel fool cow beaste wer a-doin. 
 He wer a-killin, smashin, ur spilin everything he toch 
 wif ho'ns, huffs, ur fence rail. He look'd like he wer 
 mad — 'suited an' plum crazy, an' gittin wus fas'. He'd 
 say whoff ! an' a hunder' an' sixty poun' nigger wud 
 fly up in the air like ontu a grasshopper, an' cum back 
 spread like a frog. Whoff! an' a fat she nigger wud 
 dart hanketcher aind fus' thru sumbody's glass win- 
 der. Whoff ! agin, an' a boy wud turn ten sumersets 
 towards the river. Whoff! an' a Amherst 'oman lil 
 a-straddil ove a ole fat feller's neck, wif a jolt whal 
 jumped his terbacker outen his mou^ an' scrunched 
 Am, while she went on down hill on all fours in a fos 
 trot. Whoff! an' a set ove hoops, an' a par ove black 
 stockins wif white garters, lit atop ove a kiver'd wag 
 gin an' slid down feet fus' on tuther side. 
 
 " A littil bal'-heded man, dress'd in gole specks an' 
 a gole-heded walkin stick, wer a-passin, an' duin nuf- 
 fin tu nobody ; he look'd like he wer a-cyferin out a 
 sum in the Qbrute, in his hed. Whoff ! an' the specks 
 lit on the ruff ove the market hous', an' the stick, gole 
 aind fus', sot in a milk can sixty foot off. As tu ball 
 head hissef, I los' site ove 'im while the specks wer in 
 the air ; he jis' disappear'd frum mortul vishun sumhow, 
 sorter like breff frum a lookin-glass. I wunders ef he 
 lef a widder. Smack ! an' the sides ove a milk can 
 cum tugether, an' a squt ove milk shot up, an' trickl'd 
 ofen the house eaves. Crash ! an' a baskit went way up 
 
128 TAURUS IN LYNCHBURG MARKET. 
 
 yander, an' then hit wud rain aigs, an 1 bats ove coltin, 
 Amither baskit wud start up, an' torreckly we'd hev a 
 thunder shower ove cherrys ; the bull furnish'd the 
 thunder, plenty ove hit 
 
 I " The air wer full ove things ; stockins wif laigs in 
 em, showin tu mos' 'vantage ; hats wif heds in em 
 wer cumin down like they wer hir'd tu ram the pa .re- 
 mint that way. Truck ove all kind wer flyin ur lyin 
 about jis durn'd permiscusly. The street wer white wif 
 milk an' aigshells ; hit wer red wif cherrys ; hit wer 
 black wif blackberrys, an' hit wer green wif gardin 
 truck. Cherrys roll'd down hill in the cracks atween 
 the stones, in litil rivers ove milk. The dead chickens 
 lay whar they fell, an' the live ones lit on the ruffs. 
 Oh ! gemeny Jerusalem ! I never seed sich a mixtry 
 ove oncook'd vittils in all my born'd days ! Blowin 
 up a powder-hous', while a harycane am ragin, mixes 
 things mon'sous' well I reckon, but I gins my vote tu 
 that Amherst bull. 
 
 " I wer a-standin ni ontu what I tuck tu be the up- 
 per aind ove the steepil ove a chu'ch, what they hed 
 buried onder groun', not likin the perswashun ur the 
 passun, an' hed lef the pint ove the steepil stickin out, 
 for a grave stone, an' a warnin tu the uther chu'ches 
 how tu kery tharsefs ; but on 'zaminin hit clost, I foun' 
 hit wer a lam'-postez, made outen iron, whar they 
 burns sum greasy kine ove air, tu lite fellers home 
 what stay out late ove nites. They'se mity good things, 
 
TAURUS IN LYNCHBURG MARKET. 129 
 
 too, fur a feller tu straiten up on, fur a fresh start, 
 when he's layin off the wum ove a fence, onder a deck- 
 load ove tangle-laig whisky. I obsarved also that 
 they'se jis' the thing tu freeze fas' ontu when the watch 
 man's got yu, an' yu don't want tu go, an' yu'll say, 
 afore I'se dun, they can t be beat at stoppin bulls frum 
 actin durn'd fool. Lam'-postez tharfore am good 
 things, when they keeps outen your way. A cushion 
 roun em about es hi es a comon man's nose frum the 
 groun', an' a cock what wud run sweetened whisky, 
 wud make em a public invenshun. 
 
 " Well, that ar insashate bull, in flyin roun, got his 
 stum clos tu me, an' I, like a durn'd fool as I is, tuck 
 sides in the fite agin the critter ; I reached up fur the 
 tassil on his tail, an' run twist roun the lam'-postez wif 
 hit, my fingers fas' wove intu the har, bonnit plat fash- 
 un, sot my foots agin the iron, an' tuck a leanin pull. 
 A feller, a-lookin outen a small crack ove a door, girj 
 me a cumfortin word. Sez he : ' That's a good holt, 
 iaigs ; ef raw-hide don't tar, yu've got im till the devil 
 freezes.' 
 
 " Sez I, ' Hes these postez got deep roots ?' 
 
 '"Seventeen foot, sez he.' 
 
 " ' Then,' sez I, ' this yere bull's tail will dry wif two 
 kinks in hit ; what's beef wuf ?' 
 
 " The bull sed whoff ! an' sot in tu pull his tail out- 
 en his stum by the root ; but hit wer well sot, an' he 
 didn't du hit. He swung hissef frum side tu side, an' 
 
130 TAURUS IN LYNCHBURG MARKET. 
 
 pull'd pow'ful. Oh ! lie wer in yearnest bout that mat- 
 ter ove tarin out his tail. At las' he beller'd, an' I 
 obsarv'd that the lam'-postez an' my footses warn't es 
 clean as a dinner plate. Thinks I, that's a sign ove 
 givin in, an' I hearn my frien' holler, ' Two tu one on 
 laigs.' 
 
 " My han's begun tu cramp orful, an' I felt my big 
 skeer a cumin on. I look'd roun', an' thar warn't a 
 soul in site but my frien', an' I know'd I cudent count 
 on him only fur kind words, by the way he hilt the door. 
 Everybody gone glimerin, even the huxters, an' Am- 
 herst wimen. 
 
 " Thar I wer, froze tu a savidge bull's tail, no frien's, 
 an' hed begun hit mysef. My skeer wer now ripe, 
 redy tu bust, an' knowin but wun thing fit tu du in 
 sich cases, I look'd which way I'd run. I hearn the 
 durn'd raskil what hed been my frien' say, ' Ha ! ha ! 
 two tu one on the bull ! ' That las' remark broke my 
 hart. I made up my mine tu go home tu the tavrin, 
 on the river, as hit wer down hill, an' I know'd ' Owens ' 
 wer my frien'. 
 
 " The bull wer showin white mix'd wif bloody veins 
 all roun his eyes, while the midil wer green as a bottil. 
 I hed mistaken'd the givin-in signs ; he wer madder nor 
 ever. I watched fur him tu wink his eyes, an' while he 
 wer duin hit I hearn the cussed cole-harted devil a-hine 
 the door now offer four tu one on the bull. He wink'd 
 at las', an' while his eyes wer shot, I let go the bes' holt 
 
TAURUS IN LYNCHBURG MARKET. 131 
 
 ever mortul man hed on a bull. Ef hit hadn't been fur 
 the cramp, skeer, an' that feller's bettin agin me, I'd 
 been thar yet, a monument ove enjurance, parsavarance, 
 an' dam fool, still holdin a dry bull's hide by the tail. 
 
 " As I let go, I sot these yere laigs a-gwine onder 
 ihree hunder' pound preshure ove pure skeer. Long 
 es they is, they went apast each uther as fas' as the 
 6pokes ove two spinnin wheels a runnin contrary ways. 
 That hell-cat ahine the door parsecuted me tu the 
 las', fur he now cum out an' farly yell'd : ' Ten tu 
 one on the bull, an' iseters fur the wun what takes the 
 bet' 
 
 "I look'dj-oun, an' seed one aind ove the fence rail 
 wif the yaller ove aigs on hit, an' a lettuce leaf stickin 
 on a splinter, jist one good jump ahine that part ove 
 me what wud git all the kickin if ole Burns ever cotch 
 me. "Well, all I kin say is, I didn't go any slower fur 
 that orful glimpse. I cud hear fust one aind an' then 
 tuther ove that dry chesnut fence rail strike the rocks, 
 as he wud try tu hist me with a whoff! every lunge. 
 Owens, the lanlord, wer a-gwine up on the pavement, 
 an' know'd me. Clevei tu the las', even ef I wer on- 
 der par, he holler'd — 
 
 " ' Number ten, Sut, the key's in the door ; ha ! ha !' 
 
 " Them wer cumfortin words, an' I put on a scrim- 
 shun more steam, 'bout all I had. I never 'spected tu 
 see number ten agin. 
 
 " A feller wif a face like a dry sheep-skin, what hed 
 
132 TAUEUS IN LYNCHBURG MARKET. 
 
 laid in a cellar till hit got moulded, holler'd frum a up 
 per winder : ' Go hit, dubbil laigs ! he's lost his raiV 
 
 " Now this wer kine ove him, but hit warn't any use. 
 I wer at the top ove my speed aready, an' at las' hit 
 proved tu be a durn'd lie. 
 
 " When I got tu whar a warter rail-road fur boats, 
 an' ducks, runs onder the street, I begun tu try tu bar 
 tu the lef, so as tu hit the tavrin door, but I wer a 
 gwine so fas', I cudn't sheer a bit, but struck the flat- 
 form about the midil, cross'd hit like a shot, busted 
 thru the railin an' a bainch, carryin away bout six foot 
 ove each, an' a sleepin nigger. Down, down — ker- 
 lunge, twenty-five foot intu the river. I lit a-swimin 
 fur I spected every moment tu hev tail, rail, an' ho'ns, 
 wif thuteen hundr' poun's ove bull meat, atop ove me. 
 I swum out tu a rock pile, an' hearn him lumberin thru 
 the bridge like he weighed four tons. I seed him run 
 outen tuther aind, rail an' all, an' his tail es strait up in 
 the air as hit wer when he wer histin aig-baskits an' 
 wimin, scept hit hed two kinks in hit, put thar by the 
 lam'-postez. He disappeared amung the Amherst hiHs, 
 a smarter bull by a durn'd site, ef 'sperience am wuth 
 a durn. I'll bet he often counts the valuer ove a tail 
 in fly -time, agin the bother ove one in fitin, an' envys 
 stump-tail bulls 'cordinly. That's the las' muss I hes 
 tuck sides in, whar I din't keer a cuss which whipp'd 
 an' I hed tu du a marster fool thing while hit wer 
 gwine on." 
 
TAUBUS IN LYNCHBURG MARKET. 133 
 
 "What do you allude to, Sut?" 
 
 "Why, instead ove freezin tu that bull's tail, what 
 didn't pay, I orter saved them gole specks, an' stick 
 ut what wud pay. 
 
 "They telegrafed tu Stantun fur a committee ove 
 doctors, tu 'zamine me fur the honors ove the lunatic 
 asslum. When they got thar, they foun' nuffin tu 
 'zamine, but the karacter I hed lef fur bein a nat'ral 
 born durn'd fool, an' a crack'd whisky flask. They 
 wer sittin on hit, when I hearn frum em las', an' hed 
 sent fur the bull tu take his testimony. I bet he 
 don't cum, by thunder ! " 
 
MRS. TARDIET'S QUILTING. 
 
 " Thar's one durn'd nasty muddy job, an' I is jis 1 
 glad ennf tu take a ho : n ur two, on the straingth ove 
 hit" 
 
 " "What have you been doing, Sut ?" 
 
 " Helpin tu salt ole Missis Yardley down." 
 
 " What do you mean by that ?" 
 
 " Fixin her fur rotten cumfurtably, kiverin her up 
 wif sile, tu keep the buzzards frum cheatin the wurms." 
 
 " Oh, you have been helping to bury a woman." 
 
 " That's hit, by golly ! Now why the devil can't I 
 'splain mysef like yu ? I ladles out my words at ran- 
 dum, like a calf kickin at yaller-jackids ; yu jis' rolls 
 em out tu the pint, like a feller a-layin bricks — every 
 one fits. How is it that bricks fits so clost enyhow ? 
 Rocks won't ni du hit." 
 
 " Becaze they'se all ove a size," ventured a man with 
 a wen over his eye. 
 
 " The devil yu say, hon'ey-head ! haint reapin-mer- 
 sheens ove a size ? I'd like tu see two ove em fit clost 
 Yu wait ontil yu sprouts tuther ho'n, afore yu venters 
 
mes. yardley' s quilting. 135 
 
 tu 'splain mix'd questions. George, did yu know ole 
 Missis Yardley?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Well, she wer a carious 'oman in her way, an' she 
 wore shiney specks. Now jis' listen : Whenever yu 
 see a ole 'oman ahine a par ove shiney specks, yu keep 
 yer eye skinn'd ; they am dang'rus in the extreme. 
 Thar is jis' no knowin what they ken du. I hed one 
 a-stradil ove me onst, fur kissin her gal. She went 
 fur my har, an' she went fur my skin, ontil I tho't she 
 ment tu kill me, an' wud a-dun hit, ef my hollerin 
 hadent fotch ole Dave Jordan, a bacheler, tu my aid- 
 He, like a durn'd fool, cotch her by the laig, an' drug 
 her back'ards of en me. She jis' kivered him, an' I run, 
 by golly ! The nex time I seed him he wer bald 
 headed, an' his face looked like he'd been a-ntin wild- 
 cats. 
 
 " Ole Missis Yardley wer a great noticer ove littil 
 things, that nobody else ever seed. She'd say right in 
 the middil ove sumbody's serious talk : ' Law sakes ! 
 thar goes that yaller slut ove a hen, a-flingin straws over 
 her shoulder ; she's arter settin now, an' haint laid but 
 seven aigs. I'll disapint her, see ef I don't ; I'll put a 
 punkin in her ne's, an' a feather in her nose. An' bless 
 my soul ! jis' look at that cow wif the wilted ho'n, 
 a-flingin up dirt an' a-smellin the place whar hit cum 
 frum, wif the rale ginuine still- wurim twis' in her tail, 
 too ; what upon the face ove the yeath kin she be arter 
 
136 MRS. yardley's quilting. 
 
 now, the ole fool ? watch her, Sally. An' sakes alive, 
 jis' look at that ole sow ; she's a-gwine in a fas' trot, wif 
 her empty bag a-floppin agin her sides. Thar, she hes 
 stop't, an's a-listenin ! massy on us ! what a long yearnis 
 grunt she gin ; hit cum frum way back ove her kidneys. 
 Thar she goes agin ; she's arter no good, sich kerryin 
 on means no good-' 
 
 " An' so she wud gabble, no odds who wer a-listenin. 
 She looked like she mout been made at fust 'bout four 
 foot long, an' the common thickness ove wimen when 
 they's at tharsefs, an' then had her har tied tu a stump, 
 a par ove steers hitched to her heels, an' then straiched 
 out a-mos' two foot more — mos' ove the straichm 
 cumin outen her laigs an' naik. Her stockins, a-hangin 
 on the clothes-line tu dry, looked like a par ove sabre 
 scabbards, an' her naik looked like a dry beef shank 
 I smoked, an' mout been ni ontu es tough. I never felt 
 hit mysef, I didn't, I jis' j edges by looks. Her darter 
 Sal wer bilt at fust 'bout the laingth ove her nvam, but 
 wer never straiched eny by a par ove steers^ an' she 
 wer fat enuf tu kill ; she wer taller lyin down than she 
 wer a-standin up. Hit wer her who gin me the ' hump 
 shoulder.' Jis' look at me ; haint I'se got a tech ove the 
 dromedary back thar bad? haint I humpy? Well, 
 a-stoopin tu kiss that squatty lard-stan ove a gal is 
 what dun hit tu me. She wer the fairest-lookin gal I 
 ever seed. She allers wore thick woolin stockins 'bout 
 six inches too long fur her laig ; they rolled down ovei 
 
MRS. yaedley's quilting. 137 
 
 her garters, lookin like a par ove ljfe-presarvers up thar. 
 I tell yu slie wer a tarin gal enyhow. Luved kissin, 
 wrastlin, an' biled cabbige, an' hated tite clothes, hot 
 weather, an' suckit-riders. B'leved strong in married 
 folk's ways, cradles, an' the remishun ove sins, an' 
 didn't b'leve in corsets, fleas, peaners, nor the fashun 
 plates." 
 
 " What caused the death of Mrs. Yardley, Sut?" 
 " Nuffin, only her heart stop't beatin 'bout losin a 
 nine dimunt quilt. True, she got a skeer'd hoss tu run 
 over her, but she'd a-got over that ef a quilt hadn't been 
 mix'd up in the catastrophy. Yu see quilts wer wun 
 ove her speshul gifts ; she run strong on the bed-kiver 
 question. Irish chain, star ove Texas, sun-flower, nine 
 dimunt, saw teeth, checker board, an' shell quilts; 
 blue, an' white, an' yaller an' black coverlids, an' callic- 
 kercumfurts reigned triumphan' 'bout her hous'. They 
 wer packed in drawers, layin in shelfs full, wer hung 
 four dubbil on lines in the lof, packed in chists, piled 
 on cheers, an' wer everywhar, even ontu the beds, an' 
 wer changed every bed-makin. She told everybody she 
 cud git tu listen tu hit that she ment tu give every 
 durn'd one ove them tu Sal when she got married. 
 Oh, lordy ! what es fat a gal es Sal Yardley cud ever 
 du wif half ove em, an' sleepin wif a husbun at that, is 
 more nor I ever cud see through. Jis' think ove her 
 onder twenty layer ove quilts in July, an' yu in thar 
 too. Gewhillikins ! Greorge, look how I is sweatin' now, 
 
38 mrs. yardley's quilting. 
 
 an' this is December. I'd 'bout es lief be shet up in a 
 steam biler wif a three hundred pound bag ove lard, es 
 tu make a bisiness ove sleepin wif that gal — 'twould 
 kill a glass-blower. 
 
 " Well, tu cum tu the serious part ove this conversa- 
 shun, that is how the old quilt-mersheen an' coverlid- 
 loom cum tu stop operashuns on this yeath. She hed 
 narrated hit thru the neighborhood that nex Saterday 
 she'd gin a quiltin — three quilts an' one cumfurt tu tie. 
 'Groblers, fiddils, gals, an' whisky,' wer the words she 
 sent tu the men-folk, an' more tetchin ur wakenin 
 words never drap't ofen an 'oman's tongue. She seel 
 tu the gals, 'Sweet toddy, huggin, dancin, an' huggers 
 in 'bundunce.' Them words struck the gals rite in 
 the pit ove the stumick, an' spread a ticklin sensashun 
 bof ways, ontil they scratched thar heads wif one han, 
 an' thar heels wif tuther. 
 
 " Everybody, he an' she, what wer baptized b'levers 
 in the righteousnes ove quiltins wer thar, an' hit jis' so 
 happen'd that everybody in them parts, frum fifteen 
 summers tu fifty winters, wer unannamus b'levers. 
 Strange, warn't hit ? Hit wer the bigges' quiltin ever 
 Missis Yardley hilt, an' she hed hilt hundreds ; every- 
 body wer thar, 'scept the constibil an' suckit-rider, two 
 ciam easily-spared pussons ; the numbers ni ontu even 
 too ; jis' a few more boys nur gals ; that made hit more 
 exhitin, fur hit gin the gals a chance tu kick an' squeal 
 a littil, wifout runnin eny risk ove not gittin kissed at 
 
mss. yaedley's quilting. 139 
 
 all, an' hit gin reasonabil grouns fur a few scrimmages 
 aiming the he's. Now es kissin an' fitin am the pepper 
 an' salt ove all soshul getherins, so hit wer more espish- 
 ully wif this ove ours. Es I swung my eyes over the 
 crowd, George, I thought quiltins, managed in a morril 
 an' sensibil way, truly am good things — good fur free 
 drinkin, good fur free eatin, good fur free huggin, good 
 fur free dancin, good fur free fitin, an' goodest ove all 
 fur poperlatin a country fas'. 
 
 " Thar am a fur-seein wisdum in quiltins, ef they hes 
 proper trimmins : ' vittils, fiddils, an' sperrits in 'bun- 
 dunce.' One holesum quiltin am wuf three old pray'r 
 meetins on the poperlashun pint, purtickerly ef hits 
 hilt in the dark ove the moon, an' runs intu the nighl 
 a few hours, an' April ur May am the time chosen. 
 The moon don't suit quiltins whar everybody is well 
 acquainted an' already fur along in courtin. She dus 
 help pow'ful tu begin a courtin match onder, but when 
 hit draws ni ontu a head, nobody wants a moon but the 
 ole mammys. 
 
 "The mornin cum, still, saft, sunshiney; cocks 
 crowin, hens singin, birds chirpin, tuckeys gobblin — jis' 
 the day tu sun quilts, kick, kiss, squeal, an' make 
 love. 
 
 " All the plow-lines an' clothes-lines wer straiched tu 
 every post an' tree. Quilts purvailed. Durn my giz- 
 zard ef two acres roun that ar house warn't jis' one solid 
 quilt, all out a-sunnin, an' tu be seed. They dazzled 
 
140 mbs. yaedley's quilting. 
 
 the eyes, skeered the hosses, gin wimen the heart-burn, 
 an' perdominated. 
 
 " To'ards sundown the he's begun tu drap in. Year- 
 nis' needil-drivin cummenced tu lose groun; threads 
 broke of en, thimbils got los', an' quilts needed anuther 
 roll. Gigglin, winkin, whisperin, smoofm ove har, an' 
 gals a-ticklin one anuther, wer a-gainin every inch ove 
 groun what the needils los'. Did yu ever notis, 
 George, at all soshul getherins, when the he's begin tu 
 gather, that the young she's begin tu tiekil one anuther 
 an' the ole maids swell thar tails, roach up thar backs, 
 an' sharpen thar nails ontu the bed-posts an' door jams, 
 an' spit an' groan sorter like cats a-courtin ? Dus hit 
 mean rale rath, ur is hit a dare tu the he's, sorter 
 kivered up wif the outside signs ove danger? I hon- 
 estly b'leve that the young shes' ticklin means, ' Cum 
 an' take this job ofen our hans.' But that swellin 
 I jis' don't onderstan; dus yu? Hit looks skeery, 
 an' I never tetch one ove em when they am in the 
 swellin way. I may be mistaken'd 'bout the ticklin 
 bisiness too ; hit may be dun like a feller chaws poplar 
 bark when he haint got eny terbacker, a-sorter better 
 nur nun make-shif. I dus know one thing tu a cer- 
 tainty : that is, when the he's take hold the ticklin 
 quits, an' ef yu gits one ove the ole maids out tu hersef, 
 then she subsides an' is the smoofes, sleekes, saft thing 
 yu ever seed, an' dam ef yu can't hear her purr, jis' es 
 plain ! 
 
Mrs. yaedley's quilting. 141 
 
 "But then, George, gals an' ole maids haint the 
 things tu fool time away on. Hits widders, by golly, 
 what am the rale sensibil, steady -goin, never-skeerin, \ 
 never-kickin, willin, sperrited, smoof pacers. They \ 
 cum clost up tu the hoss-block, standin still wif thar 
 purty silky years playin, an' the naik- veins a-throbbin, 
 an' waits far the word, which ove course yu gives, arter 
 yu finds yer feet well in the stirrup, an' away they 
 moves like a cradil on cushioned rockers, ur a spring 
 buggy runnin in damp san'. A tetch ove the bridil, 
 an' they knows yu wants em tu turn, an' they dus hit 
 es wiOtti es ef the idear wer thar own. I be dod rab- 
 bited ef a man can't 'propriate happiness by the skinful 
 ef hf is in contack wif sumbody's widder, an' is smart. 
 Gin vne a willin widder, the yeath over : what they 
 don't know, haint worth larnin. They hes all been tu 
 Jarnakey an' larnt how sugar's made, an' knows how tu 
 sweeten wif hit ; an' by golly, they is always ready tu 
 use hit. All yu hes tu du is tu find the spoon, an' then 
 drink cumfort till yer blind. Nex tu good sperrits an' 
 my laigs, I likes a twenty-five year ole widder, wif roun 
 ankils, an' bright eyes, honestly an' squarly lookin intu 
 yarn, an' sayin es plainly es a partrige sez ' Bob White,' 
 ' Don't be afraid ove me ; I hes been thar ; yu know 
 hit ef yu hes eny sense, an' thar's no use in eny hum- 
 bug, ole feller — cum ahead !' 
 
 " Ef yu onderstans widder nater, they ken save yu a 
 power ove troubil, onsartinty, an' time, an' ef yu is in- 
 
142 MRS. yaedlet's quilting. 
 
 terprisin yu gits mons'rous well paid fur hit. The very 
 soun ove thar littil shoe-heels speak full trainin, an' hea 
 a knowin click as they tap the floor ; an' the rustil ove 
 thar dress sez, ' I dar yu tu ax me.' 
 
 " When yu hes made up yer mind tu court one, jis* 
 
 go at hit like hit wer a job ove rail-maulin. Ware yer 
 
 workin close, use yer common, every-day moshuns an' 
 
 words, an' abuv all, fling away yer cinamint ile vial an' 
 
 burn all yer love songs. No use in tryin tu fool em, 
 
 fur they sees plum thru yu, a durn'd sight plainer 
 
 than they dus thru thar veils. No use in a pasted 
 
 shut ; she's been thar. No use in borrowin a cavortin 
 
 fat hoss ; she's been thar. No use in har-dye ; she's 
 
 been thar. No use in cloves, tu kill whisky breff ; she's 
 
 been thar. No use in buyin clost curtains fur yer bed, 
 
 >£ar she has been thar. Widders am a speshul means, 
 
 / George, fur ripenin green men, killin off weak ones, 
 
 I an makin 'ternally happy the soun ones. 
 
 " Well, es I sed afore, I flew the track an' got ontu 
 the widders. The fellers begun tu ride up an' walk up, 
 sorter slow, like they warn't in a hurry, the durn'd 
 'saitful raskils, hitchin thar critters tu enything they 
 cud find. One red-comb'd, long-spurr'd, dominecker 
 feller, frum town, in a red an' white grid-iron jackid 
 an' patent leather gaiters, hitched his hoss, a wild, 
 skeery, wall-eyed devil, inside the yard palins, tu a 
 cherry tree lim'. Thinks I, that hoss hes a skeer 
 intu him big emu tu run mtu town, an' pernaps 
 
MRS. yardley's quilting. 143 
 
 beyant hit, ef I kin only tetch hit off; so I sot intu 
 thinkin. 
 
 " One aind ove a long clothes-line, wif nine dimunt 
 quilts ontu hit, wer tied tu the same cherry tree that 
 the hoss wer. I tuck my knife and socked hit thru v 
 every quilt, 'bout the middil, an' jis' below the rope, an' 
 tied them thar wif bark, so they cudent slip. Then I 
 went 'tu the back aind, an' ontied hit frum the pos', 
 knottin in a hoe-handil, by the middil, tu keep the 
 quilts frum slippin off ef my bark strings failed, an' 
 laid hit on the groun. Then I went tu the tuther aind : 
 thar wer 'bout ten foot tu spar, a-lyin on the groun arter 
 tyin tu the tree. I tuck hit atwix Wall-eye's hine 
 laigs, an' tied hit fas' tu bof stirrups, an' then cut the 
 cherry tree lim' betwix his bridil an' the tree, almos' 
 off. Now, mine yu thar wer two ur three uther ropes 
 full ove quilts atween me an' the hous', so I wer purty 
 well hid frum thar. I jis' tore off a palin frum the 
 fence, an' tuck hit in bof hans, an' arter raisin hit 'way 
 up yander, I fotch hit down, es hard es I cud, flatsided 
 to'ards the groun, an' hit acksidentally happen'd tu hit 
 Wall-eye, 'bout nine inches ahead ove the root ove his 
 tail. Hit landed so hard that hit made my hans tingle, 
 an' then busted intu splinters. The first thing I did, 
 wer tu feel ove mysef, on the same spot whar hit hed 
 hit the hoss. I cudent help duin hit tu save my life, 
 an' I swar I felt sum ove Wall-eye's sensashun, jis' es 
 plain. The fust thing he did, wer tu tare down the 
 
144 MRS. yaedley's quilting. 
 
 lim' wif a twenty footjump, his head to'ards the hous ; . 
 Thinks I, now yu hev dun hit, yu durn'd wall-eyed 
 fool ! tarin down that lim' wer the beginin ove all the 
 troubil, an' the hoss did hit hissef ; my conshuns felt 
 clar es a mountin spring, an' I wer in a frame ove mine 
 tu obsarve things es they happen'd, an' they soon be- 
 gun tu happen purty clost arter one anuther rite then, 
 an' thar, an' tharabouts, clean ontu town, thru hit, an' 
 still wer a-happenin, in the woods beyant thar ni ontu 
 eleven mile frum ole man Yardley's gate, an' four be- 
 yant town. 
 
 ■ " The fust line ove quilts he tried tu jump, but broke 
 hit down ; the nex one he ran onder ; the rope cotch 
 ontu the ho'n ove the saddil, broke at bof ainds, an' 
 went along wif the hoss, the cherry tree lim' an' the 
 fust line ove quilts, what I hed proverdensally tied fas' 
 tu the rope. That's what I calls foresight, George. 
 Right furnint the frunt door he cum in contack wif ole 
 Missis Yardley hersef, an' anuther ole 'oman ; they wer 
 A-holdin a Dine dimunt quilt spread out, a-'zaminin hit, 
 an' a-praifwn hits purfeckshuns. The durn'd onman- 
 •srly, wall eyed fool run plum over Missis Yardley, 
 frum ahine, stompt one hine foot through the quilt, 
 takin hit along, a-kickin ontil he made hits corners snap 
 like a whip. The gals screamed, the men hollered wo ! 
 an' the ole 'oman wer toted intu the hous' limber es a 
 wet string, an' every word she sed wer, ' Oh, my preshus 
 nine dimunt quilt !' 
 
mes. yaedley's quilting. 145 
 
 "Wall-eye busted thru the palins, an' Dominicker 
 sed 'im, made a mortal rush fur his bitts, wer too late 
 fur them, but in good time far the strings ove flyin 
 quilts, got tangled amung em, an' the gridiron jackid 
 patren wer los' tu my sight amung star an' Irish chain 
 quilts ; he went frum that quiltin at the rate ove thuty 
 miles tu the hour. Nuffin lef on the lot ove the hole 
 consarn, but a nine biler hat, a par ove gloves, an 
 the jack ove hearts. 
 
 " What a onmanerly, suddin way ove leavin places 
 sum folks hev got, enyhow. 
 
 " Thinks I, well, that fool hoss, tarin down that 
 cherry tree lim', hes dun sum good, enyhow; hit hes 
 put the ole 'oman outen the way fur the balance ove 
 the quiltin, an' tuck Dominicker outen the way an' 
 outen danger, fur that gridiron jackid wud a-bred a 
 scab on his nose afore midnite ; hit wer morrily boun 
 tu du hit. 
 
 "Two months arterwards, I tracked the route that 
 hoss tuck in his kalamatus skeer, by quilt rags, tufts 
 ove cotton, bunches ove har, (human an' hoss,) an' 
 scraps ove a gridiron jackid stickin ontu the bushes, 
 an' plum at the aind ove hit, whar all signs gin out, I 
 foun a piece ove watch chain an' a hosses head. The 
 places what know'd Dominicker, know'd 'im no more. 
 
 " Well, arter they'd tuck the ole 'oman up stairs an' 
 camnred her tu sleep, things begun tu work agin The 
 widders broke the ice, an' arter a littil gigilin, goblin, 
 
146 MKS. YAEDLEl's QUILTING. 
 
 an' gabblin, the kissin begun. Smack 1 — ' Thar, now, 1 
 a widder sed that. Pop !— ' Oh, don't !' Pfip /— ' Oh, 
 yu quit !' Plosh ! — ' Go way yu awkerd critter, yu 
 kissed me in the eye !' anuther widder sed that. Bop ! 
 1 Now yu ar satisfied, I recon, big mouf!' Vip ! — ' That 
 haint fair!' Spat! — 'Oh, lordy ! May, cum pull Bill 
 away; he's a-tanglin my har.' Thut! — 'I jis' d-a-r-e 
 yu tu du that agin!' a widder sed that, too. Hit 
 sounded all 'roan that room like poppin co'n in a hot 
 skillet, an' wer pow'ful sujestif. 
 
 " Hit kep on ontil I be durn'd ef my bristils didn't 
 begin tu rise, an' sumthin like a cold buckshot wud 
 run down the marrow in my back-bone 'bout every ten 
 secons, an' then run up agin, tolerabil hot. I kep a 
 swallerin wif nuthin tu swaller, an' my face felt swell'd ; 
 an' yet I wer fear'd tu make a bulge. Thinks I, I'll 
 ketch one out tu hersef torreckly, an' then I guess we'll 
 rastiL Purty soon Sal Yardley started fur the smoke* 
 'ous, so I jis' gin my head I few short shakes, let down 
 one ove my wings a4railin, an' sirkiled roun her wif a 
 side twis' in my naik, steppin sidewise, an' a-fetchin up 
 my hinmos' foot wif a sorter jerkin slide at every step. 
 Sez I, 'Too coo-took a-too.' She onderstood hit, an 
 stopt, sorter spreadin her shoulders. An' jis' es I hed 
 pouch'd out my mouf, an' wer a-reachin forrid wif hit, 
 fur the article hitsef, sunthin interfared wif me, hit did. 
 George, wer yu ever ontu yer hans an' knees, an' let a 
 hell-tarin big, mad ram, wif a ten-yard run, but yu 
 
MRS. yardley's quilting. 147 
 
 yearnis'ly, jis' onst, right squar ontu the pint ove yei 
 back-bone?" 
 
 "No, you fool ; why do you ask?" 
 
 " Kaze I wanted tu know ef yu cud hev a realizin 1 
 noshun ove my shock. Hits scarcely worth while tu 
 try tu make yu onderstan the case by words only, on- 
 less yu hev been tetched in that way. Gr-eat golly ! 
 the fust thing I felt, I tuck hit tu be a back-ackshun 
 yeathquake ; an' the fust thing I seed wer my chaw'r 
 terbacker a-flyin over Sal's head like a skeer'd bat. 
 My mouf wer pouch'd out, ready fur the article hitsef, 
 yu know, an' hit went outen the roun hole like the 
 wad outen a pop-gun — thug ! an' the fust thing ] 
 know'd, I wer a flyin over Sal's head too, an' a-gainin 
 on the chaw'r terbacker fast. I wer straitened out 
 strait, toes hinemos', middil finger-nails foremos', an' 
 the fust thing I hearn wer, ' Yu dam Shanghi !' Great 
 Jerus-a-lam ! I lit ontu my all fours jis' in time tu but 
 the yard gate ofen hits hinges, an' skeer loose sum more 
 hosses — kep on in a four-footed gallop, clean acrost the 
 lane afore I cud straiten up, an' yere I cotch up wif my 
 chaw'r terbacker, stickin flat agin a fence-rail. I hed 
 got so good a start that I thot hit a pity tu spile hit, so 
 I jis' jump'd the fence an' tuck thru the orchurcL I tell 
 yu I dusted these yere close, fur I tho't hit wer arter 
 me. 
 
 " Arter runnin a spell, I ventered tu feel roun back 
 thar. fur sum signs ove what hed happened tu me, 
 
148 MBS. yardley's quilting. 
 
 George, arter two pow'ful hardtugs, I pull'd out the 
 vamp an' sole ove one ove ole man Yardley's big 
 brogans, what he hed los' amung my coat-tails. Dre'- 
 ful ! dre'ful ! Arter I got hit away frum thar, my 
 flesh went fes' asleep, frum abnv my kidneys tu my 
 knees ; about now, fur the fust time, the idear struck 
 me, what hit wer that hed interfar'd wif me, an' los' me 
 the kiss. Hit wer ole Yardley hed kicked me. I 
 walked fur a month like I wer straddlin a thorn hedge. 
 Sich a shock, at sich a time, an' on sich a place — jis' 
 think ove hit ! hit am tremenjus, haint hit? The place 
 feels num, right now." 
 
 " Well, Sut, how did the quilting come out ?" 
 " How the hell du yu 'speck me tu know ? I warn't 
 thar eny more." 
 
SUT LOVINGOOD'S DOG. 
 
 " Boys, I never told eny on ye ove my dog scrape, 
 did I?" 
 
 " No, Sut, not as we knows on ; you've mixed up 
 dog so in all yer doins, that we can't tell adzactly 
 what dog scrape ye mean." 
 
 " Well, I mean ole ' Stuff-gut' Did eny on ye ever 
 see 'im?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Well, ye missed a site. He wur a powerful dog, 
 an' sometimes ye'd think that he wur two ur three dogs, 
 ef ye seed him eat ; not a-countin ove his tail, fur he 
 hedn't eny. When he wur a pup, dad, durn him, tuck 
 'im tu a straw-cutter, jamed his starn clost up tu the 
 frame ove the cussed gullotine, an' foch down the knife, 
 an' thar lay the hole tail in the troffc, like a letter S, an' 
 here run the pup a youlin like a hound, an* his starn 
 looked like you'd busted a ripe tomatis onto hit. Well, 
 it changed his looks mitely, an' his nater more. Now 
 as to his looks, rite ontu the spot whar his tail orter 
 staid, thar grow'd a bunch ove stiff, ash-cullured brist- 
 les, what pinted every way, like onto a split broom 
 
150 sut lovingood's dog. 
 
 with the rappin cut loose, an' rite in the middil ove all 
 this fuzzy lookin patch ove har, the pint ove his back- 
 bone, kivered with a gristil, stuck out like onto a pidg- 
 in's aig, caze he sot ontu hit so much. Well, the afar 
 looked mity sassy and fite like, eny how, purticulerly 
 when he wur a struttin up tu a big strange dog tu smell 
 ove 'im. It made his sturn look hier than his sholders, 
 pupendiculer and squar ; an' he hed a way ove walkin 
 slow an' solemn like I've seed yung fellers do at camp- 
 meetin when approachin ove a gal at the spring with 
 thar stud-hoss close on, agwine sorter side ways an' 
 mity keerful. I've seed little hogs go through the 
 same motions, wun in a peach orchard, an' tuther in the 
 lane, when they thoi they wanted tu fite, an' wud a dun 
 hit but fur the fence what wur atween em. I never 
 found out that he wur good fur enything but tu keep 
 bred frum mouldin, an' meat frum spilin ; an' when he 
 wanted tu show glad, es he hed no tale tu wag, he 
 wagged his hole sturn, an' his hine feet slipped about 
 on the groun, sorter like a fashunabil gal walks when 
 she thinks sum he feller is lookin at 'er. He wur cul- 
 lured adzackly like a mildewed saddil skirt, an' he ker- 
 ried his years on a no win sort of cock, like ontu a muel's 
 when he is skeered. He'd whiskers round his eyes, an' 
 on his hine laigs, an' must had a pow'ful activ ccnsince, 
 fur he wur the meanest countinenced dog I ever seed 
 in my life. Now as tu his nater, yu cud never set 'im 
 ontu enything yu wanted tu, an' cudn't call 'im ofen 
 
sut lotingood's dog, 151 
 
 enything lie got arter on his own accord. He wur 
 skeered all the time, an' stud redy tu run ur tu steal, as 
 the chances mout be ; an' takin 'im altogether, he wur 
 jis' the rite sort ove a dog tu belong tu me — not wurth 
 a durn, an' orter been killed afore his eyes got open. 
 
 " Well, Stuff-gut he follered me tu town wun day 
 jis' caze I didn't want 'im tu ; an' while I wur gittin on 
 a hed ove steam at the doggery, he started roun town 
 on a stealin experdition ove his own, an' like his cussed 
 fool owner, got hissef inter a fust rate scrape an' skeer> 
 without half tryin, an' in less nor no time at that. 
 
 " I hed gin myself a shake in the doggery, an' hear 
 the whisky in me slosh, I know'd I hed my load aboard, 
 so I cum out intu the street, an 1 — the — fust thing I 
 seed he cum a tarin down the street fifteen times faster 
 nor I thot he cud run, jis ' a bowin ove hissef, his yeais 
 sot flat ontu his neck, an' his bristles all sot like a black 
 pearch's top fin, his eyes shot up fast an' tite, and he 
 hed on a sort ove haness made outer strings, sorter like 
 the set dad wore when he acted hoss, an' he wer haulin 
 ove an' old stage lantern and hit filled with wet powder, 
 an' sot afire. 
 
 " Now the sparks, an' the scizlin an' the dust, an' the 
 ratlin, an' the youlin, an' growlin, an' barkin, an' the 
 eighty -nine ur ninety dogs ove all kinds what wur a 
 chasin ove him, made sum sensashun. Well — hit — did. 
 Whew-w-w I When I seed him pass without nowin me 
 I thot ove Dad's ho'net tribulashun, an' felt that thai 
 
152 but lovingood's dog. 
 
 wur such a thing as a tribulashun at las' ; an' then I 
 got mad an' looked roun far sum wun tu vent rath on, 
 an' seed a long-legged cuss, sorter ove the Lovingood 
 stripe, with his hat cocked before, sittin a straddil ove 
 a hoss-rack, a swingin his legs an' a-singin — 
 
 " Rack, back Davy, rarin up behine, 
 Tou show me your foot, an' I'll show you mine." 
 
 " Thinks I, yu'll do, ef yu didn't start my dog on 
 that hellward experdition ove his'n, yu'll do tu put it 
 on enyhow, so here goes. Sez I : ' Mister- what-hed- 
 my-dog-dun-tu-yu ?' He pade no tention, but kep on 
 a-singin — 
 
 " Rack, back Davy, daddy shot a bar, 
 Shot 'em in (he eye, an' never toch a har." 
 
 " I seed it wur no use tryin tu breed a quarrel ; so 
 that I mout be able tu breed a fite, an' I jist lent him 
 a slatharin calamity, rite whar his nose commenced a 
 sproutin from atween his eyes, wif a ruff rock about the 
 size ove a goose aig. Hit fotch 'im ! He drapped ofen 
 the hoss-rack, but hilt a squirrel-holt ontu the pole wif 
 his paws an' hine feet, an' hung back down. I jumped 
 hed fust through, atween his belly an' the pole ; my 
 heft broke his holt, an' we cum tu the ground a-fitin — 
 me ondermost, an' turn'd heads an' tails. ' So the fust 
 thing I did, was tu shut my jaws ontu a mouthful ove 
 his steak, ni ontu the place wher yer foot itches to go 
 when yu ar in kickin distance ove a fop. He fit mitily 
 
SUT LOVINGOOD'S DOG. 
 
 » Jist as he got clost tu the carryall, the powder cotch fire, an' soon arterwards went 
 <tf an' to did he, head fust." Fa ^ loS - 
 
8UT LOVINGOOD'S DOG. 153 
 
 far the chance he had, but I soon seed he had a cross 
 ove bar in 'im, fur he cudn't stand ticklin behind, ef it 
 mout be called ticklin at all ; for every time he got his 
 hine legs onder him, he tried his durndest tu jump 
 loose ; but my holt hilt, an' we would take our fust per- 
 sition agin. I thot ove a box ove matches what I hed 
 in my pocket, so I foch the whole boxful a rake ontu 
 the gravil, an' stuffed em all a-blazin inter one ove the 
 pockets in his coat-tail. Now, mind, he now'd nuthin 
 ove these perseedins, fur his mind wur exercized pow* 
 ful about the hurtin I wur a helpin 'im tu behine. I 
 no'd he'd soon show strong signs ove wantin tu go. 
 So the fust big rare he fotch arter the fire reached his 
 hide, I jist let my mouth fly open — so — an' he went! 
 his hole tail in a blaze ! 
 
 " Rite here, boys, I must tell yu sumthin I didn't no 
 mysef, ur durn me, ef I hedn't let him beat me inter a 
 poultis, afore I'd a-sot him on fire — I'd a-seed him 
 durn'd fust The thot on it skeers me yet He had 
 two pounds ove gunpowder in tother pocket, a-takin 
 home to a shootin match. 
 
 " Well, he aimed tu run past a tin peddlin waggin' 
 what was a-standin in the street, with a fust-rate set ove 
 old live hoss bones atween the shafts, while the Yankee 
 wus in the doggery, a-firin up tu leave town. Jist as 
 he got clost tu the carryall, the powder cotch fire' an' 
 soon arterwards went off, an' so did he, head fust, frog 
 fashion, rite thru the top load ove tin war. He lit a 
 7* 
 
154 sut lovingood's dog. 
 
 runnin ten foot tuther side ; his coat-tails wur blowed 
 off tu his shoulders, the hine aind ove his galluses wus 
 raped round his neck, the tale ove his shut wus loose, 
 an, up in the air thirty feet, still a-risin an' blazin like a 
 komit ; his britches hung loose on the frunt side, like 
 ontu a forked aprun, while the sittin part ove em wus 
 blowed tu kingdom cum, and so wur everything else 
 belongin tu that regin, while his back wus as black as 
 a side ove upper lether. It rained tin buckets, an' 
 strainers, an' tin cups, an' pepper boxes, an' pans, an' 
 stage ho'ns, all over that street, fur two minits an' a 'alf. 
 
 "Now that explosion, an' the tin war ratlin an' a 
 lainin, made a rite peart noise, specially ove a still day 
 in fac, enuf tu wake up the ole hoss bones an' gin him 
 the idear that he'd best leave town quick ; so he laid 
 his years back an' straitened out his tail an' shot. He 
 made kindlin-wood outen the waggin agin a sine-post, 
 an' betuck hissef tu the woods, stretched out about 
 twenty feet long, an' not mor'n three feet high on the 
 withers, with jis about enuf harness stickin tu him tu 
 make a cullar for a bell cow. 
 
 " Thar was wun cussed nutmeg-makin Yankee broke 
 plum up, an' I'm durn'd glad ove it. Old Back Back 
 Davy, the hoss-rack man, made fur the river, an' I fol- 
 lered tu the bank tu see ef he hedn't drownded hissef; 
 but no sir I Thar he wur, about the middil ove the 
 river, a-swimin fur tuther bank, jist a splitin the warter 
 <vide open, an' his busted britches legs a-floatin arter 
 
sut lovingood's dog. 155 
 
 r 
 
 him. He looked over his shoulder every uther lick like 
 he spected tu see the devil ; his face wur as black as a 
 pot, sept a white ring roun his eyes, an' the smoke wur 
 still risin frum amung the stumps ove his burnt har. 
 His lied, boys, in that river, wus the ugliest, scuriest, 
 an' savidgest site I ever seed or spec tu see in this 
 wurld, eny how. I dreams ove it yet o'nights, an' it 
 skares the swet outen me. I seed a lot ove fellers a 
 fishin onder the bank, so I thot I'd help him on a leetle 
 faster, an' I hollered, ' ketch the murderer, five hundred 
 dullars an' a big hoss reward. He's kill'd an Wan an' 
 nine children, an' I speck a dog, an' like tu whipped 
 anuther plum tu deth.' They jumped intur thar cun- 
 oes an' tuck arter him, openin on his trail like a pack 
 ove houns. The last I ever seed ove him, he wur a 
 rackin up the tother bank, on his all-fours, an' looked 
 ]ike an ole bar what hed jist cum outen a harycane. 
 
 " He still kept up his lookin back, an' I speck wus 
 the wust scared man in the wurld, an' ef he aint ded, 
 he's runnin yet. The idear now begin tu soak thru my 
 har that owin to the fuss Stuff-gut an' me hed raised, 
 that perhaps Id better scoot, lest they mout want me % 
 So I left in a peart trot, an' soon got on ole Stuff's trail. 
 It wur like a waggin hed been drug upside down by a 
 par ove runaway muels, an' the dry grass an' leaves, 
 an' in sum places the fences wer sot afire. He tuck to 
 the mountins, an' turn'd wolf, an' tuck up the trade ove 
 sheep-killin fur a livin, an' the hole settlement is now 
 
156 BUT LOVINGOOD'S DOG. 
 
 out arter his skalp. That trip tu town, like the cuttin- 
 box, hes changed his dispersiticn agin, all showin the 
 pow'ful changes that kin be made in even a dog. 1 
 cum outen that scrape purty well, yet I hed tu show 
 
 the family dispersition tu make d d fools ove thar- 
 
 sefs." 
 "How, Sut?" 
 " Why, I ought to a-toted off a lode ove that permia 
 cus tin war. Oughtent I ? say ! " 
 
SUT AT A NEGRO NIGHT-MEETING. 
 
 "Quit yer kerd playin an' ritin, an' listen tu me; 
 I'se swell'd up wif a tale, an' I'll bust rite yere in this 
 camp ef I don't git hit outen me. I 'sisted wunst at a 
 nigger meetin at Log Chapil camp-groun, tu more pup- 
 us an' wif more pint than folks ginerly 'sists on sich 
 cashuns." 
 
 "You assisted? When?" 
 
 "Yas, yu may whistil, but durn ef I didn't. Aint 
 the word lite ? Ef a feller stands up when anuther's 
 a-gittin tied tu an 'oman, don't the noospapers say he 
 'sisted ? Ef a wun-hoss preacher sits intu the pulpit 
 while a two-hoss one preaches, don't they print hit that 
 he 'sisted ? An' if a big-bug's wife's dorg wer tu hold a 
 cow's tail in his teef while she milk'd, they'd say he 
 'sisted. Well, ef 'sistance is what the noospapers makes 
 hit out tu be, I 'sisted sum, durn'd ef I didn't ! 
 
 " Well, wun Sat'd'y nite, all the he, an' mos' ove the 
 she niggers fur ten miles roun, started tu hold a big 
 meetin. They cum a-foot, on hoss's, on muels, on oxes, 
 on bulls, on sleds, in carts, waggins an' buggys. The 
 
158 SUT AT A NEGKO NIGHT-MEETING. 
 
 meetin wer wuf ni ontu five hundred thousin dullars 
 in flush times, an' yu cud a-smelt hit a mile, afore 1 
 begun tu 'sist, an' fifteen mile arter I 'sisted. An' the 
 nise — well, when I larns tu spell an' pernounce the 
 flavor ove a ded hoss, play the shape ove a yeathen 
 war-jug ontu a fiddil, ur paint the swifness ove these 
 yere laigs ontu a clap-board, then I'll 'scribe the nise 
 ove that meetin, purticulerly arter I 'sisted awhile. 
 'Sumthin mus be lef tu the 'maginashun,' ole Bullen 
 sed, when he wer givin in his lizzerd 'sperience, an' 
 hit am es true es sayin yas, when a man axes yu ur 
 me ef we want a ho'n ove skin-gut when hits rainin, 
 an' sich kerryms on hesn't been seed since ole Tarn 
 Shadrick wer a-seein the witches a-dansin thru the 
 ole chu'ch winders what yu narrated tuther nite.- I 
 b'leves intu witches, ghostez, an' all long-nebbed things 
 mysef, an' so dus mos' folks, but they's tu cowardly tu 
 say so. 
 
 " I wer in the setilment runnin a daily line, wif no 
 failures, atween Wheeler's hill-hous' an' Kidd's gro- 
 cery, leavin a mail at ole Missis Cruze's wif the gals, 
 an' a-shufflin roun' ginerally twixt trips ove a nite. I 
 hearn hit narrated that the meetin wer a-goin tu be 
 so I sot in an' fix'd mysef fur hit, so es tu be abil tu 
 'sist 'em sum. 
 
 " I purvided about a dozen ho'nets' nestes, big soun' 
 wuns, an' stopped em up full ove disapinted, bewild'red 
 'vengeful, savidge, oncircumsized ball ho'nets, sharpnin 
 
BUT AT A NEGRO NIGHT-MEETING. 159 
 
 thar stings redy, an' jis' waitin hot an' willin fur the 
 holes tn be open'd, tu spread pizin an' sweet hurtin an' 
 swellin onder the skin ove everybody. They own'd tu 
 no non-cumbitants outside them ar nestes. 
 
 " Then I got Doctur Stone, hu wer fond uv seein fan, 
 tu fill a big passel ove beef-bladders wif sum kind ove a'r 
 ur gas — he call'd hit ox-gin, ur steer- gin, ur sum kind 
 ove cattil drink, an' I hes furgot plum hits cristen 
 name. 
 
 "Perhaps it was carbureted hydrogen." 
 
 " Durn my ole galluses, an' buttuns tu, ef that warn't 
 adzackly hit. Hu tole yu? say George? Did yu 
 smell hit?" 
 
 "Oh, often." 
 
 "Well, by golly, that counts fur that shriveled up 
 nose ove yourn, an' yer cussed ill temper. George, I 
 furgives yu fur every cussin yu's ever sprinkled ontu 
 me. No man shu'd be hilt sponsibil fur his acts arter 
 a sniff at that ar devil's own parfume ; hit am the super 
 latif ove the yeath ; yu kin see, feel, an' taste hit six 
 weeks arter hit hes et up yure power ove smellin altu- 
 gether. I hilt a bladder uv hit tu a bull's nose, tu see 
 ef he wer a jedge ove perfumery. He jis' histed his 
 tail, like tu hev snorted his brains out at wun snort, an 
 jis' kill'd hissef a-runnin, a-pawin at his snout wif his 
 fore-laigs like he wer a-tryin tu scrape off a bull 
 tarrier. Twer the bes thing he cud do, wer tu die jis' 
 then, 
 
160 SUT AT A NEGBO NIGHT-MEETING. 
 
 " I fix't my 'sortment ove stink skins onder the long 
 seat ove the pulpit in the chu'ch, wif slip nots ontu the 
 necks, so that pullin wun string ontied all ove em, an' 
 let down a big slab tn squeese em flat. I planted mj 
 ball ho'nets colonys onder the bainches amung the 
 straw onder the big shed what jined the chu'ch, an 
 wun peculuer an' chosen nestes I laid away onder the 
 exhortin box, ur shed pulpit. All on em hed strings 
 so I cud open em at wunst frum the thickets, when 
 I thort hit time tu take sich a sponsabil step. They 
 hed hawl'd straw untill hit cum up ni ontu levil wif 
 h e tops ove the bainches, tu git happy in, an' du thar 
 huggin an' wallerin on ; hit hid the inemy what I hed 
 ambush'd thar fus'rate, an' arterwards wer put tu a 
 diffrent use than gittin happy on, I'll swar tu that 
 fac'. 
 
 "Well, nite cum, an' fotch wif hit the mos pufick 
 'sortment ove niggers yu ever seed outen Orleans ur 
 Tophett, a big pine torch-lite at ni ontu every uther 
 tree roun the shed, an' taller candils intu the chu'ch 
 hous whar they cumenc'd thar wurk ; but I'm sistimat- 
 ikally durn'd if they finished hit thar ; not by a sirkil 
 ove five mile. 
 
 "A pimpil-face, greasy-collar'd, limber-mouf d suckit 
 rider drap't ofen a fat hoss, an' sot in tu sorter startin 
 the nigger brethrin in the rite track. He warn't fur 
 frum bein a nat'ral born durn'd fool hissef, fur I seed 
 him peep onder the seat es he sot down in the pulpit, 
 
BUT AT A NEGEO NIGHT-MEETING. 161 
 
 whar he seed the bulge ove win ove the bladders, stick- 
 in out frum onder the slab a littil. He licked his lips, 
 then smak't em, an' wink'd a oily sort ove wink at a 
 Baptis' nigger preacher, what sot by him, an' he show'd 
 all ove his teef arter he'd tuck a peep, an' swaller'd like 
 he wer gittin down a ho'n. They wer bof on em show- 
 in thar instinks : the suckit rider tuck hit tu be the 
 breast ove a fat roas hen, an' the Baptis' thot hit wer 
 the bulge ove a jug. Shapes, George, can't be 'pended 
 upon, taste am the thing. 
 
 "Well, the pot-gutted, ball-heded Baptis' bull nig- 
 ger, what wer fool'd on the jug question, sot his specks 
 an' tuck a tex ; hit wer : 
 
 " Yu shall smell sweet-smellin yarbs, avJ eat honey vittils 
 dar, fur thars no stink, nur bitter, whar you's gwine, in 
 Caneyan. 
 
 "He wer jis' in the middil ove the sweet-smellin 
 yarb part, a-citin ove poseys, sinamint draps, fried ba- 
 con, an' the scent ove the cupboard, as good yeathly 
 smells, a-gittin hot, an' a-breakin a holesum sweat, 
 when a ole she shouted — 
 
 " ' Oh, bress hebin ! I smell him now.' 
 
 " As she smack't her han's, I pull'd the string. The 
 stinkabus begun tu roll an' rise, an' spread. Oh my 
 lordy ! lordy ! Pimple-face wall'd up his eye s, coff'd 
 blow'd his nose in his hankecher, an' sorter looked be- 
 hme the preacher, like he 'spected tu see a buzzard, or 
 an' onbelever, or sich like, atween him an' the wall. 
 
 • 
 
162 SUT AT- A NEGRO NIGHT-MEETING. 
 
 " The nigger stop't as short as ef he'd been shot, rite 
 in the middil ove the wurd ' Canejan,' histed the pint 
 ove his snout up atween his ejes, turn'd his upper lip 
 inside out, throw'd his head back, an' scented slowly 
 all roun. I hes seed ole stsers du hit adzackly the same 
 way. He shook his hed till his years slapt like a hog's 
 when he's a-gittin mad, an' his specks lit in the straw ; 
 then he scented roun' agin. 
 
 " By this time bout two hundred miserlanus niggers 
 wer a-sayin Hu-uu thru thai* snouts, wif thar moufs 
 shot; 'bout half es meny a-coffin, a few sickly wuns 
 tryin not tu vomit, an' wun skaley heel'd he wer a-stuf- 
 fin two corn-cob pints intu his nose, an' a saft wool hat 
 intu his mouf. Sum ten ur fifteen said ' Oh, lor a 
 massy! what dat?' Wun ole feller wif meal on his 
 wool, 'lowed sum fat brudder dun bust hissef, an' am 
 leakin out the cabbage. Better 'tire tu de woods, git 
 sow' up, an' den stay dar.' One ventered 'pole-cat;' 
 anuther, ' twenty pole-cat ; ' ' an' a dorg a-stirrin em,' 
 added anuther ; ' ded hoss,' sed a big he, wif a hoarse 
 cold ; ' spild crout,' squeak't a she ; ' buzzard's nes' ; 
 frum a back bainch; 'rotten aigs an' a heap on em, 
 grunted a ole mammy wif a belly like a dinner-pot, an' 
 a wool mitten in her mouf ; ' wus nur dat, by golly,' 
 snorted a dandy nigger, a-holdin his snout ; 'burnt 
 leder,' frum a fool gal ; 'burnt brimstone,' frum a boy ; 
 ' maggoty soap grease,' guess'd two or three ; ' all dem 
 tings mix. an' a-bilin, dafs hit] said a knowin-lookin 
 
BUT A AT NEGRO NICHT-MEETING. 163 
 
 bow-laiged buck; 'de cumin ob de debil,' surjisted a 
 ole she, a-pullin her aprun over her hed. ' Kedy, heah, 
 mum?' answered her darter. 'Meetin dun busted,' 
 said one; 'hope I neber smell nuder bust,' said anuth- 
 er. 'Less git outen heah,' said ten, while swarms ove 
 em wer aready at hit 
 
 " The passun nigger now holler 'd, ' Sea heah, brud- 
 ren an' sistren ; sum fool niggah cum trou de back ob 
 de gardin, an' sile he foot, on he way heah ; let 'im make 
 hesef scase, an' take he shoe wid 'im, fur he 'noxshus 
 tu dis chosen congregashun, he am.' ' Sh-u-u-u tree 
 hunder git sile in dat gardin on bof foot, shuah yu 
 born,' added a chicken stealin yung he, wif feathers 
 then in his wool. 
 
 " Here the passun's feelins overcum him, an' he cum- 
 menced a-yerkin like he'd swaller'd a hame string, an' 
 the knot hed stuck in his froat. 
 
 " ' Preachin frum that fool tex what done hit,' growl'd 
 a ole daddy wif wun toof, as he hobbled apas the pas- 
 son a-rubbin his sleeve onder his nose like he wer 
 sawin wood, an' a snortin like a hoss atween every rub. 
 
 " ' Missus kill me shuah yu lib, ef I totes dis stink 
 home wid me. Hu got eny sinamint draps?' said a 
 trim-lookin cook. 
 
 " ' Sum ob de sistren am dun faint, holler'd a bow- 
 laiged, bladder-lipped he, a-rushin thru the crowd wif a 
 gourd ove warter. 
 
 " ' Bress de Lord, dey'se rite tu faint, dey no smel] 
 bim now,' said a knowin ole darky. 
 
164 SUT AT A NEGKO NIGHT-MEETING. 
 
 " ' This am more disagreabil than whisky an' inyuns' 
 said Pimple-face, tu me. 
 
 " ' Yas, perticulerly the inyuns,' sez I. 
 
 " He looked at me like he wer sorry far me, an' wud 
 es leve pray fur me es not, an' went an' dipt his hed in 
 the branch. 
 
 "By this time the chu'ch wer empty, 'sceptin the 
 stink, an' hit wer everywhar, oozin thru the shingles 
 like smoke. The candils burnt dim like thar wer a 
 fog in the hous', an' hit wer onhelthy tu preach in till 
 fros', an' thar aint a nigger in that settilment what kin 
 tell the smell ove a scent bottil frum a barril ove rot- 
 ten fish tu this day. They'd be pow'ful good stock tu 
 wurk in a soap factory. Don't yu speck they wud ? 
 The soggy an' muddy heded wans hilt a pow-wow, an' 
 narrated hit that in spite ' ob de ole sarpint de debil an' 
 he stink in he hous,' they ment tu tote on the meetin 
 tu a shoutin aind, onder the shed. So they shot up 
 the door an' winder shutters ove the chu'ch, an' as the 
 wind hed sorter ris, the outside smells warn't much 
 wus nor yu ginerally smell et pork-killin houses, ur 
 camp meetins. This war the wust 'elusion ever a mess 
 ove niggers did cum tu, since ole Shadwick's darkys on- 
 dertuck tu make white folks outen tharsefs by paintin 
 thar cackuses wif onslack't lime. Ole Shadwick geth- 
 ered enuff wool tu pay thar doctur's bills. 
 
 " Well, they blow'd a ho'n, an' ' Pimple face ' tuck 
 the crank ove the ' make happy cum ' mersheen, es all 
 
SOT AT A NEGRO NIGHT-MEETTNG. 165 
 
 the preackin an' grace hed been plum stunk outen his 
 culler'd bruther. The sistren mos on em got ni ontu the 
 pulpit, whar the straw wer deepest wif sich ove the he's 
 es hed a appertite tu help du the huggin an' wallerin. 
 'Pimpil-face,' blow'd his nose, flung his hanketcher 
 across the pulpit, an' sed ' hit wer all fur the bes' that 
 they wer druv frum the hous' ; grace allers spread hit- 
 sef better an' smoofer, outen doors then hit did in the 
 hous'. Tu git happy good, yu mus, hev elbow-room 
 an' straw ; these cundishuns wer fill'd, an' he'd be dis- 
 apinted ef that wurn't a warm activ meetin.' Thinks 
 I, wif me to ' 'sist,' ef hit aint all ytl's sed, an' more tu, 
 I'se no jedge ove the nater ove ball ho'nets, an' the 
 power ove stimiluses. 
 
 " He sed, arter he'd dun preackin, he ment tu pass 
 roun' a small hat, tu git sum means tu buy flannin pet- 
 ticoats wif, fur the freezin sistren in Africa. Ef ever 
 he 'pass'd a hat' hit warn't at Log Chappil, 'sceptin 
 what loose wuns he pass'd a runnin outen thar ; I ' sis- 
 ted in spilin wun coleckshun, I'm durn'd ef I didn't 
 
 " He tuck a tex : Thar shall be loeepin an 1 railin an 1 
 chompin ove teef, bad, ari 1 then ivif no teef, shall smash thar 
 gums tugether like ontu tool/ traps. Sez I tu mysef, 
 that's hit, that is hit, dorg on me ef yu haint draw'd the 
 rite kerd this pop, fur I know'd I wer 'sistin ' ove him. 
 
 " He sot in in yeanest, ontied his choke-string, then 
 shucked his coat, nex his jackid. He play'd pow'ful 
 bad, didn't he? fur me tu hole the 'sisten han', fui 
 
166 StfT AT A NEGRO NIGHT-MEETING. 
 
 shuckin hissef didn't fortify again my ho'nets much, 
 hit didn't. About the time he drapt his jackid, an' wer 
 a-tryin tu jump outen his trowsis wifout onbuttunin em, 
 the niggers wer a-mixin, he an' she, hollerin an' beginin 
 tu hug, an' rar, an' waller, rite peart, an' nat'ral like, 
 the dus, an' the same ole stink, wif the sweat variashun 
 a-risin agin. "Wun ole she fotch her fat han's a slap 
 like killin flies, an' she squall'd ' gloree,' an' her mouf 
 look't like the muzzil ove a boot, wif red linin. 
 
 " Thinks I, jis' now is es good a time es eny ; the pat- 
 rollers mite cum in an' spile hit wif thar durn'd foolish- 
 ness ; so I jis' draw'd the strings keerfully. The fust 
 fruit ove that ac', what I notised, wer ontu Pimple-face 
 hissef. I seed him fotch hissef a lick a-side the hed 
 what stagger'd him, then he hit hissef wif bof han's 
 ontu the place whar they brands Freemasons an' mus- 
 tangs, an' he shot his belly forwards an' his shoulders 
 back'ards, like ontu a 'oman shettin the nex' tu the 
 top drawer ove a beauro ; an' he cum outen that pulpit 
 back'ards a-tarin, his hans a-flyin roun his hed like a 
 par ove windin blades. I thort he hed eitey fingers an 
 twenty thumbs. He embraced a bruther, back-holts, 
 what wer a-tryin tu roll off the hurtin in the straw, an' 
 they jis' kick'd an' roll'd on in cahoote. 
 
 " Thar wer lots ove niggers, mix'd heads an' tails in 
 that orful straw-pile — heds, laigs, arms, feet, ainds ove 
 bainches, bunches ove straw an' strings ove dartin ho'- 
 nets a-showin tharsefs a-top fur a moment ; then sum 
 
SUT AT A NEGRO NIGHT-MEETING. 167 
 
 uther things wud cum upermos'. Hit looked like for- 
 ty-eight cords ove black cats a-ntin, wif tupentine a 
 soakin in roun the roots ove all thar tails. 
 
 " Sich nises — screechin like painters, cryin, hollerin, 
 a few a-cussin, an' more a-jinin em, beggin, prayin, 
 groanin, gruntin, nickerin, an' wun or two fool wuns 
 singin. Ho'nets don't keer a dura fur music, when 
 they's a-fitin, while abuv em a-flyin in the ar, jis' like 
 they weighed nuthin, wer a desirabil 'sortmint ove 
 hyme books, fans, hanketchers, hats, caps, umerellers, 
 walkin-sticks, biskits, chicken-laigs, strings ove beads, 
 Gouber peas, year-rings, ginger-cakes,, collars, garters, 
 babies, terbacker-pipes, ridicules, littil baskits, popco'n, 
 scent bottils, ribbons, hollyhawk bokays, pint ticklers, 
 bits ove straw, an' wun shiff — how she got outen hit 
 wifout takin off her frock, I be dum'd ef I ken tell ; but 
 thar hit wer a-sailin roun wif a deck-load ove ho'nets 
 ontu hit what wer the resarve I reckon. All this wer 
 set off tu advantige by dus', an' millions ove insex, jis' 
 a-hoverin over the sufferers an' then divin down fur a 
 sting. 
 
 " Now, while this wer gwine on onder the shed, nig- 
 gers wer a-shootin intu the woods in all direckshuns, 
 like ontu arrers shot frum orful bows, an' every durn'd 
 nigger hed a brigade ove insex roun his hed, tellin him 
 tu hurry an' makin him du hit too, fur they went crash- 
 in outen site intu the brush like canyun shots. 
 
 " Now, I thinks the ho'nets hed boun tharsefs wii a 
 
168 SUT AT A NEGRO NIGHT-MEETING. 
 
 oath, while they wer shot up in thar nestes, tu fite fur« 
 ever every livin thing they met, from the way they 
 actid. Fur them what follered the niggers intu the 
 woods foun' the hosses, muels, an' oxes, tied out thar, 
 an' part ove em fastened ontu the beastes, an' they im- 
 mejuntly sot in tu imitatinthe niggers in aetin dam fool; 
 they jis' broke loose, rar'd, kick'd, fell down, roll'd 
 over, run away, bawl'd, beller'd, nicker'd, screem'd, 
 an' bray'd, till they farly shuck the leaves ontu the 
 trees. 
 
 " Wun yoke ove steers wif a big sled cum tarin heds 
 down, an' tails strait up, rite thru the shed, an' I think 
 they mus hev swep' out ni ontu thuty niggers, big an' 
 littil, an' a few bainches, intu the woods wif em, a-stick- 
 in ontu thar ho'ns, ontu the yoke, on thar backs, an' on 
 the stakes ove the sled. Yere cum a big gray hoss, 
 like a streak, draggin a buggy ontu hits side wif the 
 top up. His eyes wer red, an' his years laid back ; he 
 scoop'd up his buggy plum full, an' jis' kep on. I ob- 
 sarved Pimpil-face tangled up in the runnin gear, an' 
 true tu the suckit rider's instink, he wer climbin pow- 
 ful fur a inside seat. He run a-pas' a postes what hed 
 aole tin pan atop ove hit full ove rich pine knots a 
 burnin : he scoop'd that in amung his cargo ove nig- 
 gers tu warm em on thar thorny way, an' then he jis' 
 run by the lite ove hit. Thar went a big grizly muel, 
 wif a side saddil way back ontu his rump, an' half a 
 peach tree fas' tu his bridil ; he gobbled up two ur 
 
SUT AT A NEGEO NIGHT-MEETTNG. 169 
 
 three littil niggers in the tree-top, an' tuck em outen 
 the trubbil. 
 
 " Wun long laiged nigger busted outen the bunch what 
 wer down in the straw, hollerin ' whoosh ! Oh gorami- 
 ty! hit hurts till he feel sorter good,' an' tuck a rush 
 skull fus' agin a weatherboarded camp, busted thru hit 
 like hit wer a aig shell, an' out at tuther side thru a 
 winder, a-totin the sash wif him roun his neck like a 
 collar, an' his wool full ove plank splinters, broken 
 glass, an' tangled ball ho'nets. I likes that nigger : he's 
 the only feller I ever seed what tuck in the rale pure 
 Lovingood idear ove what orter be dun onder strong 
 hurtin an' a big skeer. Jis run over ur thru everthing 
 yure durndest, till yu gits cumfort, that's hit. 
 
 "A hames-laiged spur-heel'd wun tuck up a white 
 oak, sayin ' whoosh ! ' outen his nose every yerk he 
 made, an' nndin no pease ove mine up thar, tuck down 
 agin hed fus', squirrel fashion, an' run onder the chu'ch 
 ontu his all fours, sum ho'nets makin the same trip on 
 the same skedule. 
 
 " Wun big she run her hed onder a lean gal's coat- 
 tail tu save her years, but a few activ ball ho'nets what 
 wer a scoutin in her rar, made her git up blinefol' wif 
 the gal 'stradil her neck, her long black snake laigs 
 stickin strait out ahead, an' she a-holdin on tu the fat 
 wun's wool thru the dress wif wun han, an' a ntin ho'nets 
 wif a hat in tuther, her hed throw'd back, an' a yowlin 
 like a scalded houn. ' Fatty ' run her derndest, not seein 
 8 
 
170 SUT AT A NEGEO NIGHT-MEETING. 
 
 ur keerin wliar slie went, down hill kerslunge intu the 
 branch, an' like tu drownded bof ove em, an' sum ho'' 
 nets too. 
 
 "Wun slim buck nigger shot rat-like intu a littil jug 
 closet, onder the pulpit, swell'd up in thar ontil they 
 hed tu tar up the floor nex day tu git him out. He tuck 
 in wif him about forty ho'nets, an' they helpt him tu 
 be cumfortabil in thar ; I knows they did frum thar 
 nater an' what he sed in his hole. 
 
 u Jis' bout this time I foun' out how that gal got 
 outen her shiif, fur I seed sumthin dispersin hitssef in- 
 tu the woods, an' frum the glimpse I got hit look'd sor- 
 ter like a black munkey shaved wif white hine laigs ; 
 hit wer that tormented gal in white stockins. The 
 thing wer pufeckly plain, she hed jis' run outen her 
 dress an' shiif at the same time. That's what cums 
 ove bein a plum natral born'd durn fool ; yu'd hev onder- 
 stood how she got outen hit, without eny studyin at all. 
 
 " Now I'se only narrated the main pints, an' hits 
 tuck me a good spell. But in three minits an' a 'alf 
 arter I finish'd my 'sistin ove em by pullin them ar 
 strings, hit wer all over, scept the swellin, hurtin, an' 
 gittin home. Thar warn't even a dorg lef on that camp- 
 groun', an' yu cud hear nuflin but the humin ove the 
 huntin ho'nets, an' the distunt nise ove scatterin nig- 
 gers, ur uther beastez still gwine furder frum that place 
 ove torment, an' general discumfort. 
 
 " People wer huntin thar niggers thru the county fur 
 
SOT AT A NEGRO NIGHT-MEETING. 171 
 
 a week, an' sumtimes when they foun em, didn't know 
 em, they'd fatten'd so. Dreadful ! warn't hit ? Thai 
 haint been a nigger nite meetin hilt in the county since, 
 an' they's mos' on em becum pius, an' morril. 
 
 " Jis' pullin a string wer my hole sheer in all that 
 ar cumbustiiikashun, hurtin, an' trubbil ; yet as usual 
 every body sez I'se tu blame fur the hole ove hit Yu 
 know that every time a ho'net shoots a nigger, hit makes 
 a white spot that's the center ove the imejut hurtin, an' 
 ove corse mos' ove em looked like ontu secon' mournin 
 calliker, an' the durn'd fool white folks roun' thar, thot 
 hit wer the small pox, an' that I hed gin hit tu the nig- 
 gers, so they sot in tu huntin fur me, wif shot guns an 
 dorgs, but du yu see these yere laigs ? they toted me out 
 enthar safe an' soun. 
 
 "I can't gitjestis nowhar, fur nuthin I du. I'l, turn 
 buzzard, an' eat ded hosses fur a livin ; I 'b'leve theyse 
 not blam'd fur enything much, only thar stink, an' as I 
 hes got that aready es good es the olest buzzard ontu 
 the roos', that makes no differ." 
 
 "Well, Sut," said I, " I think I understand fully now 
 what ' assisting' 1 at a meetin means." 
 
 Sut eyed me for a moment suspiciously, and said 
 
 dr yiy— 
 
 " I speck yu dus." 
 
SUT LOVINGOOD'S SERMON. 
 
 Ttl/CHING YE CAT-FISHE TAVERN". 
 
 I say, George, every critter what lies ever seed me, ef 
 they hes aence emiff tu hide frum a cummin kalamity, 
 ur run frum a muskit, jis' knows five great facks in my 
 case es well es they knows the road tu thar moufs. 
 \Fustly, that I haint got nara a soul, nufiin but a whisky 
 Iproof gizzard, sorter like the wust half ove a ole par 
 •ove saddil bags. Seconly, that I'se too durn'd a fool tu 
 cum even onder millertary lor. Thudly, that I hes the 
 longes' par ove laigs ever hung tu eny cackus, 'sceptin 
 only ove a grandaddy spider, an' kin beat him a usen 
 ove em jis' es bad es a skeer'd dorg kin beat a crippled 
 mud turkil. Foufly, that I kin chamber more cork- 
 screw, kill-devil whisky, an' stay on aind, than eny- 
 thing 'sceptin only a broad bottum'd chun. Fivety, an' 
 las'ly, kin git intu more durn'd misfortnit skeery scrapes, 
 than enybody, an' then run outen them faster, by golly, 
 nor enybody. 
 
 "Well now, ef these five pow'ful strong pints ove 
 karactar don't gin me the right tu preach ef I wants tu 
 
sut lovingood's sermon. 173 
 
 I wild like tu know whar sum preachers got thar pa- 
 pers frum. I means tu wade intu the bisiness es deep 
 es wun sermon, on the free will plan enyhow, leavin 
 out the singin an' totin roun the hat. Listen tu me, 
 fur I'se in yearnis 'bout this thing. Ef yu hes a par 
 ove burnin-glass specks, an' hit am a clar day, yu may 
 fine my texis jis' inside, ur jis' outside, (I'se furgot 
 which,) ove Longfeller's injun tale, an' hit reads 'bout 
 so : 
 
 " Stop not tu res' whar thar am a sign, fur thar aint 
 res' onder hits shadder. Neither eat wif a Ian 1 lord fur 
 he's yer foe. But gird up yer coteail, an' marvil furder, 
 leas' yu lose yer soul a-cussin, an' hev yer paunch et in- 
 tu a partridge net wif pisen. Keep the dus' ove the dining 
 room ofen yer foot, an' the smell ove the bed-room ofen yer 
 close, that yer days may be longer in the Ian' what yer 
 daddy's tuck frum the Injuns. ' 
 
 " Feller suflrers, he an' she : The shakin an' jumblin 
 ove this yere war ove ourn, hes fotch up tu the top ove 
 the groun a new kine ove pisonus reptile, which far 
 durty ways, an' short turns, kin jis' beat the bes' cross 
 atwix' a buzzard an' a wolf yu ever seed, es soon es he 
 bores his way outen the yeath what hatch'd im, an' 
 whar he orter be yet. He gits him a long house, prints 
 ontu the frunt ove hit sum ketchin name, tu tote in the 
 hongry an' onwary, an' the dam fools ginerally, calls 
 hissef the ' Perpryiter,' an' yu mustn't call 'im enything 
 else, fur efju dus, yu'd better gird up yer coteails an 
 
174 sut lovtngood's seemon. 
 
 marvil furder, an' marvil faster, fur his boot hes a pow- 
 ful strong swing, a pow'ful long swing, an' a pow'ful 
 quick swing. He is now perpar'd tu starve, 'suit, swin- 
 dil, be-dirty, be-devil, an' turn inside out the puss, 
 pockid an' stumick ove every misfortnit hungry tired 
 devil, what am wayfarin on fun, bisness, ur frum a 
 skeer. He an' she, ole an' young citerzen, ur soger, 
 he sucks em all out es dry es a spider dus a hoss-fly, 
 an' turns em out tu thar wayfarin agin, while he looks 
 'zaminly arter em wif his fis' full ove thar shinplasters, 
 then he wipes his horny bill ontu the door jam like 
 ontu a hen arter she hes swaller'd a toad, an' waits fur 
 the nex' hoss-fly. Oh ! keep the dus' ove his dinin- 
 room ofen yer foot, an' the smell ove his bed-room 
 ofen yer close, that yer days may be longer in the Ian' 
 what yer daddy's tuck frum the Injuns. 
 
 "The Perpryiter's suckshun am strong: he cud 
 suck a anvil, (if hit wer gold,) down his froat, frum 
 wun aind ove Cumberland tunnil tu tuther, an' thar's 
 no lor ove anybody's make, nur the squire's make, nur 
 the ginerals' make, what kin weakin that suckshun a 
 mossel, ur make a mark ontu his shell ; lor jis' rolls 
 ofen his back like draps ove warter ofen a duck or mal- 
 lard, an' suffrin rolls ofen his casiron conshuns still a 
 littil faster. I seed a thread-bar, faded, cryin sojer's 
 widder, wif a skiliton dogratipe ove hits graveless fath- 
 er in her arms, a-tuggin at a dry bladder, what hed 
 oust been a 'oman's breast, a-reachin pow'ful arter his 
 
sut lovingood's sermon. 175 
 
 conshuns wif a argymint es long es a fishin pole, an' 
 pinted wif a lancit. Hit wer in few words, but every 
 one ove em wer red, sparklin hot frum a burnin heart. 
 ' Fur the sake of this fatherless infant, don't turn me 
 away ! Here's the last dollar ove the last eleven my 
 husband lived to draw ; yu are most welcome to it. 
 Give me but a cold mouthful, we are starving, and 
 oh I look, sir, the rain has turned to sleet. Her blue 
 lips quiver'd, an' the rain draps ofen her bunnit, an' 
 the tear draps outen her modes' hopeless eyes, splashed 
 tugether ofen the littil dogratipe's cheek, hot an' cold 
 tugether, an' hit hedn't life enuf lef tu skringe. He 
 looked down at her es cold es the no'th side ove Lock- 
 out Mountin in January, an' tole her wifout payin a 
 full bill in advance, she coudn't stay ; an' he read a 
 rule ofen the wall, ' pussons travelin wifout eny bag- 
 gage, mus' pay thar bills in advance. Now my year- 
 ers, yu know I haint got nara a soul, an' dam ef the 
 ' Perpryiter ' aint in the same boat. 
 
 " Hint tu him that yer bill's bigger nor yer dinner, 
 an' he'll smile like he luved yu, an' tell yu that he's jis' 
 ruinatin hissef an' his famerly clean out, es fur es his 
 wife's cuzzin's dorg, (an' a durn'd inturestin famerly hit 
 ginerly is too dorg in,) by chargin yu es low es he hes. 
 My 'sperience amung this sort ove taverins an' grub 
 factorys hes been orful — tremenjusly orful. I knows, 
 bein a plum natral born durn'd fool makes agin me 
 everywhar ; but ef thar's wun place wus tu me fur 
 
176 sut loytngood's sermon. 
 
 menyfeld tribulaslmns nur anuther this side the place 
 whar murd'rs, 'dult'rs, hook-nose Jews, suckit-riders, 
 tavrin folk, an' sich like cattil go tu arter they's swep 
 frum the face ove yeath by death's broom, tu cumfort 
 tharsefs drinkin bilin tar, an' eatin red-hot casiron 
 sassengers. Hit is durn'd infunel single slay'd, pewter 
 spoon, fly-blown, one hoss, half stock'd, single trigger, 
 v smoof bore tavrins, an' railroad feed troffs. They's 
 shorten'd my days, they's lainthen'd my nights, they's 
 poperlated the hole territory ove my cackus, clear' d 
 Ian' an' wood Ian', wif all breeds ove dredful insex, 
 they's gutted my pockid, they's disturb'd my dreams, 
 they's 'stonish'd my stumck, they's skeer'd my apper- 
 tite, they'se spilt my smellin tools, they's deafen'd my 
 years, they's 'suited my eyes, an' they's lef a mars- 
 ter stink all over ontu me furever an' ever more, an' 
 more so too ay — men. Oh, my dear yearers, 'keep 
 the dus' ove thar dinin-room ofen yer foot, an' the 
 smell ove thar bed-room ofen yer close, that yer days 
 may be longer in the Ian' what yer daddy's tuck frum 
 the Injuns.' 
 
 " I seed a well appearin man onst, ax one ove em 
 what lived ahine a las' year's crap ove red hot brass 
 wire whiskers run tu seed, an' shingled wif har like on- 
 tu mildew'd flax, wet wif saffron warter, an' laid smoof 
 wif a hot flat-iron, ef he cud spar him a scrimpshun ove 
 soap ? The ( perpryiter ' anser'd in soun's es sof an' 
 sweet es a poplar dulcimore, tchuned by a good nater'd 
 
sut lovtngood's sermon. 177 
 
 slie angel in butterfly wings an' cobweb shiff, that he 
 never wer jis' so sorry in all his born'd days tu say no, 
 but the fac' wer the soljers had stole hit ; ' a towi] 
 then;' ' the soljers hed stole hit ; ' 'a tumbler,' ' the sol- 
 jers hed stole hit ; ' ' a lookin-glass,' 'the soljers hed stole 
 nit;' 'a pitcher ove warter,' 'the soljers hed stole hit;' 
 'then please give me a cleaner room.' Quick es 
 light cum the same dam lie, ' the soljers hed stole hit 
 too. They buys scalded butter, caze hit crumbles an' 
 yu can't tote much et a load on yer knife ; they keeps 
 hit four months so yu won't want tu go arter a secon 
 load. They stops up the figgers an' flowers in the wof- 
 fil irons fur hit takes butter tu fill the holes in the 
 woffils. They makes soup outen dirty towils, an' jim* 
 son burrs ; coffee outen niggers' ole wool socks, roast- 
 ed ; tea frum dorg fennil, an' toas' frum ole brogan in- 
 soles. They keeps bugs in yer bed tu make yu rise in 
 time fur them tu get the sheet fur a table-cloth. They 
 gins yu a inch ove candil tu go tu bed by, an' a littil 
 nigger tu fetch back the stump tu make gravy in the 
 mornin, fur the hunk ove bull naik yu will swaller fur 
 brekfus, an' they puts the top sheaf ontu thar orful 
 merlignerty when they menshuns the size ove yer 
 bill, an' lasly, while yu're gwine thru yer close wif a 
 sarch warrun arter fodder enuf tu pay hit, they refresh- 
 es yer memory ove other places, an' other times, by 
 tellin yu ove the orful high price ove tuckys, aigs, 
 an' milk. When the dveil takes a likin tu a feUer, aD 1 
 
178 sut lovingood's sermon. 
 
 wants tu make a sure thing ove gittin him, he jis' puts 
 hit intu his hed to open a cat-fish tavern, with a gran' 
 rat attachmint, gong 'cumpanimint, bull's neck var- 
 iashun, cockroach corus an' bed-bug refrain, an' dam 
 ef he don't git him es sure es he rattils the fust gong. 
 An' durn thar onary souls, they looks like they expected 
 yu tu b'leve that thy am pius, decent, an' fit tu be 'socia- 
 ted wif, by lookin down on yu like yu belonged tu the 
 onregenerit, an' keepin a cussed ole spindel-shank, rattlin 
 crazy, peaner, wif mud daubers nestes onderthe soundin 
 board, a-bummin out ' Days ove Absins,' ur ' the Devil's 
 Dream,' bein drnv thar too, by thar long-waisted, 
 greasey har'd darter, an' listen'd to by jis' sich durn'd 
 fools es I is. Thar am anuther feeter in the cat-fish tav- 
 rin, what hit haint pufeck wifout. Hit is tu these 
 sweet scented instertushuns what the twis' is tu the 
 pig's tail, an' am in the shape ove a ole hairy lipp'd 
 oman : Sumtimes she is a motherinlor, sumtimes she 
 is a she uncle, sumtimes a ole maid sister, wifout the 
 fust four letters, an' allers a durn'd nuisans ginerally, 
 an' a match fur the Scotch eatch pussonally. She am 
 featcr'd like ontu a white face muley cow, what hed 
 been pisen'd wif pizen oak vine. She hes a par ove 
 san'-bag ankils, her body looks like hit mout a been 
 moulded in a barril wif a big bulge ; she's fond ove 
 biled taters, an' bad news; she wars roun' shiney 
 specks, a bunch ove keys, a callicker redicule, an' a 
 seed-bag cap, wun full ove quilt scraps an' pipes, an' 
 
sut lovingood's sermon. 179 
 
 father es full ove deviltry ; short cuts tu mean tricks 
 an' plans tu discumfort folks. She watches the wim- 
 men custumers' rooms ove nights, an' tells nex day what 
 she seed, ur hoped tu see. She knows tu a crumb 
 how much yu hev et, an' begrudges hit tu half a crumb. 
 She makes her garters outen the hems ove ole shuttails, 
 an' is so savin, she wars but one et a time ; she b'leves 
 in low quarter'd shoes, fallin frum grace ofen, an' in 
 dippin es the cure ; she cou'dent live a minit enywhar, 
 but in a cat-fish tavrin, an' I'm durn'd glad she can't. 
 
 "Now breatherin an' sistren, outen all this I hes 
 gether'd the follerin orful facks, what orter be known 
 tu all passuns, priests, an' pussons who preach. Fust- 
 ly, the ' purpryiters ' ove cat-fish tavrins, an' rail-road 
 feed troffs, am hell's recruitin ossifers. He goes thar 
 hissef, in course, afore his toe-nails git cold, an' mos' 
 ove the misfortnit devils, what hes stopp'd wif 'im, 
 goes thar too, fur cussin an' 'vengeful thinkin, fotch 
 about by dirt, sloth, swindle, sufferin, stealin, an' star- 
 vashun. Secon'ly hit am a orful 'sponsabil ondertakin 
 tu keep a cat-fish tavrin, fur hit hes a brimstone ret- 
 ribushun es big es a car shed, a-follerin clost arter hit, 
 an' finerly, I'd jis' ruther du wif out the instertushun in- 
 tirely; the plain one-bottil doggery fur my drinkin, 
 the kitchens fur my vittils, an' the barns fur my bed, 
 whar the bugs cease tu bite, an' the tired kin rest. 
 
 " Wharf ore, ' stop not tu res' whar thar am a sign, fur 
 thar aint res' onder hits shadder, neither sup wif a Ian- 
 
180 sut lovingood's sermon. 
 
 lord, far he's yer foe, but gird up yer coteail an' mar. 
 vil furder, leas' yu lose yer soul a-cussin, an' hev yer 
 paunch et intu a partridge net wif pisen Keep the dus 
 ove the dinin-room ofen yer foot, an' the smell ove the 
 bed-room ofen yer close, that yer days may be longer 
 in the Ian' what yer daddy's tuck frum the Injuns. 
 
BART DAYIS'S DANCE. 
 
 "Du yu know that bow-laiged boy on the fence 
 thar ?" said Sut 
 
 " No ; who is he ?" 
 
 " That's Bart Davis's yungest son, name Obed. Jis' 
 obsarve how his snout's skin'd an' his year slit an' so 
 forth." 
 
 " Yes, I see ; how did it happen ?" 
 
 "Happen? hit didn't happen et all, hit wer dun 
 a-pnpos, permeditated a-pupos. Ther wer a dance et 
 his dad's, las' Sat'day nite wer two weeks ago, what hed 
 like tu bred a berryin ur two ; the corpses wer mos' 
 redy, an' nuffin but acksidint kep em frum bein fin- 
 ished. I wer thar mysef, an' kin say an' swar that the 
 chances run mity even, a-tween mirth an' mournm. 
 Fur a spell hit wer the exhitenest time I ever seed 
 on sich a ocashun, not tu hev no more whisky nur we 
 hed. Thar warn't but 'bout half a barril when we be- 
 gun, an' when we quit, we burnt the hoops an' staves 
 tu dance the las' reel by. 
 
 " Everybody knows Bart is a durn'd no-count, jug- 
 
182 BAET DAVIS'S DANCE. 
 
 kerryin, slow-thinkin, flea-hurtin, herrin-eatin, Noth 
 Calinian, plays a three-string fiddil wif a grasshopper 
 jirk, while his wife totes the wood. He hes but two 
 gifs wuf a durn : wun is, he'll vide his whisky wif yu 
 down tu the las' half pint ; thar he stops, fur that's jis' a 
 horn yu know ; an' tuther is, he ain't feard ove eny- 
 thing a-livin, sept ole Peg. I don't wunder et that, fur 
 hit mus' take a man wif a onnatrally big melt, not tu be 
 fear'd ove his wife, onless she's blind ur hes a sweethart. 
 Peg (she's his ole quilt, yu know) is a regular steel-trap l 
 ove an 'oman ; she goes wif wun side ove her frock 
 tacked up at the hips, her har down her back, an' a 
 roasted hickory onder her arm tu scold the brats wif, 
 an' tu skeer Bart. They's bof great on dancin ove 
 Sat'day nites et home, an' sumwhar else on tuther 
 nites. Ef thar's a frolic enywhar in five mile, Bart is 
 sure tu be thar, an' Peg, too, ef she's in travilin fix, 
 which ain't more nur five months in the year. She 
 goes fur two reasons : wun is, tu eat an' dance, an' 
 tuther tu watch Bart. He hes two reasons also : wun 
 is tu suck in all the whisky floatin roun, an' tu du a 
 heap ove things what needs watchin. They giner'lly 
 hes a dermestic discussun arter they gets home, in 
 which, teeth, claws, an' beggin am the argymints, an' 
 'I won't du so no more,' the aind ove hit. They am a 
 lively an' even yok'd par. Nobody else on the green 
 yeath orter be tied tu either ove em. 
 
 " Well they mounted that par ove hames yu see on 
 
BART DAVIS'S DANCE. 183 
 
 the fence thar, the boy name Obed ontu a muel, an 
 sent him tu the still-hous, tu naiTate hit that thar wud 
 be a dance et home the nex nite, an' fur every feller 
 what warn't married tu fetch a gal, an' them what wer 
 married tu fetch two. Now this rangement show'd 
 Bart's good sence, fur he know'd that hit takes more 
 gals tu du married fellers then single wuns. Caze peo- 
 ple what hes but one kind ove vittils et home, hit 
 allers takes more tu du em abroad. 
 
 " When the nite cum they wer all thar, a hous' plum 
 full, an' amung em a lot ove counter-hoppers wif strip'd 
 sugar candy in ther pockets, an' young lawyers wif cin- 
 amint ile ontu ther har ; all on em frum town, an' jis' 
 ole enuf tu begin tu strut an' gobble. Thunder and 
 litnin, an' sun-flower pattrin calliker, mixed wif check 
 an' stripe, homspun swept all about thar, wif one, jis' 
 one black silk. They laid off two reels, wun call'd the 
 leather shoe reel, an' tuther, the barfoot reel. I danced 
 in the wun I nam'd las'." 
 
 " Why did they divide that way, Silt?" 
 " Why, dum hit, don't yu know that the dancin wud 
 turn intu fitin afore the fust set got ofen the flure, ef 
 they mix'd em ? The shoes wud scronch the bar toes 
 in dancin, and' rite then an' thar they'd mix fur a fite. 
 A hard-shell preacher wif his niouf mortised intu his 
 face in shape like a mud's shoe, heels down, fotch his- 
 sef thar soon arter dark, an' made moshuns like he 
 ment tu stay all nite. He got intu a corner, an' com- 
 
184 Bart davis's dance. 
 
 menced a-tclninin up his sighin an' groanin aperatus, 
 a-shakin ove his head, an' lookin like he hed the belly- 
 ake. He cudn't hev look'd more solemcoly, ef hia 
 mam hed died that mornin a-owin him two dullars an' 
 a 'alf. All these wimin an' luvely souns an' moshuns 
 wer made on count ove the dancin, an' p'raps the cus- 
 sin an' kissin. The whisky part ove that inturtainment 
 he'd nuffin against. I knoio'd that, fur every time he 
 v roll'd his eyes to'ards the barril, he'd lick his lips sorter 
 sloppy like, jis' es ef he'd been dippin his bill intu a 
 crock ove chicken gravy, an' wer tryin tu save the 
 stray draps, what hung outside his face. Oh ! he wer 
 jis' a-honin arter that ball-face whisky ; he'd a jis' kiss'd 
 hit es sweet, an' es long, es ef hit hed been a willin gal. 
 I sorter aidged up a-side him, an' sez I — 
 
 " 'Mister, will yu hev a few draps ove camfire, 
 ur laudamy? Yu seems tu be pow'ful ailin in yer 
 innards. Yu hesent swallered a live rat, ur a mole, hes 
 yu?' 
 
 " He shook his head, an' fotch a sigh, what ainded in 
 a groan. Sez I — 
 
 " ' Rats ur moles am onhelthy things tu s waller afore 
 they'se departed this life.' 
 
 " He blow'd out a orful sigh, part outen his nose, but 
 mos' ove hit out whar the toe ove the muel-shoe wer, 
 an' sez he— 
 
 " ' This am a wicked an' a parvarse generashun ove 
 vipurs, yung man.' 
 
BART DAVIS'S DANCE. 185 
 
 " 'An' gin up tu hardness over hart, an' deviltry, 
 an' belevin thunderin lies,' said I; an' I puff'd out a 
 big sigh, wif a little groan fur a tail. Sez he — 
 
 " ' Thar am no-o-o-o dancin in hell,' an sot intu 
 shakin ove his head, till I thot he'd keep on fur ever- 
 lastin, an' ever more. Sez I — 
 
 " ' Haint yu slitely mistaken'd in that las' re-mark ove 
 yourn ? Ef thar's es much hot truck, an' brmstone, an' 
 cinders, an' hickory smoke, an' big hurtin, in hell es 
 yu folks sez thar am, thar mus' be sum dancin, pur- 
 tickelerly jigs an' quick-steps ; they don't lack fur 
 music, I reckon, far I'se allers hearn hell wer full ove 
 fiddlers, an' thar's Yankees enuf thar tu invent fire- 
 proof fiddils fur em, so they don't want fur tchunes. 
 All on yeath that bothers me is the rosim.' 
 
 " 'Ah, yung onregenerit man,' sez he, 'thar's more 
 rosim in hell than thar's in all Noth Calmy.' 
 
 " ' But hit ain't quite hard enuf tu rub ontu fiddil 
 bows, is hit ?' sez I. 
 
 "He groan 'd an' shook his head, an' s«nt wun one 
 ove his eyes to'ards the whisky corner. I went an' fotch 
 'im a big slug intu a gourd. That shovel-shaped on- 
 der lip ove his'n jis' fell out'ards like ontu the fallin 
 door ove a stone coal stove, an' he upsot the gourd 
 inside ove his teef. I seed the mark ove the truck 
 gwine down his froat jis' lil^.e a snake travelin thru a 
 wet sassidge gut. He smelt intu the gourd a good long 
 smell, turned up his eyes, an' sed ' Barlm ove life.' 
 
186 BAET DAVIS'S DANCE. 
 
 " Thinks I, ole Sock, I know what fotch yu tu this 
 frolic besides yu're hoss an' our whisky. Bart now 
 cum up, an' Hardshell tole him he'd cum tu stay all 
 nite 5 ef he suited all roun. 
 
 " ' Sartinly, oh yas, an' welcum,' sed Bart. 
 
 " The ole Sock, never alterin the shape ove the 
 hole tore in his face, sed, mity sneerin like, 'Yu is 
 hosspitabil.' I seed Bart sorter start, an' look at him, 
 an' go off a-winkin at me tu foller him. We went 
 outside the hous', intu a chimbly corner, an' thar 
 wer two fellers, wun ove em a she, a-whisperin. We 
 went tu tuther corner, an' thar wer two more ; then we 
 went tu the stabil, an' hearn whisperin thar ; hit mout 
 been rats a-runnin in straw. So Bart cud hold in no 
 longer. Sez he — 
 
 " ' Never mine, I don't keer a durn who hears me. 
 I b'leve I'se been 'suited in my own hous' ; didn't that 
 durn'd preachin mersheen call me a hoss ?' 
 
 " ' That's jis' what he sed. He call'd yu a hoss-pita- 
 bil,' sez I. 
 
 " ' Pitabil, pitabil,' sez Bart, ' dam ef I don't b'leve 
 that's wus nur the hoss.' 
 
 " ' Sartinly,' sez I, ' pitabil is a sorter Latin tail stuck 
 tu hit so yu moutn't onderstand ; hit means pitiful hoss 
 in Inglish, an' ef I wer yu, I'd see that his stumack 
 wer spiled fur Peg's fried chicken an' biskit I'd go 
 rite in an' show him how a hoss ken kick an' sich like.' 
 he jis' gritted his teef, like he wer a-chompin aigshells, 
 
BART DAVIs's DANCE. 187 
 
 ur paragorick phials, an' put fur the hous', a-rollin up 
 his shut-sleeves es he went, plum up tu his arm-pit. 
 
 " The durn''d, hiperkritikil, groanin ole Hardshell 
 raskil hed dun got the dancin stop't ; he'd tuck the fiid- 
 dil away frum the nigger, an 1 wer a-holdin hit by the 
 naik in wun han, an' a-makin gesters wif the bow in 
 tuther. He wer mounted ontu a cheer, clost by the 
 meal barril, an' wer exortin em orfully 'bout thar sins 
 ove omishun an' cummishun, purtickerly the cummi- 
 shun wuns, wif the dancin sins at the head, warin sun- 
 flower caliker wuns nex' ; an' then cum thar smaller 
 sins, sich es ridin a-hine fellers on the "same hoss, whis- 
 perin outen doors, an' a-winkin a-hine fans, tuckey-tails 
 an' hankechers, an' sed that black silk wer plenty in 
 hell, that hit wer used fur mournin thar, an' not tu 
 dance in. The he sins, ove the small sort, wer cumin 
 frum town ove nites, a-warin store clothes, smellin ove 
 cinamint ile, an' a-totin striped sugar candy in thar 
 pockets, tu turn the minds ove the weak gals, instead 
 ove a flask ove that good holesum ole truck, what 
 they'se got in towns, name ' coniack.' 
 
 " The wimmen folks wer backed up in bunches, in 
 the corners, an' agin the beds, wif thar fingers in thar 
 moufs, an' wun ur two ove the saffcest ove em wer get- 
 tin up a quiet sort ove dry cryin. 
 
 "The he fellers all looked like they'd mos' es leave 
 fite es not, ef they knew how tu start the thing, when in 
 bounced Bart ; he looked like a catamount ; wun jump 
 
188 BABf DAVIS'S DANCE. 
 
 an' he stood a-top ove the meal barril, squar in frunt 
 ove Hardshell, his har a-swayin about wif pure mad, 
 like a patch ove ripe rye in a wind, an' his eyes wer es 
 roun an' es red as a bull's when he's a-jinin in battil 
 wif anuther bull frum Bashan. He struck wun fistes 
 away out a-hine, an' wif tuther reachin at arm's laingth, 
 he cummenc'd borin, like he hed a gimblit in his shot 
 fis', rite onder the snout ove the thunderin Hardshell, 
 like he wer tryin tu bore his mouf inter a better shape, 
 an' a-narratin thru his teef these facs, in words what 
 sounded like grittin hard co'n. 
 
 " l Yu durn'd infunel, incumpassabil warter-dorg! 
 yu cuss'd hiperkritikal, ongrateful ole mus-rat ! yu h — 11 
 fir'd, divin, splatterin, pond-makin, iron-jacket'd ole 
 son ove a mud-turtil, yu hes 'salted me in my own 
 hous', avU in Latin et that, an' then yu've tuck the imper- 
 dent liberty tu skare these yere children outen thar 
 innersent mucement, (still borin away frum left tu 
 right, wif that horny fis' ove his'n, an' the Hardshell's 
 head gwine furder back every twist.) Call'd me a 
 hoas Git ofen that cheer !' 
 
 " Es he sed ' git,' he loaned the passun a mos' tremen- 
 jus contushun, rite in the bull curl. I seed his shoe- 
 soles a-gwine up each side ove Bart's fis' afore he hed 
 time tu muve hit, arter he struck. Hit wer a lick, 
 George, that hed hit been a kick, a four year ole muel 
 wud hev been pow'ful proud ove. I seed ni ontu a 
 gallon ove sparks ove fire fly outen the passun's eyes 
 
BAKT DAVIS'S DANCE. 189 
 
 mysef (he mus hev seed a bushel) when hit reached 
 his curl. He let the fiddil go when he wer in the 
 highes part ove his backward summerset, an' the nigger 
 what hed been watchin up at hit all this time, wis'fu] 
 like, es a dorg watches a meat-skin when yu holds hit 
 too high fur him tu grab, cotch his fiddil in bof hans 
 afore hit toch the yeath. 
 
 " ' Dar by golly, you no git tu smash dis fiddil, wid 
 yu durn fool fitin an' preachin.' 
 
 "An' holdin it wavinly abuv his head, he dodged 
 outen the surkil ove imejut danger. The old Shell lit 
 ontu his all fours, hit bein that much more nur a fall 
 summerset, an' the black silk lit a-stradil ove him. I 
 know'd hit wer the black silk, bekase I seed the white 
 stockins an' grey garters. Hev I mention'd that thar 
 wer one hundred an' twenty -five pouns ove live, black- 
 eyed gal in under that black silk ?" 
 
 "No, Sut." 
 
 " Well, thar wer, an' that she wer bof live an' willin, 
 ole Dipper wer soon redy tu swar. ' Black silk in hell 
 is thar,' scream' d she, a-hissin like ontu a cat, an' cum- 
 menced a-pullin up by the roots his long har, like hit 
 wer flax, wif bof hans, an' a-shakin the bunches oien 
 her fingers, an' then gwine fur more, the hissin gittin a 
 littil louder every pulL George, that wer the fust 
 spessamin ove a smokin mad gal I've seed in a hen's 
 age ; she kerried out my idear ove a fust-rate flax-puller, 
 pullin agin two, far a bet. I think she gin the ole Shell 
 
190 BART DAVIS'S DANCE. 
 
 the idear ^hat sum strong man body wer a-holden his 
 head ni ontu the saws ove a activ cotton gin. 
 
 " Now the boy name Obed, with the hame laigs, hevin 
 a sorter jestis' ove the peace turn ove mine, run in tu 
 pull her off, an' cudn't du hit afore she made a rake fur 
 his har, an' got hit. She jis' mixed the hanful wif the 
 pile on the flure, an' gin hersef back tu the job ove pre- 
 parin the passun fur a wig. A hawk-billed, weazel- 
 eyed, rat-mouthed feller, what hed been a-struttin roun 
 Black Silk all nite, a-trailin wun wing, an' a-lickin his 
 lips, seed the fool boy name Obed, a-tryin tu git her 
 tu lite ofen the ole Sock, so he jis' growl 'd low, an' 
 barked once, an' kiver'd him, an' afore his mam Peg, 
 an' me, an' five uther gals, cud git him loose, he hed 
 made her cub the speckterkil yu sees roostin on that 
 ar fence, an' he's hed ni ontu three weeks tu mend his 
 looks in, by Jew David's plarster, sweet ile, an' the 
 keer ove his mam. 
 
 " The fitin now got tu be gineral on mos' parts ove 
 the field, an' es the cuppils cum in frum outen doors, 
 lookin sorter sneakin, an' pale, (frum the nise ove the 
 rumpus, I speck,) wun at leas', outen every par, got 
 jump't on by sumbody. P'raps a gal wud kiver a 
 cumin in gal, anuther gal wud go fur the har an' skin 
 ove a cumin in he feller ; then, agin, the fis' ove a he 
 wud meet anuther cumin in he, right atween the eyes, 
 an' so on till the thing got tu be durn'dably mix'd up 
 an' lively. Peg boun up the boy name Obed's wouns, 
 
BAET DA. VIS'S DANCE. 
 
 "Black silk in h-11 Is thar', scream'fl she, a-hissin' like onta a cat, an' commenced a* 
 pnHtn' up by the roots his long har like it wer flas." Pagt 190. 
 
BART DAVIS'S DANCE. 191 
 
 bruises, an' petrifyin sores, an' then went on wif supper 
 cookin, like all wer quiet on the Pertomack. 
 
 " Es soon es ole Shell begun tu cum to, frum Bart's 
 dubbil distill'd thunder-bolt, the hurtin all over his head 
 begun tu attrack his 'tenshun, an' soaked thru his skull, 
 an' in thar tuck the shape ove an idear ; the idear shaped 
 hitsef intu spoken wurds, an' they wer, ' Gird up yer 
 loins an' giV I seed the wurkin ove his mind, so I jis' 
 shouted es loud es I cud beller, ' The Pherlistshuns be 
 upon yu Sampsin.' He hearn hit, an' wer struck wif 
 the force ove the remark, an' started far the back door, 
 still on his all fours, in a single foot rack. Es soon e<! 
 Black Silk felt him movin, she cummenced spurrin him 
 wif her heels ; while she hilt tu his har wif wun han, she 
 tack a pin outen her collar wif tuther, an' made a cush- 
 ion fur hit in the hill, ontu the north side ove the pint 
 ove his back-bone; he kicked up an' snorted, an' 
 changed the single foot rack intu a tarin pace, loped 
 outen the door intu outer darkness, an' his heel-tops 
 wer the last I seed ove him. He stumbled an' fell 
 down the log-steps, an' flung Black Silk like ontu a full 
 balloon over his head, (I seed a heap ove white shinin 
 es she went.) He felt his way in the dark, thru the 
 woods, fur more pleasant places, an' she cum in larfin, 
 'Black silk in hell, hey?' wer every word she sed." 
 
 "Goon, Sut." 
 
 " That's all. I ain't like ole Glabbergab ; when J's# 
 spoke off what I knows, I stor>s talkie," 
 
192 BAET DAVIS'S DANCE. 
 
 : ' Well, what became of Hardshell ?" 
 
 " Oh ! es tu that, he made his 'pearance las' Sunday, 
 in the pulpit, es bald es a jug, wif a black spot aidged 
 wif green an' yaller, 'bout the size ove a prickly par, on 
 his forehead, an' preach't 'bout the orful konsekenses 
 ove Absalom's hevin long har, human depravity, an' the 
 Salt Lake ; sed he wer gwine thar right off,, an' he'll du 
 hit" 
 
TRIPETOWN: TWENTY MINUTES FOR 
 BREAKFAST. 
 
 " I wer onst a-ridin ontu the kers ove a raleroad, 
 an' hed been livin on nuffm but sum bites ove whis- 
 ky far a hole day an' nite, an' felt like a congriga- 
 shun ove rats wer a-bildin thar nestes outen sifter wire 
 in my stumick, an' a hive ove bees wer a-fixin tu 
 swarm in my head, when the conducter run his fore- 
 aind intu the door, up tu the butt ove his watch-chain, 
 an' holler'd — 
 
 " i Tripetown — twenty minutes fur breakfus'.' 
 
 " 'That's me,' sez I, an' I went over. I jis' tell yu 
 this case tu show yu that the sarmint I hev been 
 preachin, wif Catfishe Tavrins fur a tex, wer pervok'd 
 outen me. 
 
 "I sot down, an' oh, lordy ! sich a breakfus ! My 
 talk, bad es yu sez hit wer, about the Catfishe peopil, 
 don't begin tu du jestice tu this mess ove truck. A 
 hungry dorg wudn't hev smelt, nur a sperienced buz- 
 zard even lit ontu hit, ef thar wer a ded hoss in a hun- 
 dred mile. I tried a bite, an' hit flew outen my mouf 
 like ther'd been a steel mattrass spring quiled in my 
 9 
 
194 TRIPETOWN — TWENTY MINUTES FOR BREAKFAST. 
 
 froat ; so ove course I wer the fast wun outen thar. 
 Thar he wer, the everlastin 'perpryiter,' a-standin in 
 the door, wif his paw full ove notes, a-lickin the ball 
 ove his tuther thumb, like he wer hungry tu begin, 
 that bein the chief aind ove (the Catfishe) man. 
 
 ■" 'Two dullars an' a 'alf; yu mus' make the change,' 
 sed he, all in wun breff. 
 
 " I thor't I'd see ef all his feelins wer seared wif a 
 red hot iron, an' so I sed — lookin mity serus an' pius 
 like, rite squar intu the middil ove the glass ove his 
 specks, what kivered a par ove es mean an' muny-luvin 
 eyes es ever star'd at the eagle ontu a dime ontil that 
 ar bird shot his'n up wif shame — 
 
 " ' Yu keep a all-fired good hous', Mister — good bis- 
 kit, an' coffee tu match ; hit gins a man a appertite tu 
 jis' look et yu ; hit gins him a appertite an' a stumick 
 tu look et yur wife, an' hit sets em bof a-rarin an' 
 a-squealin tu smell yer tabil. This am a holesum place. 
 An' es I hes far'd so well, about yu, I wants tu tell yu 
 a valerabil secret ; ^o w tu make yer co ffee, good es hit 
 is, still better, an' not cos' a cent more.' 
 
 " 'Much obleged, indeed,' sez he, an' lookin es sweet 
 roun the mouf es ef he'd been a-tastin good brandy an' 
 white sugar, an' wer wantin ove more. 
 
 "Now the travelers wer cumin out, ni ontu eighty 
 ove em, an' wantin me outen the way, so they cud pay 
 fur what nastiness an' pizen they'd swaller'd, an' git 
 outen the smell ove hit es soon es possibil, I jis' kep 
 
TRIPETOWN — TWENTY MINUTES FOR BREAKFAST. 195 
 
 on talkin 'bout my 'provement ontu coffee till I tho't 
 mos' ove em wer in year shot, when I rais'd my soun, 
 an' sed — 
 
 " ' Ef yu want tu make that good coffee ove yourn 
 better, jis' yu, instead ove makin hit all outen ole boot- 
 laigs, put in about half oyg__a _ole wool hat, ch opp'd 
 fine, finer nur yu chops yer hash say, intu pieces a 
 inch squar ; hit will help the taste pow'ful, an' not set 
 the smell back a bit,' I flung down my munny an' put 
 fur the train. I swar, es I went, I cud feel the 
 fokis ove them specks a-burnin intu the back ove my 
 head, an' I smelt my har swingin. I know'd that he 
 wer tryin tu look thru me, an' the peopil, men an' 
 wimmen, wer screamin a-larfin et sumthin. Tu help 
 his mad to a head, wun feller hed sot down ontu the 
 step, wif a segar clamp't atween his knees, a biskit intu 
 each han, whetin away, tryin tu strike fire outen them 
 ontu hit. Anuther hed fired wun ove the biggest an 
 hardes' biskit at the smoke-hous', an' hit went thru the 
 wether boardin like a grape shot. Anuther perlite, 
 bowin, smilin feller cum out wif the drum-stick aind 
 ove the hine laig ove a ole gander 'twixt his finger an' 
 thumb, an' narrated hit that hit wer ole Powhattan's 
 war club, an' he wer gwine tu start hissef a museum ; 
 while out in the yard, lay a long feller flat ontu his 
 belly, wif his laigs wide apart, an' his paws locked 
 roun a par-biled beef rib, an' he wer gnawin at tuther 
 aind ove hit fust in wun side ove his mouf, an' then 
 
106 TRIPETOWN — TWENTY MINUTES FOR BREAKFAST. 
 
 tuther, growlin like a dorg, an' a-eyein sidewise the 
 picter sot in the door-frame all the while. A long- 
 necked passenger, top'd off wif a seal-skin cap, cum 
 rushin out in a shanghi trot, wif a stripe ove tuff tripe 
 es long es a sirsingle. He hed hit by the middil in his 
 mouf, an' wer a-slashin an' a-slapin the aind agin every- 
 body what he pass'd by, vigrusly shakin his head, jis' 
 like a dorg dus when he's a-killin snakes, ur a sow 
 playin wif rags afore a storm. All these shines didn't 
 stop the larfm a bit, ef I noticed right. 
 
 "Well, when I'd got off about thuty yards, I ven- 
 ter'd tu look back. Thar he stood, the' mos' orful pic- 
 ter ove onregenerated rath, mortal man ever seed. He 
 looked like he'd weigh five hundred pounds ; he wer 
 swell'd all over, ni ontu bustin, an' the door wer chock 
 full ove him, all in a strut. His arms stuck out like a 
 settin hen's wings, his hat cocked before, his feet wide 
 apart, an' he wer a-lookin at me sure enuf. Them 
 specks blazin like two red lamps, his lips a-flutterin es 
 he blow'd out the hot breff an' foam ove his onbearabil 
 pent up rath, what my onekeled an' on-hearn ove im- 
 perdence tu him, the perpryiter hed sot a-bilin in his 
 in'ards, ontil he wer ni ontu burnt out, thru tu the har, 
 an' waiscoat. The smoke ove his torment wer a-cumin 
 out in whiffs frum his breeches pockets, an' button 
 holes. 
 
 " My lookin back toch the trigger ; an idear, an' 
 speech now cum tu him fur the fust time, an' he ex- 
 
TRIPETOWN — TWENTY MINUTES FOR BREAKFAST. 197 
 
 ploded. He jis' bellered like a bull bawlin in a tunnel 
 a-flingin big splotches ove foam an' spittil way ofen 
 the step et every word. 
 
 " ' Spose — yu — go — tu — h — 11 — yu — dam — raskill.' 
 " He wer ontu his tip-toes when he sed this, an' as he 
 ainded the word 'raskill,' he cum down ontu his heels, 
 till he made the winders chatter, an' his big watch-seals 
 dance agin. 
 
 " I jis' kep ontu the kers, an' didn't du what he tole 
 me tu. Arter we'd run two miles, I looked back, an 
 we wer so fur that the door look'd like a black spot on 
 the hous', an' I wish I may be tetotally durn'd, cordin 
 tu law, ef I didn't still see them hot specks, rite in the 
 middil ove hit, blazin away like two leetle red stars 
 Sum orful calamity tuck place at that rail road troff tu 
 sumbody, afore he simmered down." 
 
HEN BAILY'S REFORMATION. 
 
 [This truthful narrative is particularly recommended to the careful 
 consideration of the Rev. Mr. Stiggins, and his disciples, of the Brick 
 Lane Pranch of the Grand Junction Ebenezer Temperance Associa- 
 tion. This mode of treatment can be fully relied upon. ] 
 
 We were resting by a fine cool spring, at noon, with 
 an invitingly clean gourd hanging on a bush over the 
 the water. Sut, as usual, was at full length on the 
 grass, intently looking at the gourd. 
 
 " Say fellers, that ar long-handil'd gourd thar, mout 
 cum the temprince dodge over sum ove yu fellers 
 afore yu wer quite ready fur the oaf. I looks on em 
 all es dangrus, an' that's a mons'us 'spishus lookin wun, 
 hit hes sich a durn'd long handil. Allers 'zamin the 
 inside ove a gourd-handil wif a sharp pinted swich, 
 afore yu drinks ; hits a holesum foresight. Hen Baily 
 — did eny ove yu know Hen ? — he wer a peach wif a 
 wurm intu hit, enyhow — a durn'd no-count, good, easy, 
 good-fur-nuthin vagerbone, big es a hoss, an' lazy es a 
 shingle-maker, but a pow'ful b'lever, not a sarcumsised 
 b'lever, but a lie b'lever ove the straites seek, swallered 
 everything he hearn, an' mos' everything he seed 
 
HEN BAILY'S REFOBMATION. 199 
 
 That ar swallerin gif ove liis'n cum wifin a eighth ove a 
 inch, onst, ove sendin him tu kingdum cum, an' did send 
 him head fast intu a life-everlastin temprince s'ciety. 
 I'd a-liked pow'fal well far tu hearn him gin in his 
 'sperince, even ef he tole one half He lov'd biled 
 drinks orfal, never wer a hour's walk frum a still-hous' 
 ur a dogger j since he tuck tu warin breeches. 
 
 "Well, yu see the ole man Eogers up on Los' Creek 
 wer a-paintin his hous' a-new, an' Hen wer suckilatin 
 roun thar, jis' prospectin fur sperits, an' seed a bottil 
 wif clar truck in hit what he tuck tu be new sperrits, 
 go when the painter's back wer turned, he jis' run hits 
 naik down his froat. He fotch hit out wif a onder- 
 handid jerk, flung hit ahine him an' put, sputterin an' 
 yerkin, fur the spring, a-swabbin out his mouf wif his 
 ole wool hat rolled up. Now, boys, hit wer sperrits, 
 but orfal tu think ove, hit wer sperrits ove tupentine, 
 fresh frum the rosinny part ove Noth Caliney. 
 
 " Me an' a few uther durn'd fools wer at the spring, 
 sorter es we is now, a-mixin a few draps ove hit wif 
 sum limber laig-whisky, an' gabblin, when we seed 
 him a-cumin jis' a-flutterin. Es he run a-pas' the wash 
 place, he flung the hat swab away, an' snatched the 
 wash gourd, so es tu save time. The durn'd lazy cuss 
 wer in a rale tarin hurry ; fust time I ever seed him run 
 ur cum ni runnin in all my born'd days. His mouf 
 wer es red es a split beef, an' the light big bubbil kine 
 ove slobber wer a-flyin like snow frum a-runnin hosses 
 
200 HEN BAILY'S REFORMATION. 
 
 heels. Thinks I, sody, by the great golly ! oh, yu dam 
 fool, sum gal's cum the luv-powder game over yu pur- 
 feckly. He wer trubbil'd in mine, fur at the landin 
 part ove every jump, he'd say, in souns like he hed a 
 gob ove scaldin mush stuck tu the ruff ove his mouf) 
 the words ' Hell-fire,' nufnn else ; them wer pow'fu] 
 suitabil words tu his case. I didn't think he wer so 
 good at pickin out talk ; they 'splained his ailmint bet- 
 ter nur a doctor cud. He soused the ole soap subs 
 gourd intu the spring, an' then filled his mouf over 
 mos' half ove the aidge, quicker nor flea ketchin. Es 
 he turn'd hit up, I seed a stripid eight inch lizard cum 
 tarin outen the handil, whar he'd been hid es he thought. 
 He sot his fore paws ontu the aidge ove the gourd an' 
 peeped over. Seein us, gin him a turnin skeer, an' he 
 jis' darted down Hen's froat. I seed his tail fly up agin 
 Hen's snout, es he started down hill. The rep-tile tuck 
 his mouf tu be a proverdenshul hole in the groun, an' I 
 dusn't wunder, fur hit wud a-fool'd a kingfisher eny- 
 time. He drap't the empty gourd, an' holdin his belly 
 in his lock't hans, sed — 
 
 " ' Warter makes hit wus, boys.' 
 
 " Sez I, ' Hen, hits the lizard.' 
 
 " He wall'd roun his sweaty stuck out eyes at me, an' 
 sez he — 
 
 " 'What lizard?' 
 
 " ' Why that big striped he lizard what yu let rum 
 down yer froat jis' now, outen the gourd-handil. I 
 
hen baily's eepoemation. 201 
 
 speck I wer the las' pusson what seed him outside ove 
 yu, fur I seed the pint ove his tail arter hit passed the 
 gap whar that ar frunt tooth cum out' 
 
 " He look't a-sorter listenin look, down at the groun, 
 fur a second, an' sot intu hoppin up an' down ontu wun 
 laig, an' then ontu tuther, a-shakin in the air the laig 
 what warn't imejuntly engaged in hoppin, an' men- 
 tionin 'Hell-fire,' every time he changed laigs, an' that 
 wer every two hops. Then he fell down an' sot intu 
 rollin, wus nur a yung dorg what hes ignurently yamped 
 a pole-cat He kep a-tuckin his head sorter onder, 
 like he wer tryin tu make hit roll faster nor his body. 
 Sez he — 
 
 " ' Great fathers, boys, he's a-gallopin roua, he is by 
 grashus !' 
 
 " Sez I, ' Hen, he's a-'zaminin yer whisky bag fur a 
 good spot tu bild his nestes in, he means tu stay.' 
 
 " ' Oh, lordy !' yell'd Hen, ' he's dun foun hit, an'a 
 a-tarin up the linin ove my paunch tu bild hit wif,' 
 an' he roll'd on faster nur ever. ' Sut, ef yu please, 
 run fur a doctor ; yu hes the laigs.' 
 
 " ' Yas,' sez I ; ' but hits dun gone fur apas' common 
 doctorin.' 
 
 " When he hearn that vardic, he flounced tu his feet, 
 fotch a yell what ef et hed went thru a three-foot tin 
 ho'n wud a-busted hit plum open frum aind tu aind, 
 an' sot intu flingin the bes' kine ove show actor sum- 
 mersets amung the roun rocks in the spring branch 
 9* 
 
202 hen baily's befoematton 
 
 back'ards twice, forids onst, then sidewise, now a fall 
 turn an' a 'alf that wud fetch him ontu his head, now a 
 'alf turn, an' that wud Ian' him ontu his sturn. Durna- 
 tion, how he'd spatter warter when he made the three 
 quarter turns, then clean over ontu his feet he'd cum, 
 jis' tu yell an' fling sum more. I counted till hit got 
 tu thuty-one, an' got outen heart, an' quit: a suckia 
 agent wud a-gin him big wages jis' then, but hed been 
 the wust fool'd man ever born'd, onless he ment tu dose 
 Hen wif tupentine an' lizards, an' I doubts hits movin 
 him a secon time. Durn'd ef his kerryins on didn't 
 mine me ove my sody misery in a minnit ; hit struck 
 me so pow'ful that I hed a vilent sarchin blow ove 
 belly-ache rite thar. Sez I — 
 
 " ' That's hit Hen, jis' yu keep on, an' yu'll soon 
 make that ar lizard b'leve he's tuck up lodgins in the 
 cylinder ove a four hoss thrashin-mersheen, an' that 
 harves time am cum. He's boun tu vacate yu ; jis' ras- 
 til on, hoss ; that's hit ; no mortal lizard kin stan that 
 sort ove churnin amung sich a mLxin es yu ginerly 
 totes intu yer paunch.' 
 
 " ' Oh, lordy, Sut, yu'se right, fur I raley du b'leve 
 he's cuttin his way out now. Can't yu, (an' over he'd 
 go agin) du sumthin ?' (over onst more.) 
 
 " ' Yu dam fool,' sez I, ' I don't know ; but ef yu 
 means tu keep on at that rate, I wud surjis' that yu 
 swaller a few ove these yere roun rocks, 'bout es big es 
 goose aigs, an' dam ef he ain't a groun up rep-tile 
 
hen baily's reformation. 203 
 
 sooner nor ef he wer in a hungry goose's gizzard. He 
 made a moshun ur two like he wer grabbin fur rocks 
 es he lit, but jis' then he changed his mine, an' sot in 
 tu runnin roun the spring-hous', a-leanin to'ards hit an* 
 jis' a-missin the corners. He went so fas' he looked like 
 three ur four fellers arter each uther, groanin, hollerin, 
 an' remarkin ' Hell-fire,' all roun thar. He's a pow'ful 
 activ injurin man, when onder stimuluses, that's a fac'. 
 I tuck a stan ni ontu wun corner, an' es he cum roun, 
 I cummenced in time, an' sed — 
 
 " ' Hen, did yer take yer sody seperit ?' 
 
 " Nex time he cum, sez he, ' Sody seperit — h — 1 !' an' 
 nex roun sez he, ' Aka-fortis,' an' the nex arter that he 
 addid the words ' Fourth-proof at that' He wer gwine 
 so fas' that his talkin seemed oninterrupted. The las' 
 time he cum roun, he hollered in dispar, 'I haint 
 a-gainin on hit a dam bit,' an' tuck hissef up a red elm. 
 He went up by fas' jerks, jis' adzackly like a cat climbs 
 a appil tree frum a clost cumin dorg. He locked his 
 footsis roun the lowis lim's, an' hung hed down, swingin 
 about, an' smackin his hans like he wer ni the shoutin 
 pint ove happiness at a ravin camp meetin. Sez I — 
 
 " ' That won't, du ; that's a wus idear nur sircklin the 
 spring-hous' wer, an' don't cumpar wif yer suckis speri- 
 mint, fur the lizard went pow'fully down hill a-gwine 
 intu that sloppy hole he's intu now, an' he's too smart 
 tu start down hill eny more fur fear hit'll git wus j he 
 won't cum, Hen.' 
 
204 hen baily's beformation. 
 
 " He answered me mons'ous cross an' spiteful — 
 
 " 'Let him go ud Mil then, dam 'im; so he keeps 
 gwine's all I ax.' 
 
 "The lizard wer a-tarin roun right peart, I speck, 
 wadin an' swimin as he wer in a dark pon' ove whisky, 
 an' tupentine, thickened wif a breakfus' ove blackberries 
 an' mush, stirred intu a purfeck hurrycane by Hen's 
 kerryins on. Hit warn't jis' adzackly the right place 
 far even a varmint tu go tu sleep in, enyhow. 
 
 " Hen soon foun that hit wad nither go up hill nur 
 down hill, but kep a-tarin roun et randum wif hits long 
 toe-nails, so he los' all hope, let foot holts loose, an' sunk 
 his nose up tu his years in the branch bank mud, an' 
 by golly, lay still. I begun tu think the show wer 
 about tu close, an' I hed rights tu think so ; thuty-one 
 counted summersets, an' lots ove oncounted ones, aver- 
 idgin a full turn each, a mile an' a quarter roun a 
 spring-hous', an' nine hundred yards in rollin, not 
 countin the small moshuns, in 'bout five minutes wer 
 ni ontu enuf tu fetch eny man body tu lie still — an' then 
 the lizard an' turpentine — hit wer a job ove no com- 
 mon kine, an' speshully fur Hen hit wer mos' wunder- 
 ful. Thinks I, ole feller, yu're gwine tu make a die 
 ove hit, an' sez I — 
 
 " ' Hen, ole feller, while yu'se a-restin thar, jis' feel 
 ni yer trousis an' git me that half duller yu borrowed 
 frum me las' Chrismus; feel easy fur hit an' don't 
 skeer yer lizard.' 
 
hen baily's reformation. 205 
 
 "He never let on like he hearn me. Sez I, 'Yere, 
 Hen, try a littil ove this yere whisky. I menshun 
 whisky loud ; dam ef even that moved the pints ove his 
 fingers. Sez I, ' Boys, he's 'bout dun wif yeathly mat- 
 ters, he won't notis whisky, an' his herearter's wifin ten 
 steps ove him rite now.' 
 
 " Ole Missis Eogers hearn the fuss, an' seed the crowd 
 roun her spring-hous', an' the safety ove her milk an' 
 butter struck her pow'ful. So yere she cum, wif her 
 ole brass specks ridin a-straddil ove the highes pint ove 
 her calliker cap crown ; thar laigs wer a-usin two locks 
 ove her red roan har fur stirrups, away below her years. 
 She hed a biled roasin ear mos' ove the time acrost her 
 mouf, wif silks an' smashed grains plenty, stickin tu 
 her ole moley chin, an' her nose. Sez she — 
 
 " 'What upon yeath yu all duin yere — not holdin 
 meetin, sure ? Ah ! yu am thar, am yu, laigs, yu dad- 
 dratted draggild san-hill crane ? Sum devilment on han, 
 rite now. Clar yersefs, yu nasty, stinkin, low-lived, 
 sheep-killin dorgs. S-n-e-a-k off, afore yu steals sum* 
 thin. Yere Eove, yere Eove, yere, yere !' 
 
 " ' Sez I, mouns'us solium, straitenin mysef up wif 
 foldid arms, ' Missis Eogers, afore yer dorg Eove cums, 
 take a look at sum ove yu're work. That ar a-dyin feller 
 bein ; let jis' a few ove yer bowils melt, an' pour out 
 rite yere in pity an' rey-morse.' 
 
 " She tuck a short look at Hen. ' What ails Mm V 
 
 " Sez I, wif my arms straiched strait out, ' Cholick, 
 
206 hen baily's reformation. 
 
 vilent cork-screw cholick, one ove the cholery per 
 swashun ; he jis' tast'd yer buttermilk in thar, an' fry 
 granny, hits dun kill'd 'im, that's all, Missis Kogers.' 
 Yu see she wer noted fur feedin the work-hans on but- 
 termilk so sour that hit wud eat hits way outen a 
 yeathen crock in wun nite. Sez she, wif her hans on- 
 tu her hips, an' standin wide an' strait up, ' Yu're a liar, 
 Mister Lovingood!' I hes allers notis'd nobody ever 
 calls me Mister Lovingood, (ef they knows me,) onless 
 they's mad at me. ' Yery well,' sez I, ' we am gwine 
 tu strip him now, an' yu kin see fur yersef ; hits et hits 
 way outen him by this time ; jis' stay an' 'zamin his 
 belly. I'll bet yu my shut agin that ar momoxed up 
 roas'in har, that hits chawed intu dish rags, frum his 
 
 waisbun clean down tu ' She flung down the roas'in 
 
 ear, an' put fur the hous', a-totin her frock-tail high 
 hilt up wif bof her hans, wifout waitin fur me tu add 
 'his fork.' I wer gittin sorter skeer'd, an' sorry bof, for 
 Hen, the omary devil, an' wer a-lookin at the groun 
 studyin ef hit warn't bes' tu knock him on the head 
 wif a rock, an' put him outen his misery, when I seed 
 the break an' bulge ove a mole a-plowin. A idear, the 
 bes' idear I ever own'd, struck plum thru my head, an' 
 I dug out the mole. Sez I — 
 
 " ' Boys, listen tu me : that ar feller's mons'us ni ded; 
 desprit cases wants desprit docterin; let's tie his gal- 
 luses roun his waisbun tight, an' start this yere bline, 
 fury scramblm littil cuss up his breeches laig. When be 
 
hen baily's kefoemation. 207 
 
 feels the scramblin sensashun on the outside, he'll think 
 the lizard hes got out sumwhar, an' the idear will 
 make him feel good, enyhow, live ur ded ; thar's no 
 harm in a mole, nohow ; les' try hit.' 
 
 "We turned Hen ontu his stomick, an' made the 
 top ove his britches mole tight, an' I sot the mole 
 a-straddil ove his heel-string, an' sunk my thumb-nail 
 intu hits tail. Away hit went up his bar laig pow'ful 
 fas', rootin like a hog ; he wanted tu go tu his trade ove 
 diggin agra, yu know, an' wer sarchin fur a saft place. 
 He warn't outen site very long, when Hen sorter started 
 forrid on his stomick ; that wer the fust sign ove life 
 he'd show 'd since he buried his nose in the blue mud. 
 Sez I, wif a heap ove hope, ' Boys, things am workin ; ef 
 he wud n't notis speerits, he's a-notisin that ar mole.' 
 He hod a par ove foot-holts agin a root, an' he shot 
 bissef forrid ten foot intu the branch at one lunge wif- 
 out risin four inches frum the groun. I tho't I hearn 
 'Hell-fire,' agin in a sorter sick whisper. He ris tu his 
 all fours, an' shook the warter outen his years pearingly 
 es strong es ever, an' tuck down the branch in a rale 
 fas' cavalry lope. He made the mud an' warter fly, 
 'speshully when he'd kick, an' that wer every two ur 
 three jumps. He used his nine laigs jis' like a hoss 
 a-fightin, an' as he'd fling up his shoes he'd menshun 
 the kine ove fire I'se been tellin yu about, an' he'd 
 wall a mous'us sarchin oneasy eye over his shoulder 
 every time he'd kick Sez I, 'Boys, the show ain't 
 
208 
 
 HEN BAILYS REFORMATION. 
 
 over yet; les' see the aind, an' git the wuf ove om 
 munny. One ur two ove the crowd dodged intu tha 
 bushes sorter des'arted ; they wer fear'd tu see eriy more. 
 The res' ove us foller'd Hen. When he'd cum tu a 
 deep hole, he'd squat intu hit up tu his years, a-sorter 
 workin hissef roun like a hen a-fixin her nestes, gruntin 
 orful, an' a-cussin everybody, an' everything in a lump ; 
 then he'd rar forrid ontu his, all fours agin, an' jis' 
 travil. I can't fur the life ove me think what kep him 
 down tu his all fours. Ef hit hed been my case, yu'd a 
 seed sum ove the durn'des straites up an' down runnin 
 ever did by eny livin mortal. P'raps the kerryins on in 
 his in'ards warn't es sarchin in that position. At las' he 
 gallop'd out ontu a san bank, an' sunk spread out, wif 
 his head in a short twis', ni clean gone. 
 
 " Sez I, ' Boys, the durn'd fool hes drowndid my 
 mole atwixt his breeches an' his hide, a-squattin in them 
 holes, an' I hes no hopes ove him now ; les' kill 'im. 
 Jis' then I seed him yerk, sorter vomitin way, so I 
 straddiled him, an' cotch him by the har, an' pull'd up 
 his head tu straiten his swaller, when imejuntly yere 
 cum the lizard tarin outen his mouf, the wust skeer'd 
 varmint I ever seed in all my born'd days. His eyes 
 wer es big es fox grapes, an' mos' all ove em outside 
 ove his head, an' dam ef he didn't hev enuf tu skeer a 
 lion, fur the mole hed 'im fas' by the tail, an' wer men- 
 din his holt, an' that ar interprisin littil yeath-borer 
 hadn't a durn'd mossel ove fur left ontu his hide ; hit 
 
hen bailt's eefoemation. 209 
 
 wer all limed off; he looked rite down slick an' funny, 
 wif a lizard a-haulin 'im fru the san, I swar he did. 
 Wunder what they thought hed been happenin. 
 
 " Well, we toted Hen home, an' when he got sorter 
 well, he jined a ole well-sot temprince s'ciety, an' puts 
 hit up that the hole thing, tupentine, lizards an' mole, 
 wer interpersishun tu save him frum turnin intu a 
 drunkard. The cussed hippercrit! he warnt never 
 enything else. I oughtent tu speak hard ove the mis- 
 fortnit critter tho', fur he hes got the dispepsy, the 
 wust kine." 
 
FRUSTRATING A FUNERAL. 
 
 " Hit mus' be a sorter vexin kine ove thing tu be 
 buried alive, tu the feller what am in the box, don't 
 yu think hit am, George ?" 
 
 "Yes, horrible, Sut; what set you thinking about 
 such a subject, with as much whisky as you have access 
 to?" 
 
 " Oh, durn hit, I thinks at randum, jis' es I talk an' 
 dus. I can't help hit, I'se got no steerin oar tu my 
 brains. 'Sides that I thinks they'se hose 'bout the 
 middil." 
 
 "How do you mean?" 
 
 " Well, I thinks peopil's brains what hev souls, am 
 like ontu a chain made outen gristil, forkid at wun 
 aind ; wun fork goes tu the eyes, an' tuther tu the years, 
 an' tuther aind am welded tu the marrer in the back- 
 bone, an' hit works sorter so. Thar stans a hoss. 
 Well, the eyes ketches his shape, jis' a shape, an' gins 
 that idear tu the fust link ove the chain. He nickers, 
 an' the years gins that tu tuther fork ove the chain, a 
 soun, nuffin but a soun. Well, the two ruff idears 
 start along the chain, an' every link is smarter nur the 
 
FRUSTRATING A FUNERAL. 211 
 
 wun ahine hit, an' dergests em sorter like a paunch 
 dus co'n, ur mash'd feed, an' by the time they gits tu 
 the back-bone, hit am a hoss an' yu knows hit Now, 
 in my case, thar's a hook in the chain, an' hits mos' 
 ove the time onhook'd, an' then my idears stop thar 
 half made. Eite thar's whar dad failed in his 'speri- 
 ment ; puttin in that durn'd fool hook's what made me 
 a natral born fool. . The breed wer bad too, on dad's side ; 
 they all run tu durn'd fool an' laigs powerful strong." 
 
 "But what about burying alive, Sut?" 
 
 " Oh, yas ; I wer a-thinkin ove a case what happen'd 
 on Hiwassee, what like tu started a new breed ove 
 durn'd fools, an' did skare plum away a hole neighbor- 
 hood ove ole breed. 
 
 " Ole Hunicutt hed a niggar name Cesar, they call'd 
 'im Seize fur short, an' he got sock full ove Wright's 
 kill-devil whisky, an' tuck a noshun he'd spite ole 
 Hunicutt by dyin, an' durned ef he didn't du hit His 
 marster got a coffin wif a hinge in the led acrost the 
 breas', fur tuther niggers tu take farwell ove Seize 
 thru, an' see the orful consekenses ove drinkin kill- 
 devil by the gallun ; at the same time. He ment tu 
 gin em a temprance lecter when they went tu start tu 
 the bone-yard, but durn me ef he staid thar hissef till 
 funeral time. The niggers got Seize sot in the box 
 mity nice, an' the led on. He wer in a empty room, 
 'Bceptin a bed in wun aind ove a dubbil log nigger 
 cabin, an' the niggers what sot up wif the corpse did 
 
>y 
 
 212 FRUSTRATING A FUNERAL. 
 
 hit in the tuther room. Thar wer lots ove em an' singin 
 an' groanin wer plenty. Way in the night a nigger 
 name ' Major ' cum tu help du the sittin up, an' he wer 
 drunk plum thru an' thru ; so they fotch 'im intu whar 
 Seize wer, an' laid him in the bed, whar he soon fell 
 tu snorin, an' dreamin ove snakes, sky blue lizards, an' 
 red hot reptiles. 
 
 "Now, a yung doctor what hed help'd Seize over 
 the fence, twixt this an' kingdum cum, wanted his 
 cackus tu chop up, an' bile, so he gits me tu git hit fur 
 'im arter hit wer onder the groun, an' I fmdin out how 
 the land lay by slungin roun, fixed up a short-cut tu, 
 git hit wifout diggin. I slip't intu the room twixt 
 midnite an' day, an' foun Maje sorter grumblin in his 
 sleep, so I shuck him awake enuf tu smell whisky, an' 
 hilt a tin cupful ove heart-burn, till the las' durn'd 
 drap run down his froat, an' he sot intu sleepin agin 
 an' then I swapt niggers. 
 
 " Arter I got Maje intu the coffin, an' hed cut sum 
 air-holes, I sot in an' painted red an' white stripes, 
 time about, runnin out frum his eyes like ontu the 
 spokes ove a wheel, an' cross-bar'd his upper lip wif 
 white, ontil hit looked like boars' tushes, an' I fas- 
 tened a cuppil ove yearlin's ho'ns ontu his head, an' 
 platted a ded black-snake roun the roots ove em, an' 
 durn my laigs ef I didn't cum ni ontu takin a 
 runnin skeer mysef, fur he wer a purfeck dogratype 
 ove the devil, tuck while he wer smokin mad 'bout 
 
FRUSTRATING A FUNERAL. 213 
 
 sum raskil what hed been sellin shanghis, an' a-pedlin 
 matchless sanative all his life, then jinin meetin on his 
 death-bed, an' 'scapin. 
 
 " I now turn mj 'tenshun tu Mister Seize. I'd got 
 'bout a tin cup full ove litnin bugs, an' cut off the lan- 
 tern ove the las' durn'd one ; I smear'd em all over his 
 face, har an' years, an' ontu the prongs ove a pitch-fork ; 
 I sot him up in the corner on aind, an' gin him the 
 fork, prong aind up in his crossed arms. I then pried 
 open his mouf, an' let his teef shet ontu the back ove a 
 live bull-frog, an' I smeared hits paws an' belly wif 
 sum ove my bug-mixtry, an' pinned a littil live garter- 
 snake by hits middil crosswise in his mouf, smeared 
 like the frog plum tu the pint ove his tail. The pin 
 kep him pow'ful bizzy makin suckils an' uther crooked 
 shapes in the air. Now, rite thar boys, in that corner, 
 stood the dolefulest skeer makin mersheen, mortal man 
 ever seed outen a ghost camp. I tell yu now, I b'leves 
 strong in ghosts, an' in forewarnins too. 
 
 " I hearn sum one a-cumin, an' I backed on my all 
 fours onder the bed. Hit wer ' Simon,' the ole preachin 
 an' exhortin nigger ove the neighborhood. He hilt a lite 
 made outen a rag an' sum fat, in a ole sasser, an' he 
 cum sighin an' groanin wif his mouf pouched out, up 
 tu the coffin wifout seein Seize in the corner at all, an' 
 histed the led — drap't the sasser, an' los' the lite, an' 
 sed ' Oh ! Goramity massy on dis soul ; de debil hesef 
 on top ob brudder Seize !' As he straitened tu run he 
 14 
 
214 FKUSTEATING A FUNKRAL. 
 
 seed Seize in the corner. Jis' then I moaned out in a 
 orful doleful vise, ' Hiperkrit, cum tu hell, I hes a claim 
 ontu yu fur holdin the bag ivhile Seize stole co'n. 1 (I seed 
 em a-doin that job not long afore.) He jis' rar'd back- 
 wards, an' fell outen the door wif his hans locked, an' 
 sed he in a weak, fever-ager sort ove vise, ' Please mar- 
 ster,' an' jis' fainted, he soon cum to a-runnin, fur I 
 hearn the co'n crashin thru the big field like a in-gine 
 wer runnin express thru hit I haint seed ' Simon,' tu 
 this day. 
 
 " Now, ole Hunicutt hed been pow'fully agrawated 
 'bout the co'n stealin business gwine on ; in fact he fell 
 frum grace about hit bad. So whenever he hearn eny 
 soun outen doors ove a spishus kine, up he'd jump 
 wif a shot-gun, an' take a scout roun the barn an' 
 co'n-crib. 
 
 " Well, es soon es Simon cummenced runnin wif the 
 feebil hope ove beatin the devil, I shoulder'd Seize, an' 
 toted him out tu the crib, an' sot him up agin the door, 
 as hit wer thar the doctor wer tu fine him, 'cordin tu 
 'greemint. Yu see I wanted tu break him frum suckin 
 aigs. I thot when he tuck a good 'zamine ove Seize, 
 an' his pitch-fork, an' bull-frog, an' fire-bugs' tails, hit 
 wud take away his appertite fur grave-yards an' bil'd 
 bones, till he got ole enuf tu practize wifout sich dirty 
 doins, an' mout even make him jine meetins. I cudn't 
 tell how much good hit mout du the onb'lever. I'd 
 scarcely got Seize balanced so he'd stan good, when I 
 
FKUSTKATXNG A FUKEIUL. 215 
 
 hearn ole Hunicutt cummin ; I hearn his gun cock, so I 
 jis' betuck mysef onder the co'n-crib, wif my head clost 
 tu Seize's laigs, an' hid ahine his windin-sheet, onbe- 
 howenst tu him, an' his durn'd ole shot-gun too. The 
 6le thief-hunter sneak'd mons'ous kerful roun the corner 
 in his shutail — cum wifin three feet ore the dead nig- 
 ger, aril then seed him. 
 
 " In the same doleful souns I used ontu Simon, I sed : 
 ' Hunicutt, yu'se fell frum grace ; I'll take yu down 
 home now, leas' yu mout git good, ari die afore yu fell 
 agin. 1 Darn my picter ef I didn't cum mons'ous ni 
 helpin the devil tu wun orful sinner, onexpected rite 
 thar, in yearnist. 
 
 " He drap't in a pile like ontu a wet bed quilt ; as he 
 
 struck, he sed, ' I haint fell frum gr ' Eite then an' 
 
 thar, I reached out an' grabbed his shut, a savin holt 
 wif bof hans, sot my cold sandy foot agin his bare 
 back, an' leaned intu pullin pow'ful strong. Sez I, 
 ' Yes yu am fell frum grace, don't yu lie tu me ; du yu 
 know Missis Loffcin? Cum ivif me. 1 When I men- 
 shun'd Missis Loftin, he fotch a marster lunge. I hearn 
 his collar -buttons snap, an' he went outen that shut like 
 a dorg outen a badger-barril, an' he run, yas, by the great 
 golly ! he flew. I trumpeted arter him, ' Stop ; I means 
 tu take Missis Loftin wif yu. 1 He wer a-runnin squar 
 an' low till he hearn that, an' durn dad, ef he didn't 
 rise now six foot in the air every lunge, an' he'd make 
 two ur three runin moshuns afore he'd lite. I sent 
 
216 FRUSTRATING A FUNERAL. 
 
 what wer in bof barrils ove his shot-gun arter him, but 
 the shot never cotch up. I got a shot-gun and a shut 
 I for mysef 
 
 "I know'd the pill-roller wudn't venter clost now 
 arter all the fuss, an' shootin, he'd lose his mess ove 
 bil'd bones fas'. So I shouldered Seize, an' put over 
 the hill tu his shop, takin a circumbendibus roun, so 
 es not tu cum up wif him on the path. He warn't in, 
 he sure enuf hed started, but the shot-gun hed made 
 him hide hissef fas', an' arterwards go home. 
 
 " I ainded Seize up in his bed, back agin the wall, 
 an' facin the door. Torrectly I hearn his tin pill-boxes, 
 his squ't an' his pullicans rattlin in his pockets ; he wer 
 a-cumin. I jis' slid onder the bed, an' stuck my head 
 up atween hit an' the wall, an' ahine Seize. He step't 
 intu the dark room, an' by the help ove the fire-bug 
 plaster he seed a heap, in fact more nur wer cumfor- 
 tabil by about sixty-two an' a 'alf cents. Thar wer a 
 luminated snake a-wavin roun, thar wer the shiny frog 
 movin his laigs an' paws like he wer a-swimmin, then 
 he'd gester wif his arms like he wer makin a stump- 
 speech; thar wer the pitch-fork wif hits hot prongs, 
 (the doctor hearn them sciz,) an' more nur all thar wer 
 the orful corpse, wif hits face an' har all a-fire. Too 
 much hell-sign on that bed even fur a bone-biler's 
 narves. He jis' stop't short, froze tu the heart. I felt 
 bis shiverin cum tu me in the floor -planks. 
 
 " I tuck the same ole vise what hed sich a muvin 
 
FRUSTKATTNG A FUNEBAL. 217 
 
 effect ontu Simon an' Hunicutt, an' sed: 'Yu wants 
 sum bones tu bile, dus yu ? Didn't raise eny tu-night, 
 did yu? I'se in that bisness mysef — follered hit ni 
 ontu thuty thousand years. I'se a-bilin Ike Green's, 
 an' Polly Weaver's, an' ole Seize's what yu pizen'd far 
 me, avu they sent me arter yu ; les's go, my bilin hous' is 
 warm — yu's cold — cum, sonny.' 
 
 " When I spoke ove ole Seize, he know'd I wer that 
 orful ole king ove sorrer, an' that he wer gwine tu ride 
 ontu the prongs ove that ar pitch-fork, dripin now wif 
 the burnin taller ofen Seize's ribs, strait tu whar all 
 quacks go Sez he, ' W-w-wait, sir, till I gits my phis- 
 sick-box ; I'se on well, please.' An' outen the door he 
 bulged. I hollered arter him, 'Bring yer diplomer, I 
 wants tu 'zamin MV 'Oh, yes sir.' I hearn this away 
 back ove the field. In thuty-one days frum that date, 
 he wer tendin a grist-mill in Californy. Ef he tends hit 
 on the plan he tended folks yere, he's got hits bones 
 a-bilin afore now, 
 
 " I wish, George, sum smart man-body wud bile the 
 bones ove a grist-mill, an' find the cause, an' p'raps the 
 cure fur ' mill-sick.' " 
 
 "What in the name of the Prophet is 'mill-sick?' 
 Sut." 
 
 "Why, hits a ailin what mills giner'lly hes, hits 
 mity hurtin too, fur the peopil in the hole neighbor- 
 hood kin/eeZ the sufferin ove the misfortinit mill" 
 
 " How does it affect the mills ?" 
 10 
 
218 FRUSTRATING A FUNERAL. 
 
 " Why, orfully ; they dorit pass all they chaws. Yu 
 sumtimes sees sign ove hit on the miller an' his hogs ; 
 they looks like they hes the dropsy. 
 
 "Now durn jis' sich luck; yere I wer wif Seize's 
 copse on han, an' hit ni ontu daylite, no box, no spade, 
 no hole, an' wus nur all, no whisky. Durn fools don't 
 allers hev sich luck es this wer ; ef they did, how wud 
 peopil ever git rich, ur tu Congriss. I made the bes' 
 I cud outen a bad fix. I jis' toted the ole skare out intu 
 the woods, an' hid him onder a log, an' went over tu 
 Hunicutt's agin. I wer boun tu go, fur my whisky 
 wer hid thar. 
 
 " The niggers wer all in a huddle in the kitchin, an' 
 the white folks all a-cryin, an' a-snufflin. Missis Huni- 
 cutt wer out, a-top the bars, a-callin ove him. 'Oh, 
 Hunicuttee,' like callin cows, an' he warn't answerin. 
 In fac' everybody wer skar'd durn ni outen thar wits. 
 I tole em the bes' thing they cud du, wer tu git the 
 dirt a-top ove that nigger Seize es quick es spades an' 
 hoes cud du hit; that I know'd sumfin wer wrong 
 wif Seize; must hev been a orful hiperkrit afore he 
 died. Passun Simon hed been spirited off wif a burnin 
 sasser ove fat in his han ; Maje warn't in the bed, an 
 wer too drunk tu git away hissef, an' es I cum yere jis' 
 afore day, I met Mr. Hunicutt way up in the air, ridin 
 a-straddil ove a burnin ladder wif Missis Loftin ahine 
 him, her petticoatail a-blazin, an' she a-singin, ' Farwell 
 vain worl, I'se gwine home.' 
 
FRUSTRATING A FUNERAL. 219 
 
 "Hunicutt's ole cook rolled up her eyes an' sed, 
 smackin her hans : ' Dar, dats hit, I'se know dis tree 
 munf Missis Loftin fotch de debil heah afore she dun ; 
 goramity bress de worl, she dun du hit now !' 
 
 " Missis Hunicutt look't at me keenly, an' axed me ef 
 I wer shure hit wer Missis Loftin I seed on the ladder. 
 I tole her ' Yas ; I'd swar hit ; I know'd her kalliker.' 
 
 " Sez she : ' Now I kin bar my brevement' An' she 
 sot intu comin her har. 
 
 " Well, the niggers geard a par ove hosses tu a wag- 
 gin, an' put the coffin in wifont scarcely sayin a word, 
 ur even venterin tu take a farwell look ove the corpse ; 
 they wanted hit away frum thar, sure es yu are born. 
 Jis' s'pose they hed open'd that led an' seed Maje 
 dressed up es he wer. Oh, lordy ! enuf niggers wud 
 hev jis' turned inside out, an' then mortified, tu ma- 
 nured a forty-acre saige-field. 
 
 " Suckey — that's Seize's wife — sot on the head ove 
 the coffin, an the balance ove hit wer soon kivered wif 
 she niggers ; they jis' swarmed ontu the waggin, an' all 
 roun hit, an' started. When they got intu the aidge ove 
 town, ni ontu Wright's doggery, maje begun tu wake 
 frum the joltin, an' sot intu buttin the led wif his hed, 
 his ho'ns a-rattlin agin hit. Suckey felt sumthin onder 
 her she didn't like. Butt rattil cum up Maje's head 
 an' ho'ns harder nur before. Her eyes swelled tu the 
 size an' looks ove hard-biled aigs, an' she ris hersef 
 ofen the coffin a littil wif her bans. ' Butt, whosh V sed 
 
220 FRUSTRATING A FUNERAL. 
 
 Maje, an' the coffin-led cum up tu Suckey 's starn like 
 thi hed been a loadstone spat. 
 
 " ' Pete, yu Pete, jis' wo dem hosses, rite heah, an' 
 Ieff me off ob dis wagun.' Maje gin anuther suvigrus 
 butt, an' sed, a-chokin like, ' Dis am tbe debil !' Suckey 
 lit in tbe road. ' I'se gwine tu my missus, I is,' sed 
 Suckey, an' back sbe put, sbakin ber petticoats, an' 
 pullin em roun so sbe cud see tbe bineparts whar tbe 
 led bed actid loadstone. ' De debil besef in dat box 
 wif Seize, shuah, fur be say so. 1 tole yu dis Seize, I 
 hes more time nor I bes bar ; now yu's gone an dun 
 bit, yu bes,' an' sbe struck a cow gallop fur borne. 
 
 " Butt, cum Maje's bead agin, an' tbar bein no 
 Suckey wif ber bundred an' fifty poun ove soap grease 
 tu bole bit down, over cum tbe led slap. Maje rared 
 up on aind. ' "Wbosb ! dis am de debil ;' be sed. Tbuty 
 screams mixed in one, clatterin ove sboes, an' scracbin 
 ove toe-nails, an' tbar warn't a nigger lef in site afore a 
 stutterin man cud wbisiil. 
 
 "Now Maje know'd nuffm about bow be look't, but 
 be seed tbe cuffm, an' tbe waggin. Sez be : ' Well, by 
 golly ! dis am a go ; gwine tu burry dis cbile, an' neber 
 ax 'im. Wbar de mourners? Wbar de passun? an 
 wbar de corpsis ? dats wbat I wants tu know. Sum- 
 fin wrong heah,' an' he bit bis arm savidge es a dorg. 
 ' Outcb I I isn't ded, an' I'se a-cummin outen heah. Dus 
 yu bear my b'on ? I is dat. Datdurn 'saitful preachin 
 Simon dun dis ; be want Sally ; I kill em bof, de coffin 
 
FKUSTKATING A FUNEEAL. 221 
 
 am redy. Mus' want tu bury sumbody pow'ful bad 
 Whar wer de white folks.' Yere lie cummenced a 
 mons'ous scufflin tu git out. The hosses look'd roun an 
 seed 'im ; ove course they instantly sot intu run away 
 strong — hit a postes, an' pitched the black box up jn 
 the air whar hit look'd like a big grasshopper a-jumpin. 
 Hit lit on aind, an' busted the led off; out bounced 
 Maje, an' shakin hissef he tuck a drunk staggerin look 
 at hit, an' sez he, a-moshunin the coffin away frum him 
 wif bof hans, ' Sea heah, yu jis go long tu de bone- 
 yard, yu black debbil, whar yu b'longs, I'se not gwine 
 wid yu; I sends Simon tu yu dis arternoon.' An' he 
 started fur the doggery. 
 
 " "Wright hed cum tu the door, an' wer a-lookin an' 
 a-wonderin at the upraised coffin, when Maje faced him 
 an' started at him in a trot; he wanted a ho'n bad. 
 His head, ho'ns an' snake penertrated Wright's mind 
 wif the idear that hit wer the devil, an' knowin that the 
 ole soot-maker hilt several notes ove han agin him, 
 'bout due, he fix'd it up that he wer gwine tu levy 
 ontu him, an' he fotch a coffin tu tote him home in. 
 So he jis' tried tu dodge the lor. He jump't the counter 
 — out at the back door, an' cummenced a-litnin line fur 
 the mountin. 
 
 ) "I wer ahine the doggery in the thicket, an' I bel- 
 lered out, ' Stop, Wright, I owes yu fur a heap ove 
 sinners ; yu sent me Seize, yesterdav, an' Fse cum tu 
 settil fur em.' 
 
222 FRUSTRATING A FUNERAL. 
 
 " He wer the fast man I ever seed run fnim a fellei 
 when he wanted tu pay a debt. Durn ole Hark, ef he 
 warn't jis' openin a waggin road thru the pine thicket, 
 thuty mile tu the hour. Yu cud see the limbs an' littil 
 rocks a-flyin abuv the trees es he went, an' he sounded 
 like a hurrycane, an' wer a-movin as fast. 
 
 "When I spoke them words, the limbs an' littil 
 rocks farly darkened the air, an' the soun got louder 
 ef hit wer a heap furder off. He wer es yearnist a 
 man es ever run. I think he did the mos' onresistabil 
 runnin I ever seed. Nuffin wer in his way ; he jis' 
 mow'd hit all down es he fled frum es jest a ritribushun 
 as ever follered eny dnrn'd raskil since ole Shockly 
 chased Passun Bumpas wif a shot-gun ritribushun, fur 
 onsantifyin his wife." 
 
 "Did Shockly catch Bumpas, Sut?' 
 
 ■' I dunno ; He mus' a-run 'im pow'ful clost, fur he 
 fotch back his hoss, hat, an' hyme book, an' bof caps on 
 his gun wer busted, an' nobody name Bumpas hes been 
 seed 'bout thar since, 'sceptin sum littil flax-headed 
 fellers scattered thru the sarkit, wif no daddys, an' not 
 much mammys tu speak ove. Ef I'd a-seed the devil 
 es plain es Wright did, the day they tried tu bury 
 Seize, an' didn't, I'd a-ax'd him ; he knows whether 
 Shockly cotch Bumpas, ur not. 
 
 "Well, Maje cum blowin mad intu the doggery, an 
 seein nobody, he jis' grabbed a bottil, an' tuck hissef a 
 buckloacl ove popskull^ an' sKp't the bottil intu his 
 
FRUSTRATING A FUNERAL. 223 
 
 pocket Es he raised his orful head from duin this, he 
 seed hissef for the fust time in a big lookin-glass. He 
 took hit tu be a winder, an' tho't what he seed wer in 
 tuther room, a-watohin him. ' Yu — yu jis' lef me lone; 
 I'se not yourn ; IV longs tu meeting sed Maje, as he back'd 
 hissef to'ards the door. As he back'd, so did the tary- 
 fyin picter. Maje seed that. ' Gwine tu take a runnin 
 butt, is yu,' sed Maje, as he fell a back summerset intu 
 the street ; as he lit, I groaned out at him : ' Major, my 
 son, I'se cum fur the toll outen ole Hunicutt's co'n.' 
 ' Simon dun got dat toll,' sed Maje, sorter sham'd like. 
 
 " He rLz, showin a far sampil ove skared nigger run- 
 nin 'Ho'ns an' buttin go tugether, an' dat am de 
 debil in dar,' sed Maje tu hissef I holler' d 'Leave 
 Wright's bottil ; yu don't want hit, FIX gin yu hotter 
 truck nur hit is ; I'se farly arter yu now.' I seed the 
 bottil fly over Maje's shoulder, an' lite in the san. I got 
 hit, I did. 
 
 " He made down street fur the river, an' clear'd the 
 road ove every livin thing. "Wimen went head-fust 
 intu the houses, doors slam'd, sash fell, cats' tails 
 swell'd es they treed onder stabils, Maje jis' a-tarin 
 along, his ho'ny head throw'd back, an' his elbows 
 a-workin like a par ove skeer'd saw-mills runnin empty. 
 I seed him fling sum thin over his head. I tho't hit 
 wer anuther bottil, an' went fur hit, but hit wer nuffin 
 but a greasy testemint. 
 
 "Ole Dozier, the sheriff, what hed bung a nigget 
 
224 FRUSTRATING A FUNERAL. 
 
 name Pomp, 'bout ten days afore, cum outen a cross 
 street, jis' ahead ove Maje, a-totin his big belly, a han 
 ful ove papers, an' a quill in his mouf, in a deep study. 
 He hearn the soun ove Maje's huffs, an' look'd rouru 
 As he did, I shouted, 'Bun, sheriff, that's Pomp, an' 
 yere's his coffin,' a-pintin tu hit. 
 
 " George, my 'sperience is that sheriffs, an' lor officers 
 giner'lly, onderstands the bisness ove runnin better 
 nur mos' folks, enyhow, an' durn my shut ef ole Dozier 
 didn't jis' then sustain the kar-acter ove the tribe 
 mons'ous well. 
 
 "He hes pow'ful presence ove mind too, fur I'd 
 scarcely sed 'coffin,' afore he wer at the top ove his 
 speed to'ards the river. Now Maje, like most durn'd 
 white fools, b'leved the sheriff tu be greater nur eny' 
 body, an' hed the power tu du enything. So a idear 
 got onder his ho'ns, an' ahine his eyes, that Dozier cud 
 help him sumhow, tu git rid ove the chasin devil, an' 
 
 he holler'd 'Marster Dozier ' Dozier drap't his 
 
 quill. ' Marster Sheriff-- — ' Sheriff lef loose a cloud 
 ove flyin papers in the Vind. ' Stop dar, I hes a word 
 wid yu.' 
 
 "Dozier run outen hig hat an' specks wif a jerk, an' 
 I seed his dinner tub a-f wingin out each side ove him 
 like a bag wif a skarecf dorg intu hit, every lope he 
 made. I galloped catk vrner'd across lots, an' got in a 
 paw-paw thicket on the bank ove the river, afore they 
 got roun thar ; as Dozier srhizz'd by, the sweat flyin ofeu 
 
FRUSTRATING A FUNEEAL. 225 
 
 his head in all direcshuns, like warter ofen a numin 
 grindstone. I spoke tu him in a mournful way: 
 ' Sheriff, yu're time am cum, he's got a rope. 1 
 • "Durn ef he didn't sheer, outen the road like a 
 skeer'd hoss, an' went ofen the bluff, frog fashun, intu 
 the river — an' dove. The waves washed up on tuther 
 bank, three foot high ; a steamboat cudn't hev dun hit 
 better, an' es good a growin rain fell, fur five minnits, 
 as wer ever prayed fur, an' not a cloud tu be seed 
 that day. Yere cum Maje, his eyes an' thar stripes 
 like buggy wheels, wif red lamps in the hubs.) Sez I, 
 'Yere I is, clost tu yu're starn; I mus 1 hev my toll 
 co'n.' Durn ole Paddilford, ef he didn't play skeered 
 hoss better nur Dozier did, fur he lit furder in the river, 
 an' we hed anuther refreshin shower ; but I swar, I tho't 
 hit smelt ove whisky. Bof on em wer swimin fur 
 tuther bank, like ole otters. The sheriff's hot head wer 
 smokin like a tub ove bil'd shuts, an' Maje's look'd like 
 black bull yearlin's, jis' a-bilin thru the warter. Es 
 ole Dozier trotted drippin up the bank, I yell'd : ' Eise 
 sheriff, he's a-reachin fur yu wif his rope, ari hits got a 
 runnin noose.'' He look'd over his shoulder an' seed 
 the bull yearlin's head clost in shore, an' a-cummin. 
 He jis' rained san an' gravil intu the river, frum his 
 heels, an' went outen site in the tall weeds. As Maje 
 went up the bank, I call'd tu him, 'Major, my son, 
 what's Wright's bottil?' I seed him feel on his coat- 
 tail ; the durned nigger hed forgot flingin hit ov<ir his 
 10* 
 
226 FRUSTRATING A FUNERAL. 
 
 head, an' he tuck the sheriffs trail, like ontu a houn. 
 I tuck a good holesum pull outen that bottil, an' tho't 
 what a durn'd discumfortin thing a big skeer is. 
 
 " Plenty peopil am redy tu swar that they seed the 
 devil chasin Dozier, plum tu the mountin, an' one ole 
 'oman, a-givin in her sperience at meetin, sed she seed 
 him ketch him, an' eat him plum up. She tole a 
 durn'd lie, I speck. 
 
 "I performed two christshun jutys that night. I 
 stole the coffin, an' buried Seize out in the woods whar 
 I'd hid him, an' his rale grave stans open yet, the bes' 
 frog-trap yu ever seed. See the orful consekenses ove 
 bein skeery when a nigger dies. Hunicutt gone; 
 Seize's corpse los', doctor gone, passun gone, sheriff gone, 
 an' tu cap the stack ove vexashus things, the doggery 
 keeper gone. Why, the county's ruinated, an' hits 
 haunted yet wif all sorts ove orful haunts ; yu ken buy 
 land thar fur a dime a acre, on tick at that." 
 
 "What became of Mrs. Hunicutt, and Mrs. Loftin, 
 Sut?" 
 
 " Oh ! es tu em, Missis Hunicutt is playin widder, 
 in red ribbons, an' Missis Loftin's jin'd meetin. 
 
 " I'se forgot sumthin ; what am hit ? Oh ! I minds 
 now ; 'twer that tuther christshun juty I performed. I 
 minister'd ontu Wright's doggery, an' run hit till the 
 grass burn't up, when hit went dry. I wish hit mout 
 hev a calf soon. 
 
RARE RIPE GARDEN-SEED. 
 
 " I tell yu now, I minds my fust big skeer jis' ea 
 well as rich boys minds thar fast boots, ur seein the 
 fust spotted hoss sirkis. The red top ove them boots 
 am still a rich red stripe in thar minds, an' the burnin 
 red ove my fust skeer hes lef es deep a scar ontu my 
 thinkin works. Mam hed me a standin atwixt her 
 knees. I kin feel the knobs ove her jints a-rattlin 
 a-pas' my ribs yet She didn't hev much petticoats tu 
 speak ove, an' I hed but one, an' hit wer calliker slit 
 frum the nap ove my naik tu the tail, hilt tugether at 
 the top wif a draw-string, an' at the bottom by the 
 hem ; hit wer the handiest close I ever seed, an' wud 
 be pow'ful cumfurtin in summer if hit warn't fur the 
 flies. Ef they was good tu run in, I'd war one yet 
 They beats pasted shuts, an' britches, es bad es a 
 feather bed beats a bag ove warnut shells fur sleepin 
 on. 
 
 "Say, George, wudn't yu like tu see me intu one 
 'bout haf fadid, slit, an' a-walkin jis' so, up the middil 
 
228 KAEE .TtfPE GAKDEN-SEED. 
 
 street ove yure city clinch, a-aimin fur yure pew 
 pen, an' hit chock full ove ynre fine city gal friends, 
 jis' arter the peopil hed sot down frnm the fust prayer, 
 an' the orgin begin/ a tu groan; what wud yu du in 
 sich a margincy ? say hoss ?" 
 
 " Why, I'd shoot yon dead, Monday morning before 
 eight o'clock," was my reply. 
 
 "Well, I speck yu wud; but yu'd take a rale ole 
 maid faint fus, rite amung them ar gals. Lordy! 
 wudn't yu be shamed ove me ! Yit why not ten 
 chuch in sich a suit, when yu hesn't got no store 
 clothes ? 
 
 " Well, es I Tver sayin, mam wer feedin us brats 
 ontu mush an' milk, wifout the milk, an' es I wer the 
 baby then, she hilt me so es tu see that I got my sheer. 
 Whar thar ain't enuf feed, big childer roots littil childer 
 outen the troff, an' gobbils up thar part. Jis' so the 
 yeath over: bishops eats elders, elders eats common 
 peopil ; they eats sioh cattil es me, I eats possums, pos- 
 sums eats chickins, chickins s wallers wums, an' wums 
 am content tu eat dus, an' the dus am the aind ove hit 
 all. Hit am all es regOur es the so'ans frum the tribil 
 down tu the bull base eve a fiddil ir good tchune, an' 
 I speck hit am right, ur h?t wudn't be 'lowed. 
 
 " ' The sheriff f his'd mam in a keen fcrimblin whis- 
 per; hit sounded tu me like the skreech ove a hen 
 when she sez ' hawk,' tu her little roun-sfrtf*t\'d, fuzzy, 
 bead-eyed, stripid-backs. 
 
EAEE RIPE GARDEN-SEED. 229 
 
 "I actid jis' adzacly as they dus; I darted on all 
 fours onder mam's petticoatails, an' thar I met, face tu 
 face, the wooden bowl, an' the mush, an' the spoon 
 what she slid onder frum tuther side. I'se mad at my- 
 sef yet, fur rite thar I show'd the fust flash ove the 
 nat'ral born dura fool what I now is. I orter et hit all 
 up, in jestis tu my stumick an' my growin, while the 
 sheriff wer levyin ontu the bed an' the cheers. Tu this 
 day, ef enybody sez ' sheriff,' I feels skeer, an' ef I hears 
 constabil menshun'd, my laigs goes thru runnin mo- 
 shuns, even ef I is asleep. Did yu ever watch a dorg 
 dreamin ove rabbit huntin ? Thems the moshuns, an' 
 the feelin am the rabbit's. 
 
 " Sherifs am orful 'spectabil peopil ; everybody looks 
 up tu em. I never adzacly seed the 'spectabil part 
 mysef. I'se too fear'd ove em, I reckon, tu 'zamin fur 
 hit much. One thing I knows, no country atwix 
 yere an' Tophit kin ever 'lect me tu sell out widders' 
 plunder, ur poor men's co'n, an' the tho'ts ove hit gins 
 me a good feelin ; hit sorter flashes thru my heart when 
 I thinks ove hit I axed a passun onst, whan hit cud 
 be, an' he pernounced hit tu be onregenerit pride, what 
 I orter squelch in prayer, an' in tendin chuch on colleck- 
 shun days. I wer in hopes hit mout be 'ligion, ur 
 sence, a-soakin intu me ; hit feels good, enyhow, an' I 
 don't keer ef every suckit rider outen jail knows hit. 
 Sheriffs' shuts allers hes nettil dus ur fleas inside ove 
 em when they lies down tu sleep, an' I'se glad ove hit, 
 
230 BARE EIPE GARDEN-SEED. 
 
 fur they'se allers discamfortin me, durn em. I scarcely 
 ever git tu drink a ho'n, ur eat a mess in peace. I'll 
 hurt one sum day, see ef I don't Show me a sheriff 
 a-steppin softly roun, an' a-sorter sightin at me, an' I'll 
 show yu a far sampil ove the speed ove a express in- 
 gine, fired up wif rich, dry, rosiny skeers. They don't 
 ketch me much, usin only human laigs es wepuns. 
 
 " Ole John Doltin wer a 'spectabil sheriff, monsusly 
 so, an' hed the bes' scent fur poor fugatif devils, an' 
 wimen, I ever seed ; he wer sure fire. Well, he toted 
 a warrun fur this yere skinful ove durn'd fool, 'bout 
 that ar misfortnit nigger meetin bisness, ontil he wore 
 hit intu six seperit squar bits, an' hed wore out much 
 shoe leather a-chasin ove me. I'd foun a doggery in 
 full milk, an' hated pow'ful bad tu leave that settilment 
 while hit suck'd free ; so I sot intu sorter try an' wean 
 him off frum botherin me so much. I suckseedid so 
 well that he not only quit racin ove me, an' wimen, but 
 he wer tetotaly spiled es as a sheriff, an' los' the 'specta- 
 bil seckshun ove his karacter. Tu make yu fool fellers 
 onderstan how hit wer done, I mus' interjuice yure 
 minds tu one Wat Mastin, a bullit-headed yung black- 
 smith. 
 
 " Well, las' year — no hit wer the year afore las' — in 
 struttin an' gobblin time, Wat felt his keepin right 
 warm, so he sot intu bellerin an' pawin up dus in the 
 neighborhood roun the ole widder McKildrin's. The 
 more dus he flung up, the wus he got, ontil at las' he 
 
RARE RIPE GARDEN-SEED. 231 
 
 jis didn't stan the ticklin sensashuns anutner minnit ; 
 so he put fur the county court clark's offis, wif his hans 
 sock'd down deep intu his britchis pockets, like he wer 
 fear'd ove pick-pockets, his back roach'd roun, an' 
 a-chonrpin his teef ontil he splotch'd his whiskers wif 
 foam. Oh ! he wer yearnis' hot, an' es restless es a 
 cockroach in a hot skillit." 
 
 "What was the matter with this Mr. Mastin? I 
 cannot understand you, Mr. Lovingood; had he hy- 
 drophobia?" remarked a man in a square-tail coat, and 
 cloth gaiters, who was obtaining subscribers for some 
 forthcoming Encyclopedia of Useful Knowledge, who 
 had quartered at our camp, uninvited, and really 
 unwanted. 
 
 "What du yu mean by high-dry -f oby ?" and Sut 
 looked puzzled. 
 
 " A madness produced by being bit by some rabid 
 animal," explained Square-tail, in a pompous manner. 
 
 "Yas, hoss, he hed high-dry-foby orful, an' Mary 
 McKildrin, the widder McKildrin's only darter, hed 
 gin him the complaint ; I don't know whether she bit 
 'im ur not ; he mout a-cotch hit frum her bref, an' he 
 wer now in the roach back, chompin stage ove the 
 sickness, so he wer arter the dark fur a tickit tu the 
 hospital. Well, the dark sole 'im a piece ove paper, 
 part printin an' part ritin, wif a picter ove two pigs' 
 hearts, what sum boy hed shot a arrer thru, an' lef hit 
 etickin, printed at the top. That paper wer a splicin 
 
J 
 
 232 RAEE BIPE GARDEN-SEED. 
 
 pass — sum calls hit a par ove licins — an' that very nite 
 he tuck Mary, fur better, fur wus, tu hev an' tu hole 
 tu him his heirs, an' " 
 
 " Allow me to interrupt you," said our guest ; " you 
 do not quote the marriage ceremony correctly." 
 
 " Yu go tu. hell, mistofer ; yu bothers me." 
 
 This outrageous rebuff took the stranger all aback, 
 and he sat down. 
 
 " Whar wer I ? Oh yas, he married Mary tight an' 
 fas', an' nex day he wer abil tu be about. His coat 
 tho', an' his trousis look'd jis' a skrimshun too big, 
 loose like, an' heavy tu tote. I axed him ef he felt 
 soun. He sed yas, but he'd welded a steamboat shaftez 
 the day afore, an' wer sorter tired like. Thar he tole a 
 durn lie, fur he'd been a-ho'nin up dirt mos' ove the 
 day, roun the widder's garden, an' bellerin in the orch- 
 ard. Mary an' him sot squar intu hous'-keepin, an' 
 'mung uther things he bot a lot ove rar ripe garden-seed, 
 frum a Yankee peddler. Rar ripe co'n, rar ripe peas, 
 rar ripe taters, rar ripe everything, an' the two yung 
 durn'd fools wer dreadfully exercis'd 'bout hit Wat s«d 
 he ment tu git him a rar ripe hammer an' anvil, an' Mary 
 vow'd tu grashus, that she'd hev a rar ripe wheel an' 
 loom, ef money wud git em. Purty soon arter he hed 
 made the garden, he tuck a noshun tu work a spell 
 down tu Ataylanty, in the railroad shop, es he sed he hed 
 a sorter ailin in his back, an' he tho't weldin rail car-tire 
 an 1 ingine axiltrees, wer lighter work nur sharpinin 
 
BABE RIPE GABDEN-SEED. 233 
 
 plows, an' puttin lap-links in trace-chains. So down 
 lie went, an' foun nit agreed wif'him, fur he didn't euro 
 back ontil the middil ove August The fust thing he 
 seed when he landid intu his cabin-door, wer a shoe- 
 box wif rockers onder hit, an' the nex thing he seed, 
 wer Mary hersef, propped up in bed, an' the nex thing 
 he seed arter that, wer a par ove littil rat-eyes a-shinin 
 abuv the aind ove the quilt, ontu Mary's arm, an' the 
 nex an' las' thing he seed wer the two littil rat-eyes 
 aforesed, a-turnin intu two hundred thousand big green 
 stars, an' a-swingin roun an' roun the room, faster an' 
 faster, ontil they mix'd intu one orful green flash. He 
 drap't intu a limber pile on the floor. The durn'd 
 fool what hed weldid the steamboat shaftez hed fainted 
 safe an' soun es a gal skeered at a mad bull. Mary 
 fotch a weak cat-scream, an' kivered her head, an' sot 
 intu work ontu a whifflin dry cry, while littil Kat-eyes 
 gin hitssef up tu suckin. Cryin an' suckin bof at onst 
 ain't far ; mus' cum pow'ful strainin on the wet seck- 
 shun ove an' 'oman's constitushun ; yet hit am ofen 
 dun, an' more too. Ole Missis McKildrin, what wer 
 a-nussin Mary, jis' got up frum knittin, an' flung a big 
 gourd ove warter squar intu Wat's face, then she fotch 
 a glass bottil ove swell-skull whisky outen the three- 
 cornered cupboard, an' stood furnint "Wat, a-holdin hit 
 in wun han, an' the tin-cup in tuther, waitin fur Wat 
 tu cum to. She wer the piusses lookin ole 'oman jis' 
 then, yu ever seed outside ove a prayer-meetin, Arter 
 
234 EAEE EIPE GAEDEN-SEED. 
 
 a spell, Wat begun tu move, twitchin his fingers, an' 
 battin bis eyes, sorter 'stonisbed like. That pius looMn 
 statue sed tu bim : 
 
 " ' My son, jis' take a drap ove sperrits, honey. Yu'se 
 very sick, dumplin , don't take on darlin, ef yu kin 
 belp bit, ducky, far poor Margarit Jane am mons'ous 
 ailin, an' tbe leas' nise ur takin on •will kill tbe poor 
 sufferin dear, an' yu'll loose yure tuckil ducky duv ove 
 a sweet wifey, arter all sbe's dun gone thru fur yu. My 
 dear son "Watty, yu mus' consider her feelins a littil.' 
 Sez Wat, a-turnin up his eyes at that vartus ole relick, 
 sorter sick like — 
 
 " ' I is a-considerin em a heap, rite now ' 
 " ' Oh that's right, my good kine child.' 
 " Oh dam ef ole muther-in-lors can't plaster humbug 
 over a feller, jis' es saft an' easy es they spreads a cam- 
 rick banketcher over a three hour ole baby's face ; yu 
 don't feel bit at all, but hit am thar, a plum inch thick, 
 an' stickin fas es court-plaster. She raised Wat's head, 
 an' sot the aidge ove the tin cup agin his lower teef, an' 
 turned up the bottim slow an' keerful, a-winkin at 
 Mary, bu wer a-peepin over the aidge ove the coverlid, 
 tu see ef Wat tuck the perskripshun, fur a heap ove 
 famerly cumfort 'pended on that ar ho'n ove sperrits. 
 Wun ho'n allers saftens a man, the yeath over. Wat 
 keep a-battin his eyes, wus nur a owl in daylight ; at las' 
 he raised hissef ontu wun elbow, an' rested bis head in 
 that ban, sorter weak like. Sez he, mons'ous tvimblin an' 
 
BABE EIPE GAEDEN-SEED. 235 
 
 slow : ' Aprile — May — June — July — an' mos' — haf— 
 ove — August,' a-countin the munths ontu the fingers 
 ove tuther han, wif the thumb, a-shakin ove his head, 
 an' lookin at his spread fingers like they warut his'n, 
 ur they wer nastied wif sumfin. Then he counted em 
 agin, slower, Aprile — May — June — July — an', mos' 
 haf ove August, an' he run his thumb atwixt his fin- 
 gers, es meanin mos' haf ove August, an' look'd at the 
 pint ove hit, like hit mout be a snake's head. He raised 
 his eyes tu the widder's face, who wer standin jis' es 
 steady es a hitchin pos', an' still a-warin that pius 
 'spression ontu her pussonal feturs, an' a* flood ove 
 saft luv fur Wat, a-shinin strait frum her eyes intu 
 his'n. Sez he, ' That jis' makes four munths, an' mos' 
 a half, don't hit, Missis McKildrin?' She never sed 
 one word. "Wat reached fur the hath, an' got a dead 
 fire-coal ; then he made a mark clean acrost a floor- 
 plank. Sez he, ' Aprile,' a-holdin down the coal ontu 
 the aind ove the mark, like he wer fear'd hit mout 
 blow away afore he got hit christened Aprile. Sez he, 
 ' May' — an' he marked across the board agin ; then he 
 counted the marks, one, two, a-dottin at em wif the 
 coal. 'June,' an' he marked agin, one, two, three; 
 counted wif the pint ove the coal. He scratched his 
 head wif the littil finger ove the han holdin the char- 
 coal, an' he drawed hit slowly acrost the board agin, 
 peepin onder his wrist tu see when hit reached the 
 crack, an' sez he 'July,' es he lifted the coal ; 'one, two 
 
236 RAKE RIPE GARDEN-SEED. 
 
 three, four,' countin frum lef tu right, an' then frum 
 right tu lef. ' That haint but four, no way I kin fix 
 hit. Ole Pike hissef cudn't make hit five, ef he wer tu 
 sifer ontu hit ontil his laigs turned intu figger eights.' 
 Then he made a mark, haf acrost a plank, spit on his 
 finger, an' rubbed off a haf inch ove the aind, an' sez 
 he, ' Mos' haf ove August. He looked up at the wid- 
 der, an' thar she wer, same es ever, still a-holdin the 
 flask agin her bussum, an' sez he ' Four months, an' 
 mos' a haf. Haint enuf, is hit mammy f hits jis' 'bout 
 (lac kin a littil) hafenuf, haint hit, mammy ?' 
 
 " Missis McKildrin shuck her head sorter onsartin 
 like, an' sez she, ' Take a drap more sperrits, Watty, 
 my dear pet ; dus yu mine buyin that ar rar ripe seed, 
 frum the peddler?' "Wat nodded his head, an' looked 
 'what ove hit,' but didn't say hit. 
 
 " ' This is what cums ove hit, an' four months an' a 
 haf am rar ripe time fur babys, adzackly. Tu be sure, 
 hit lacks a day ur two, but Margarit Jane wer allers a 
 pow'ful interprizin gal, an' a yearly rizer.' Sez Wat, 
 
 " ' How about the 'taters ?' 
 
 " 'Oh, we et 'taters es big es goose aigs, afore ole 
 Missis Collinze's blossomed.' 
 
 " 'How 'bout co'n?' 
 
 ' ; ' Oh, we shaved down roasin years afore hern ta» 
 sel'd ' 
 
 " 'An' peas?' 
 
 " 'Yes son, we hed gobs an' lots in three weeks 
 
EAEE EIPE GAEDEN-SEED. 237 
 
 Everything cums in adzackly half the time that hit 
 takes the ole sort, an' yu knows, my darlin son, yu 
 planted hit waseful. I tho't then yu'd rar ripe every- 
 thing on the place. Yu planted often, too, didn't yu 
 luv ? fur fear hit wudn't cum up.' 
 
 " 'Ye-ye-s-s he — he did,' sed Mary a-cryin. "Wat 
 studied pow'ful deep a spell, an' the widder jis' waited. 
 Widders allers wait, an' allers win. At las, sez he, 
 ' Mammy.' She looked at Mary, an' winked these yere 
 words at her, es plain es she cud a-talked em. 'Yu 
 hearn him call me mammy twiste. I'se got him, now. 
 His back-bone's a-limberin fas', he'll own the baby yet, 
 see ef he don't. Jis' hole still my darter, an' let yer 
 mammy knead this dough, then yu may bake hit es 
 brown es yu please.' 
 
 " 'Mammy, when I married on the fust day ove 
 
 Aprile ' The widder look'd oneasy ; she tho't he 
 
 mout be a-cupplin that day, his weddin, an' the idear, 
 dam fool, tugether. But he warn't, fur he sed ' That day 
 I gin ole man Collins my note ove han fur a hundred 
 dullars, jew in one year arter date, the balluns on this 
 Ian. Dus yu think that ar seed will change the time 
 eny, ur will hit alter the amount V An' Wat looked at 
 her powerful ankshus. She raised the whisky bottil 
 way abuv her head, wif her thumb on the mouf, an' 
 fotch the bottim down ontu her han, spat. Sez she, 
 'Watty, my dear b'lovid son, pripar tu pay two hun- 
 dred dullars 'bout the fust ove October, fur hit'll be 
 
238 BARE RIPE GARDEN-SEED. 
 
 jew jis' then, es sure es that littil black-eyed angel in 
 the bed thar, am yer darter. 5 
 
 " Wat drap't his head, an' sed, ' Then hits a dam sure 
 thing? Eite yere, the baby fotch a rattlin loud squall, 
 (I speck Mary wer sorter figetty jis' then, an' hurt hit.) 
 ' Yas,' sez Wat, a-wallin a red eye to'ards the bed ; ' my 
 littil she — what wer hit yu called her name, mammy ?' 
 ' I called her a sweet littil angel, an' she is won, es sure 
 es yu re her daddy, my b'loved son.' ' Well,' sez Wat, 
 ' my littil sweet, patent rar ripe she angel, ef yu lives 
 tu marryin time, yu'll 'stonish sum man body outen 
 his shut, ef yu don't rar ripe lose hits vartu arter the 
 fust plantin, that's all.' He rared up on aind, wif his 
 mouf pouch'd out He had a pow'ful torrid, fur- 
 reachin, bread funnel, enyhow — cud a-bit the aigs 
 outen a catfish, in two-foot warter, wifout wettin his 
 eyebrows. ' Dod durn rar ripe seed, an' rar ripe ped- 
 lers, an' rar ripe notes tu the hottes' corner ove ' 
 
 " ' Stop Watty, darlin, don't swar ; 'member yu be- 
 longs tu meetin.' 
 
 " ' My blacksmith's fire,' ainded Wat, an' he studied 
 a long spell ; sez he, 
 
 " 'Did you save eny ove that infunnel doubil-trigger 
 seed?' 'Yas,' sez the widder, 'thar in that bag by the 
 cupboard. Wat got up ofen the floor, tuck a countin sor- 
 ter look at the charcoal marks, an' reached down the 
 bag; he went tu the door an' called 'Suke, muleyj 
 Suke, Suke, cow, chick, chick, chicky chick. 1 ' What's 
 
EAEE BIPE GAEDEN-SEED. 239 
 
 yu gwine tu du now, my dear son?' sed Missis McKil- 
 drin. ' I'se jis' gwine tu feed this actif smart truck tu 
 the cow, an' the hens, that's what I'se gwine tu du 
 Ole muley haint hed a calf in two years, an' I'll eat 
 sum rar ripe aigs.' Mary now venter'd tu speak: 
 ' Husban, I ain't sure hit'll work on hens ; cum an' kiss 
 me my luv.' 'I haint sure hit'll work on hens, either,' 
 sed Wat. ' They's powerful onsartin in thar ways, well 
 es wimen,' an' he fiung out a hanful spiteful like. Takin 
 the rar ripe invenshun all tugether, frum 'taters an' peas 
 tu notes ove han, an' childer, I can't say I likes hit - 
 much,' an' he flung out anuther hanful. 'Yer mam 
 hed thuteen the ole way, an' ef this truck stays 'bout 
 the hous', yu'se good fur twenty-six, maybe thuty, fur 
 yu'se a pow'ful interprizin gal, yer mam sez,' an' he 
 flung out anuther hanful, overhandid, es hard es ef he 
 wer flingin rocks at a stealin sow. ' Make yere mine 
 easy,' sed the widder ; ' hit never works on married 
 folks only the fust time.' ' Say them words agin,' sed 
 Wat, ' I'se glad tu hear em. Is hit the same way wif 
 notes ove han ?' ' I speck hit am,' answer'd the widder, 
 wif jis' a taste ove strong vinegar in the words, es she 
 sot the flask in the cupboard wif a push. 
 
 "Jis' then ole Doltin, the sheriff, rid up, an' started 
 'stonished when he seed Wat, but he, quick es an 'oman 
 kin hide a strange hat, drawed the puckerin-string ove 
 that legil face ove his'n, an' fotch hit up tu the ' know'd 
 yu wer at home,' sorter look, an' wishin Wat mucb joy. 
 
240 RARE RIPE GARDEN-SEED. 
 
 sed he'd fotch the baby a present, a par ove red shoes, 
 an' a calliker dress, fur the luv he bore hits granmam. 
 Missis McKildrin tole him what the rar ripe hed dun, 
 an' he swore hit allers worked jis' that way, an' wer 
 'stonished at Wat's not knowin hit ; an' they talked so 
 fas', an' so much, that the more Wat listened the less 
 he know'd. 
 
 " Arter the sheriff lef, they onrolled the bundil, an' 
 Wat straitched out the calliker in the yard. He step't 
 hit off keerfully, ten yards, an a littil the rise. He puss'd 
 up his mouf, an' blow'd out a whistil seven foot long, 
 lookin up an' down the middil stripe ove the drygoods, 
 frum aind tu aind. Sez he, ' Missis McKildrin, that'll 
 make Ear Ripe a good full frock, won't hit ?' ' Y-a-s,' 
 sed she, wif her hans laid up along her jaw, like she 
 wer studyin the thing keerfully. ' My son, I thinks 
 hit will, an' I wer jis' a-thinkin ef hit wer cut tu 'van- 
 tage, thar mout be nuff lef, squeezed out tu make yu a 
 Sunday shutin shut, makin the ruffils an' ban outen sum- 
 thin else.' ' Put hit in the bag what the rar ripe wer 
 in, an' by mornin thar'll be nuff fur the ruffils an' bans, 
 an' yu mout make the tail tu drag the yeath, wifout 
 squeezin ur pecin,' sez Wat, an' he put a few small 
 wrinkils in the pint ove his nose, what seemed tu 
 bother the widder tu make out the meanin ove ; they 
 look'd mons'ous like the outward signs ove an on- 
 b'lever. Jis' then his eyes sot fas' ontu sumthin a-lyin 
 on the groun whar he'd onrolled the bundil ; he walk'd 
 
RARE RIPE GARDEN-SEED. 241 
 
 up tu hit slow, sorter like a feller goes up tu a log, 
 arter he thinks he seed a snake run onder. He walk'd 
 clean roun hit twiste, never takin his eyes ofen hit. 
 At las' he lifted hit on his instep, an' hilt out his laig 
 strait at that widdered muther-in-lor ove his'n. Sez he, 
 ' What mout yu call that ? Eed baby's shoes don't gin- 
 er'lly hev teeth, dus they?' 'Don't yu know hits a 
 tuckin comb, "Watty ? The store-keeper's made a sor- 
 ter blunder, I speck,' sed that vartus petticoatful ove 
 widderhood. ' Maybe he hes ; I'se durn sure I Aes,' sed 
 Wat, an' he wrinkil'd his nose agin, mons'ous bother- 
 inly tu that watchful widder. He scratched his head a 
 spell ; sez he, ' Ten yards an' the rise fur a baby's frock, 
 a?i' hit rar ripe at that, gits me ; an' that ar tuckin comb 
 gits me wus.' 'Oh, fiddlesticks an' flusterashun,' sez 
 she. ' Save the comb ; baby'll soon want hit. ' ' That's 
 so, mammy, I'm dam ef hit don't,' an' he slip't his foot 
 frum onder hit, an' hit scarcely totch the yeath afore 
 he stomp't hit, an' the teeth flew all over the widder. • 
 He look'd like he'd been stompin a blowin adder, an' 
 went apas' the 'oman intu the cabin, in a rale Aprile 
 tucky gobbler strut. When he tore the rapper off the 
 sheriffs present, I seed a littil bit ove white paper fall 
 out Onbenowenst tu enybody, I sot my foot ontu hit, 
 an' when they went in I socked hit deep intu my 
 pocket, an' went over tu the still-'ous. I tuck Jim 
 Dunkin out, an' arter swarin 'im wif a uplifted han', tu 
 keep dark, got him tu read hit tu me, ontil hit wer 
 
242 BARE RIPE GARDEN-SEED. 
 
 printed on the mindm seckshun ove my brain. Hit 
 run jis' so : 
 
 "My sweet Maet : 
 
 I mayn't git the chance tu talk eny tu yu, Be 
 when Wat gits home, an' axes enything 'bout the comb an' calliker, yu 
 tell him yer mam foun the bundil in the road. She'll back yu up in 
 that ar statemint, ontil thar's enuf white fros' in hell tu kill snap- 
 beans. 
 
 Notey Beney. — I hope Wat'll stay in Atlanty ontil the merlenium, 
 don't yu, my dear duv? 
 
 Yures tiil deth, 
 
 Doltin'. 
 
 An' tu that ar las' remark he'd sot a big D. I reckon 
 he ment that fur dam Wat. 
 
 " Now, I jis' know'd es long es I hed that paper, I 
 hilt four aces ontu the sheriff, an' I ment tu bet on the 
 han, an' go halves wif Wat, fur I wer sorry fur him, he 
 wer so infunely 'posed upon. I went tu school tu 
 Sicily Burns, tu lam 'oman tricks, an' I tuck a dirplo- 
 mer, I did, an' now I'd jes' like tu see the pussonal 
 feeters ove the she 'oman what cud stock rar ripe kerds 
 on me, durn'd fool es I is. I hed a talk wif Wat, an 7 
 soon foun out that his mine hed simmer'd down intu a 
 strong belief that the sheriff an' Mary wer doin thar 
 weavin in the same loom. 
 
 "Then I show'd him my four aces, an' that chip 
 made the pot bile over, an' he jis' 'greed tu be led by 
 me, spontanashusly. 
 
 "Jis' think on that fac' a minnit boys ; a man what 
 
RAKE RIPE GARDEN-SEED. 243 
 
 hed sense enuf tu turn a hoss shoe, an' then nail hit on 
 toe aind foremos', bein led by me, looks sorter like a 
 plum tree barin tumil bug-balls, but hit wer jis' so, an' 
 durn my pictur, ef I didn't lead him tu victory, strait 
 along. 
 
 " "Wat narrated hit, that he b'leved strong in rar ripe, 
 frum beans, thru notes ove han, plum tu babys, an' 
 that his cabin shud never be wifout hit. The widder 
 wer cheerful, Mary wer luvin, an' the sheriff wer told 
 on the sly, by ole Mister McKildrin's remainin, an' 
 mos' pius she half, that Wat wer es plum blind es ef 
 his eyes wer two tuckil aigs. So the wool grow'd over 
 his eyes, ontil hit wer fit tu shear, an' dam ef I warvHt 
 at the shearin. 
 
 " Things, tharfore, went smoof, an' es quiet es a 
 greased waggin, runnin in san. Hits allers so, jis' 
 afore a tarin big storm. 
 
 " By the time littil Rar Ripe wer ten weeks ole, Dol- 
 tin begun tu be pow'ful plenty in the neighborhood. 
 Even the brats know'd his hoss's tracks, an' go whai 
 he wud, the road led ni ontu Wat's, ur the widder's, tu 
 git thar. My time tu play my four aces hed 'bout 
 cum." 
 
 " And so has orderly bed time. I wish to repose," 
 remarked the man of Useful Knowledge, in the square- 
 tail coat, and cloth gaiters. 
 
 Sut opened his eyes in wonder. 
 "Yuwish tudu what?" 
 
244 RARE RIPE GARDEN-SEED. 
 
 " I -wish to go to sleep." 
 
 "Then why the h — 1 didn't yu say so? Yu mus' 
 talk Inglish tu me, ur not git yersef onderstood. I 
 warn't edikated at no Injun ur nigger school. Say, 
 bunty, warn't yu standid deep in sum creek, when the 
 taylure man put the string to yu, fur that ar cross atwix 
 a rounabout an' a flour barril, what yu'se got on in 
 place of a coat ?" 
 
 My self-made guest looked appealingly at me, as he 
 nntied his gaiters, evidently deeply insulted. I shook 
 my head at Sut, who was lying on his breast, with his 
 arms crossed for a pillow, but with head elevated like 
 a lizard's, watching the traveler's motions with great 
 interest. 
 
 " Say, George, what dus repose mean ? That wurd 
 wer used at me jis' now." 
 
 "Repose means rest." 
 
 " Oh, the devil hit dus ! I'se glad tu hear hit, I tho't 
 hit wer pussonal. I kin repose now, mysef. Say, ole 
 Onsightly Peter, repose sum tu, ef yu kin in that 
 flour barril. I ain't gwine tu hunt fur yure har 
 
 ontil mor " and Sut slept. When morning broke, 
 
 the Encyclopedia, or Onsightly Peter as Sut pro- 
 nounced it, had 
 
 •'Folded his tent like the Arab, 
 And as silently stole away." 
 
CONTEMPT OF COURT-ALMOST. 
 
 "Ole Onsightly Peter tuck Ms squar-tail cackus 
 kiver away frum this yere horspitable camp, wifout 
 axin for his bill, ur even sayin 'mornin,' tu us. Le's 
 look roun a littil ; I bet he'se stole sumfin. Fellers ove 
 bis stripe allers dus. They never thinks a night's 
 lodgin cumplete, onless they hooks a bed-quilt, ur a 
 candilstick, ur sum sichlike. I hates ole Onsightly 
 Peter, jis' caze he didn't seem tu like tu hear me nar- 
 rate las' night ; that's human nater the yeath over, an' 
 yere's more univarsal onregenerit human nater : ef ever 
 yu dus eny thing tu enybody wifout cause, yu hates 
 em allers arterwards, an' sorter ft ants tu hurt em agin. 
 An' yere's anuther human nat ,c : ef enything happens 
 sum feller, I don't keer ef he's yure bes' frien, an' I 
 don't keer how sorry yu is fur him, thar's a streak ove 
 satisfackshun 'bout like a sowin thread a-runnin all 
 thru yer sorrer. Yu may be shamed ove hit, but durn 
 me ef hit ain't thar. Hit will show like the white cot- 
 tin chain in mean cassinett ; brushin hit onder only 
 
246 CONTEMPT OF COURT — ALMOST. 
 
 hides hit. An' yere's a littil more ; no odds how good 
 yu is tu yung things, nr how kine yn is in treatin em, 
 when yu sees a littil long laiged lamb a-shakin hits 
 tail, an' a-dancin staggerinly onder hits mam a-hnntin 
 fur the tit, ontu hits knees, yer ringers will itch tu 
 seize that ar tail, an' fling the littil ankshus son ove a 
 mutton over the fence amung the blackberry briars, 
 not tu hurt hit, but jis' tu disapint hit. Ur say, a littil 
 calf, a-buttin fas' under the cow's fore-laigs, an' then the 
 hine, wif the pint ove hits tung stuck out, makin suckin 
 mosuuns, not yet old enuf tu know the bag aind ove 
 hits mam frum the hookin aind, don't yu want tu 
 kick hit on the snout, hard enough tu send hit back- 
 wards, say fifteen foot, jis' tu show hit that buttin won't 
 allers fetch milk ? Ur a baby even, rubbin hits heels 
 apas' each uther, a-rootin an' a-snifflin arter the breas', 
 an' the mam duin her bes' tu git hit out, over the hem 
 ove her clothes, don't yu feel hungry tu gin hit jis' 
 one 'cussion cap slap, rite ontu the place what sum 
 day'U fit a saddil, ur a sowin cheer, tu show hit what's 
 atwixt hit an' the grave ; that hit stans a pow'ful chance 
 not tu be fed every time hits hungry, ur in a hurry ? 
 An' agin: ain't thar sum grown up babys what yu 
 meets, that the moment yer eyes takes em in, yer toes 
 itch tu tetch thar starns, jis' 'bout es saftly es a muel 
 kicks in playin ; a histin kine ove a tetch, fur the way 
 they wares thar har, hat, ur watch-chain, the shape ove 
 thar nose, the cut ove thar eye, ur sumthin ove a like 
 
CONTEMPT OF COURT — ALMOST. 247 
 
 littil natur. Jis' tu show the idear, a strange fellow 
 onst cum intu a doggery whar I wer buzzy a-raisin 
 steam, an' had got hit a few poun abuv a bladder bustin 
 pint. 
 
 "He tuck off his gloves, slow an' keerful, a-lookin at 
 me like I mout smell bad. Then he flattened em ontu 
 the counter, an' laid em in the crown ove his hat, like 
 he wer packin shuts in a trunk. Then sez he — 
 
 " l Baw-keepaw, ole Champaigne Brandy, vintage 
 ove thuty-eight, ef yu please, aw.' 
 
 "He smelt hit slow, a-lookin at hissef in the big 
 lookin-glass ahine the counter, shook his head, an' 
 turned up his mustachus, sorter like a goat hists hits tail. 
 
 " Mustachus am pow'ful holesum things I speck, tu 
 them what hes the stumick tu wear em. Bes' butter- 
 milk strainers on yeath. All the scrimpshuns ove 
 butter lodges in the har, an' rubbed in makes it grow, 
 like chicken dung dus inyuns. Strains whisky power- 
 ful good, what hes dead flies in hit, an' then yu kin 
 comb em off ur let em stay, 'cordin tu yer taste. They 
 changes the taste ove a kiss clear over ; makes hit tas' 
 an' smell like a mildew'd saddil-blankit, arter hit hed 
 been rid on a sore-back hoss three hundred miles in 
 August, an' increases yer appertite fur sich things 
 'cordinly. I seed a blue-bird devil a feller onst, all 
 one spring, a-tryin tu git intu his niouf tu bild a nestes, 
 an' the durn'd fool wer proud ove the bird's preferens, 
 but wudn't let hit git in. 
 
248 CONTEMPT OP COUET — ALMOST. 
 
 • ' Bite then, I thought, well, durn yure artifishul 
 no-count soul, an' my toes begun tu tingle. He tuck 
 four trials, a-pourin back an' forrid, afore he got his 
 dram the right depth, a-lookin thru the tumbler like he 
 spected tu see a minner, ur a warter-mockasin in hit. 
 Then he drunk hit, like hit wer caster ile, the infunel 
 fool. Lordy crimminy ! how bad my toes wer itchin 
 now. He lit a seegar, cocked hit up to'ards one eye, 
 an' loooked at me agin thru the smoke, while he shook 
 his hat over ontu one ove his years. Sez I, ' Mornin 
 mister.' 
 
 " He never sed a word, but turned an' started fur the 
 door. When he got six foot nine inches distunt, (that's 
 my bes' kickin range,) the durned agravatin toe itch 
 overcum me, an' I let one ove these yere hoss-hide 
 boots go arter Hm ; hit imejuntly cotch up wif the fork 
 ove his coatail, an' went outen my sight, mos' up tu 
 the straps. He went flyin outen the doggery door, 
 over the hoss-rack. While he wer in the air, he turned 
 plum roun an' lit facin me wif a cock't Derringer, 
 a-starin me squar in the face. I tho't I seed the bullit 
 in hit lookin es big es a hen's aig. Es I dodged, hit 
 plowed a track acrost the door-jam, jis' es high es my 
 eye-brows. I wer one hundred an' nineteen yards 
 deep in the wheat-field when I hearn hits mate bark, an' 
 he wer a pow'rful quick moshun'd man wif shootin irons. 
 
 "I wer sorter fooled in the nater ove that feller, 
 that's a fac'. The idear ove Derringers, an' the melt 
 
CONTEMPT OF COURT — ALMOST. 249 
 
 tu use em, bein mix't up wif es much durned fmekey 
 fool es he show'd, never struck me at all, but I made 
 my pint on 'im, I cured my toe itch. 
 
 "Well, I allers tuck the cumplaint every time I seed 
 ole Jedge Smarty, but I dusn't try tu cure hit on him, 
 an' so hit jis' hed tu run hits course, onless I met sum- 
 thin I cud kick. 
 
 " Wirt Staples got him onst, bad ; 'stonished the ole 
 bag ove lor amos' outen his dignity, dam ef he didn't, 
 an' es Wirt tuck a skeer in what's tu cum ove my nara- 
 shun about the consekinses ove foolin wif uther men's 
 wives, I'll tell yu how he 'stonished ole Smarty, an' 
 then yu'll better onderstand me when I cums tu tell yu 
 how he help't tu 'stonish ole Doltin. 
 
 " Wirt hed changed his grocery range, an' the sperrits 
 at the new lick-log hed more scrimmage seed an' raise- 
 devil intu hit than the old biled drink he wer used tu, 
 an' three ho'ns his ted his tail, an' sot his bristils 'bout es 
 stiff es eight ove the uther doggery juice wud. So 
 when cort sot at nine o'clock, Wirt wer 'bout es fur 
 ahead as cleaving, ur half pas' that. 
 
 " The hollerin stage ove the disease now struck him, 
 
 so he roar'd one good year-quiverin roar, an' riz three 
 
 foot inside the doggery door, an' lit nine more out in 
 
 the mud, sploshin hit all over the winders, tuther side 
 
 the street He hed a dned venerson ham in one han, an' 
 
 a ten- year old he nigger by hits gallus-crossin in tuther. 
 
 He waved fus' the nigger an' then the venerson over his 
 11* 
 
250 CONTEMPT OF COURT — ALMOST. 
 
 head, steppin short an' high, like ontu a bline hoss, an 
 lookin squar atwixt his shoe-heels, wif his shoulders 
 hump'd hi up. Sez he, 
 
 " ' Hu — wee,' clear an' loud es a tin ho'n, ' run onder 
 the hen, yere's the blue- tail hawk, an' he's a-flyin low. 
 The Devil's grist mill-dam's broke ; take tu yer canoes. 
 Then he roared a time ur two, an' look'd up an' down 
 the street, like a bull looks fur tuther one, when he 
 thinks he hearn a beller. He riz ontu his tip-toes, an' 
 finished a good loud 'Hu-wee.' Es he drap't ontu his 
 heels agin, he yelled so hard his head shook an' his 
 long black har quivered agin ; he then shook hit outen 
 his eyes, wipin the big draps ove sweat ofen his snout 
 wif his shut-sleeve, still hangin tu the venerson an' the 
 nigger. Sez he, 
 
 " ' Look out fur the ingine when yu hears hit whistil; 
 hits a-whistilin rite now. iVmeteen hundred an' eighty 
 pouns tu the squar scrimpshun by golly, an' eighty '-nine 
 miles in the shake ove a lamb's tail. Purfeckly clear 
 me jis' ten acres tu du my gesterin on, yu durned Jews, 
 tape-sellers, gentiles, an' jackasses, I'se jis' a mossel 
 ove the bes' man what ever laid a shadder ontu this 
 dirt Hit wilts grass, my breff pizins skeeters, my yell 
 breaks winders, an' my tromp gits yeathquakes. I kin 
 bust the bottom outen a still by blowin in at the wum, 
 I kin addil a room full ove goose aigs by peepin in at 
 the key-hole, an' I ten spit a blister ontu a washpot, ontil 
 the flies blow hit. Listen tu me, oh yu dam puney, pan- 
 
CONTEMPT OF COURT — ALMOST. 251 
 
 ady eatin siterzens, an' soujoumers in this half-stock't 
 town, I'se in yearnis' now.' Then he reared a few 
 times agin, an' cnt the pidgeon-wing three foot high, 
 finished off wif 'bout haf ove a ho'n-pipe, keepin time 
 abuv his head wif the venerson an' the littil son ove 
 midnite. He hilt em straight out at arm's laingth, 
 leaned way back, an' lookin straight up at the sky, 
 sung 'bout es loud es a cow bellers, one vearse ove the 
 sixteen hundred an' ninety-ninth hyme — 
 
 The martins buds in boxis, 
 
 The foxis dens in holes, 
 The sarpints crawls in rocksis, 
 The yeath's the home ove moles. 
 
 Cock a-doodil-do, hits movin, 
 An' dram time's cum agin. 
 
 ' Yire's what kin jis' sircumstansully flax out that ar 
 court-hous' full tu the chimbly tops, ove bull-dorgs, 
 Bengal tigers, an' pizen bitin things, wif that ar pusley- 
 gutted, leather whisky jug ove a jedge, tu laig fur em. 
 Cum out yere, yu ole false apostil ove lor, yu cussed, 
 termatis-nosed desipil ove supeners, an' let me gin yu a 
 charge. I'll bet high hit busts yu plum open, frum 
 fork tu forrid, yu hary, sulky, choliky durn'd son ove a 
 slush-tub. Cum out yere, oh yu coward's skeer, yu 
 widder's night-mar, yu poor man's heart ache, yu con- 
 stabil's god, yu lawyer's king, yu treasury's tape-wum, 
 yer wife's dam barril ove soap-grease, saften'd wif un- 
 bought whisky.' 
 
252 CONTEMPT OF COURT — ALMOST. 
 
 " Thinks I, that's hit; now Wirt yu'se draw'd an ace 
 kerd at las', far the winders wer histed an' the cort 
 hearn every word. 
 
 "Wirt wer bilin hot; nobody tu gainsay him, hed 
 made him piedied all over; he wer plum pizen. So 
 arter finishin his las' narashun, aim'd at Jedge Smarty, 
 he tuck a vigrus look at the yung nigger, what he still 
 hilt squirmin an' twistin his face, what warn't eyes, 
 glazed all over wif tears, an' starch outen his nose, an' 
 sez he, 'Go.' He flung hit up'ards, an' es hit cum 
 down, hit met one ove Wirt's boots. Away hit flew, 
 spread like ontu a flyin squirrel, smash thru a watch- 
 tinker's winder, totin in broken sash, an' glass, an' 
 bull's-eye watches, an' sasser watches, an' spoons, an' 
 doll heads, an' clay pipes, an' fishin reels, an' sum 
 noise. A ole ball-headed cuss wer a-sittin a-peepin in- 
 tu a ole watch, arter spiders, wif a thing like a big 
 black wart kiverin one eye, when the smashery cum, 
 an' the fas' thing he knowed, he wer flat ove his back, 
 wif a small, pow'fully skeer'd, ash-culler'd nigger, 
 a-straddil his naik, littil brass wheels spinnin on the 
 floor, an' watches singin like rattil-snakes all roun. I 
 wer a-peepin outen the ole doggery door, an' thinks I, 
 thar, by jingo, Wirt, yu'se draw'd anuther ace, an' ef yu 
 hilt enything ove a han afore, yu hes got a sure thing 
 now ; so better bet fas', ole feller, fur I rather think the 
 jedge'll 'call yu' purty soon. Wirt seed me, an' ove 
 course tho't ove whisky that moment ; so he cum over 
 
CONTEMPT OF COURT — ALMOST. 253 
 
 tu lay on a littil more kindlin wood. I'll swar, tu look 
 at him, yu cudn't think fur the life ove yu, that he hed 
 over-bragged a single word. His britches wer buttoned 
 tite roun his loins, an' stuifed 'bout half intu his boots, 
 his shut bagg'd out abuv, an' wer es white es milk, 
 his sleeves wer rolled up tu his arm-pits, an' his collar 
 wer es wide open es a gate, the mussils on his arms 
 moved about like rabbits onder the skin, an' ontu his 
 hips an' thighs they play'd like the swell on the river, 
 his skin wer clear red an' white, an' his eyes a deep, 
 sparklin, wickid blue, while a smile fluttered like a 
 hummin bird roun his mouf all the while. When the 
 State-fair offers a premin fur men like they now dus fur 
 jackasses, I means tu enter Wirt Staples, an' I'll git 
 hit, ef thar's five thousand entrys. I seed ole Doltin 
 cumin waddlin outen the court-hous', wif a paper in his 
 han, an' a big stick onder his arm, lookin to'ards the 
 doggery wif his mouf puss'd up, an' his brows draw'd 
 down. Sez I, ' Wirt, look thar, thar's a ' herearter/ 
 a-huntinyu; duyuseehit? whar'syer hoss?' He tuck 
 one wickid, blazin look, an' slip't intu the stret wif his 
 arms folded acrost his venerson laig. 
 
 " Now Wirt wer Wat Mastin's cuzzin, an' knouj'd all 
 about the rar ripe bisness, an' tuck sides wif Wat strong. 
 I'd show'd him the sheriff's note tu Mary, an' he hed 
 hit by heart. The crowd wer now follerin Doltin tu see 
 the fun. When he got in about ten steps, sez Wirt : 
 
 " ' Stop rite thar ; ef- yu don't, thar's no caMker ut 
 
254 CONTEMPT OF COURT — ALMOST. 
 
 combs in Herrings store, ef I don't make yu fear'd ova 
 lightnin. I'll stay wif yu till thar's enuf fros y in hell In 
 kill snap-beans.'' 
 
 "When Wirt menshun'd snap-beans, I seed the 
 sheriff sorter start, an git pale ahine the years. 
 
 " 'Git intu that ar hog-pen, quick, (a-pintin at the 
 court-hous' wif the venerson laig,) ur I'll split yer head 
 plum tu the swaller wif this yere buck's laig, yu durn'd 
 ole skaley-heel'd, bob-tail old muley bull ; I'll spile yer 
 appertite fur the grass in uther men's pasturs.' 
 
 " ' Don't talk so loud, Mister Staples ; hit discombo- 
 berates the court. I hes no papers agin yu. Jis' keep 
 quiet,' sez Doltin, aidgin up slow, an' two ur three dep- 
 ertys sorter nankin. 
 
 "Wirt seed the signs. He jis' roared 'the lion's 
 loose ! Shet yer doors.' I seed his har a-flyin es he 
 sprung, an' I hearn a soun like smashin a dry gourd, 
 thar wer a rushin tugether ove depertys an' humans, 
 an' hit look'd like bees a-swarmin. Yere cum Wirt, 
 mowin his way outen the crowd, wif his venerson, an' 
 sprung ontu his hoss. Thar lay Doltin, flat ove his 
 back, his belly pintin up like a big tater-hill, an' eight 
 ur nine more in es many shapes, lyin all about, every 
 durned wun a-holdin his head, 'sceptin Doltin, an' he 
 wer plum limber. Wirt hed a pow'ful fine hoss, an' 
 he rid 'im roun that crowd like a Cumanche Injun, ur 
 a suckis, es fas' es quarter racin, jis' bustin his froat 
 ft-hoUerin, Then he went fur the court-hous', rid in at 
 
CONTEMPT OF COURT — ALMOST. 255 
 
 one door, an' out at tuther. Es lie went, lie flung that 
 mortul buck's hine laig at the j edge's head, sayin : 
 
 " ' Thar's a dried supeaner fur yu, yu dam ole cow's 
 paunch.' 
 
 " Es hit cum hit hit the tabil afore him, an' sent a 
 head ove hit, the broken glass ove a big inkstand, an' a 
 half pint ove ink, intu the face ove the court, then 
 glancin up, hit tuck a par ove specks what hed been 
 rared back ontu his head, outen the winder wif hit 
 Ole Smarty hes a mity nice idear ove when tu duck his 
 head, even ef a rain-storm ove ink am cumin upwards 
 intu his face. Warn't that mons'ous nigh bein a case 
 ove contempt ove court?" 
 

 TRAPPING A SHERIFF. 
 
 " "When Doltin got his lied cooper'd up arter that cav- 
 in in hit got frum the venerson laig, so he cud think up 
 sarcumstances a littil, he sent fur me. You see Jim 
 Dunkin, the ornary devil, foreswore hissef, an's now a 
 parjurd man ; he tole Doltin that I hilt his note tu 
 Mary, an' he wer arter hit hot. Well, I tuck aboard 
 enuf wood tu run me a few miles, an' over I went ; but 
 fus' gin the note tu Wirt Staples, tu keep, fur fear the 
 ole bull-dorg mout sheer hit outen me. 
 
 " Thar lay Doltin on a low one-hoss bedstid, wif 'bout 
 three wet towils tied roun' his head, an' cabbige leaves 
 a-peepin out all roun' frum onder em. 'Bout half ove 
 a doctor's shop wer sittin ontu a tabil. 
 
 " Thar sot the sheriff's wife, in a rocking cheer. She 
 wer boney an' pale. A drunk Injun cud a-red a Dutch 
 almanac thru her nose, and ther wer a new moon ove 
 indigo onder her eyes, away back intu them, fifty foot 
 or so. I seed her tear wells ; thar windlass wer broke, 
 the buckits in staves, an' the waters all gone ; an' away 
 
TRAPPING A SHERIFF. 257 
 
 still furder back, two lights shin'd, saft, like tlie stars 
 above 'jis 'afore thar settin. Her wais wer flat, an' the 
 finger cords on her han's wer mos' as high, an' look'd 
 es tight, and show'd es clar thru the skin, es the strings 
 ove a fiddil. The han' hitsef wer white, not like snow, 
 but like paint, and the forkid blue veins made hit look 
 like a new map ove the Ian' ove death. She wer a 
 coughin wif her han' on her hart, like she hed no more 
 spittil nur she hed tears, an' not much louder nor a 
 crickit chirpin in a flute ; jit in spite ove all this, a 
 sweet smile kiver'd her feeters, like a patch ove winter 
 sunshine on the slope ove a mountin, an' hit staid thar 
 es steddy an' bright es the culler dus tu the rose. I 
 'speck that smile will go back up wif her when she 
 starts home, whar hit mus' a-cum frum. She must onst 
 been mons'us temtin tu men tu look at, an' now she's loved 
 by the angils, fur the seal ove thar king is stamp'd in 
 gold on her forrid. Her shoulder blades, as they show'd 
 thru her dress, made me think they wer wings a sproutin 
 fur her flight tu that cumfort and peace ahe desarves so 
 well. She's a dealin wif death now. Her shroud's in 
 the house, an' sum ove the nex' grass will grow on her 
 grave, an' she's willin fur the spring tu cum. She is 
 ready, an' I raly wish she hed started. As I look fus' 
 at him, an' then at her, I'd swore tu a herearter. Yes, 
 two herearters, by golly : one way up behint that ar 
 black cloud wif the white bindin fur sich as her ; the 
 tuther herearter needs no wings nor laigs ither tu reach ; 
 
258 TRAPPING A SHERIFF. 
 
 when you soaks yersef in sin till yer gits heavy enuf, 
 yu jes' draps in. An' way down in the souf cornel 1 
 ove hit thar's a hole, what the devil prides hissef on, for 
 hit is jis' sixteen thousin times hotter nur a weldin heat, 
 an' plum intu the center ove hit, wifout tetchin wall ur 
 rafter, sum fine arternoon Doltin'll drap head fus' an' 
 dive deeper nur a poun' plum bob kin fall in nine 
 months. Wouldn't you like to be in a safe place to 
 see him when he plouts in, wif a ' whisk ' intu that ar 
 orful strong smellin, melted mixtry ove seleck damna- 
 shun. He'll sizzil like a wet cat flung intu a kittil ove 
 bilin fat, an' he'll slosh hit up agin the walls so high 
 that hit will be a week tricklin down agin, an' sen' the 
 blazin draps so high, that they'll light on yeath an' be 
 mistakened fur shootin stars. 
 
 " Well, he ris up ontu his elber, and sez he, mighty 
 saft like, ' Mister Lovingood, you holes a note ove 
 mine fur ten duller s. I wants tu pay hit,' a holding out 
 a bank ove Tennessee X, an' a winkin prudins' an' 
 silence at me frum onder the aidge ove a cabbige leaf 
 monsus strong. 
 
 " Sez I, ' Mr. Doltin, I'se powerful sorry, but the fac' 
 is, I'se dun traded yer note.' 
 
 " ' Oh, dear me ! I hopes not , nu did did you trade 
 hit tu?' 
 
 " I look'd strait intu the center spot ove the eye wif the 
 cabbige leaf curtin, es innersent es a lam, an' sed, slow 
 an' sorry like, 'Wirt Staples, Wat Mastin's euzzm,' 
 
TRAPPING A SHERIFF. 259 
 
 " He jerk'd his elber frum onder him like springin the 
 triggers ove a bar-trap, an fell back, pulled down the 
 cabbige leaf low, and sez he, low atwixt his teef, tu 
 keep his wife frum hearin hit, ' You've play'd hell.' 
 
 " ' Folks generlly sez that's my trade,' sez I. 
 
 '"What did yu say yer trade wer sir?' sed she, es 
 saft an' sweet es a well-played flute. 
 
 " ' Tradin notes ove hand mum,' sez I. 
 
 " ' Oh ! I hopes you don't take usury, sir.' 
 
 " ' No mam,' sez I, ' by no means ; I takes venerson 
 fur em.' 
 
 " ' Go tu yure room,' growled the durned ole sore- 
 headed bar, I wants tu talk tu this pusson.' 
 
 " Dam 'im, he call'd me a pusson. 
 
 " Arter she lef, sez he, : Yu git that paper back, an' 
 fetch hit tu me, an' ef yu don't, I'll put yu in jail, 
 'bout that nigger meetin business, an' thar yu'll stay. 
 Dus yer onderstan' me? I'll gin yer venerson,' a-grit- 
 tin his teeth, an' shakin his finger at me like a snake's 
 tongue, ' don't yu fool wif me, yu infernel grasshop- 
 per ove hell.' 
 
 "Sez I, ' I'll try,' a-backing fur the door. 
 
 " Sez he ' Stop,' an' I stopt, but wif the door leaf hilt 
 sorter atwixt us, an' all ove my laigs outside. 
 
 " ' Yu stole that paper frum Missis Mastin. Now yu 
 git hit imejuntly, if not sooner, ur yu'll lay in jail till — ' 
 " ' Thar's enuf white fros' in hell tu bite snap-beans,' 
 sez I, a-mockin his bull voice. 
 
260 TEAPPIHG A SHERIFF. 
 
 " He jis' rar'd back agin, an' let his hans' fall on the 
 floor each side the cot, es I shot the door ahino me. I 
 hearn a hoss snort sumwhar. He mus' a beta sorter 
 flnstrated at me, fur the cabbidge leaves wei wilted, 
 wif sweat. 
 
 " I tole Wirt Staples what hed been sed an' dun over 
 tu the sheriff's hous'. So him an' me an his wife an' 
 Wat Mastin, a few days arter, hilt a rale no-nothin con- 
 venshun, tu oursefs, at Wirt's hous'. We bilt a trap, 
 an' baited hit. Now, what du yu reckon we used fur 
 bait ? Nuffin but Mary Mastin hersef ; an' by golly we 
 cotch Doltin the fus' pass. Wirt's wife did the planin, 
 an' ef she aint smart fur an' 'oman, I aint a nat'ral born 
 durned fool. She aint one ove yure she-cat wimmin, 
 allers spittin an' groanin, an' swellin thar tails 'bout thar 
 vartu. She never talks a word about hit, no more nor 
 if she didn't hev eny ; an' she hes es true a heart es 
 ever beat agin a shiff hem, ur a husban's shut. But 
 she am full ove fun, an' I mout add as purty es a 
 hen canary, an' I swar I don't b'l'eve the 'oman knows 
 hit. She cum intu our boat jis' caze Wirt wer in hit, 
 and she seed lots of fun a-plantin, an' she wanted 
 tu be at the reapin of the crap. 
 
 " Well, the fust thing did wer tu make her she-nigger 
 overlay the road fur Doltin, an' tell him that Mary Mas- 
 tin hed sarch'd my pockits when I wer asleep, an' foun' 
 a note ove his'n, an' that she wanted him tu meet up 
 wif her nex arternoon, jis' arter dark, back ove the 
 
TRAPPING A SHERIFF. 261 
 
 blackberry patch, an' he'd git Ms note. The cussed ole 
 billy-goat jis' sot in tu lickin his lips and roachin his 
 back, like he wer a-tas'in the farwell ove ole brandy. 
 He ris in his stirrups an' swore he'd be thar, ef hit 
 rain'd red hot railroad spikes, an' bilin tar. 
 
 " Wirt's wife got yearly supper, a rale suckit-rider's 
 supper, whar the 'oman ove the hous' wer a rich b'lever. 
 Thar wer chickens cut up, an' fried in butter, brown, 
 white, flakey, light, hot biskit, made wif cream, scram- 
 bil'd aigs, yaller butter, fried ham, in slices es big es 
 yure han, pickil'd beets, an' cowcumbers, roas'in ears, 
 shaved down an' fried, sweet taters, baked, a stack ove 
 buckwheat cakes, as full ove holes es a sifter, an' a 
 bowl ove strained honey, tu fill the holes. I likes tu 
 sock a fork intu the aidge of one of them spongy things 
 'bout es big es a hat crown, put a spoonful ove honey 
 onder hit, an' a spoonful ove honey atop ove hit, an' 
 roll hit up ontu the fork like a big segar, an' start hit 
 down my froat aind fas', an' then jis' sen' nine more 
 after hit, tu hole hit down. Nex tu speerits, they goes 
 down the bes'. I kin tas'e em es low down es the bot- 
 tim ove my trowsis pokits. Fur drinks, she hed coffee, 
 hot, clar an' brown, an' sweet milk es cold es a rich 
 man's heart. Ontu the dresser sot a sorter lookin pot- 
 bellied bottil, half full ove peach brandy, watchin a 
 tumbler, a spoon, an' a sugar bowl. Oh ! massy, 
 massy, George ! fur the sake ove yure soul's 'tarnil well- 
 far, don't yu es long es yu live ever be temtid by money, 
 
262 TBAPPING A SHEKIFF. 
 
 ur buty, ur smartness, ur sweet huggin, ur shockin 
 mersheen kisses, tu marry ur cum ni marryin eny gal 
 a-top tliis livin green yeath. onless yu hes seed her 
 yursef cook jis' sich feedin as that wer. Durnashun, 1 
 kin tas'e hit now, jis' es plain es I tas'e that ar fester- 
 gut, in that ar jug, an' I swar T tasis hit plain. I gets 
 dorg hongry every time I sees Wirt's wife, ur even 
 her side-saddil, ur her frocks a-hangin on the close- 
 line. 
 
 " Es we sot down, the las' glimmers ove the sun crep 
 thru the histed winder, an' flutter' d on the white tabil- 
 cloth an' play'd a silver shine on her smoof black har, 
 es she sot at the head ove the tabil, a-pourin out the 
 coffee, wif her sleeves push'd tight back on her white 
 roun' arm, her full throbbin neck wer bar to the swell 
 ove her shoulders, an' the steam ove the coffee made 
 a movin vail afore her face, es she slowly brush'd hit 
 away wif hur lef han', a-smilin an' a-flashin hur talkin 
 eyes lovinly at her hansum husbun. I thot ef I wer 
 a picter-maker, I cud jis' take that ar supper an' that 
 ar 'oman down on clean white paper, an' make more 
 men hongry, an' hot tu marry, a-lookin at hit in one 
 week, nor ever ole Whitfield convarted in his hole life ; 
 back-sliders, hippercrits, an' all, I don't keer a dura. 
 
 " Well, arter the supper things wer put away, an' the 
 cows milkt, I hilt the calves off by the tail, tu make 
 mysef useful ; Wirt an' me by golly, an' Wirt's wife, 
 an' Wat Mastin went over tu the blackberry patch, tu in- 
 
TRAPPING A SHERIFF. 263 
 
 ishiate ole Doltin intu the seekrit ove home-made dur- 
 nashun. The moon wer 'bout four days old ; yu cud 
 scarcely tell a man frum a stamp, sixty yards off han', 
 arter night farly sot in ; jis' the kine ove a night fur 
 sly meetins ur stealin, fur the yeath. 
 
 "We'd scasely got things fix'd an oursefs hid seperit 
 
 when we hearn his ole hosses huffs soundin on the hard 
 
 road. That soun' stopt, an' torreckly we hearn a 
 
 low, partridge whistil, ' Whee-cheeJ ' Whee-chee, 1 ' Bob 
 
 White] tuther side ove the patch. 
 
 "'Oh! the dum'd ole fool,' said Wirt tu his wife. 
 1 partridges don't whistil arter night. ' 
 
 " Sez she, ' The whippoorwill wud be better,' an' she 
 whistil'd ' whip-poor-will ' in her froat sumhow, so like 
 that I thot I seed the spot onder one's wings. 
 
 " Ole Doltin tuck hit up an' answered, cummin nigher 
 ' whippoorwilV Purty soon we seed him, loomin big 
 up agin the sky. He'd whistil an' listen, an' cum a 
 littil, steppin saffc es a cat. ' Whee-chee, 1 ' whee-chuef 
 ' wee-chee, whistled Missis Staples, so low an' sweet yu 
 jis' cud hear hit. The tone of that whistil sed ' cum 
 lov,' ' cum lov,' so plain I cud scarcely sit still myself 
 I swear, I thot I hearn A^s heart a-beatin. I jis' know'd 
 mine wud a been a-poundin like the devil a-beatin tan- 
 bark, ef I'd been a-spcetin what he wer." 
 
 " Stop a moment, Mr. Lovingood," said an old batch- 
 elor, an old field schoolmaster, who was one of Sut's 
 auditory, " allow me to interrupt you, that I may more 
 
264 TRAPPING A SHERIFF. 
 
 clearly comprehend your story. "What "was this Me 
 Dalton in expectation of?" 
 
 Sut looked up at the overhanging elm boughs, and 
 said carelessly, " Oh, nuffin but his note, I speck. Say 
 yu thar mister a-b ab, is the fool-killer in the parts yu 
 cum frum, duin his juty, ur is he ded ?" 
 
 " I never saw such a personage." 
 
 " I thot so, by the jinglin Jehosephat." 
 
 The old gentleman turned to me and asked in a confi 
 dential whisper, " Is not that person slightly deranged ?" 
 
 " Oh, no, not at all, he is only troubled at times with 
 violent attacks of durn'd fool." 
 
 " He is laboring under one now, is he not?" 
 
 I nodded my head. " Go on, Sut." 
 
 " When ole Doltin got wifm ten steps, Missis Staples 
 stept forrid outen the briars, wif her bonnet sorter over 
 her face. He jis' gin a low, gurglin sort ove bray, an' 
 SDrung squar at her. He grabbed her in his arms 
 a-dartin his ole pouch'd out mouf at her face, like a 
 blue crane sen's his bill arter minners ; she a-dodgin so 
 that every dip hit the bonnet. Sez he, ' My dear Mar- 
 garet, what makes you so skittish, tu-night. Don't 
 
 be ' 
 
 " Wat Mastin hed closed his paw on tu the knot ove 
 his neck hanketcher, an' comenc'd a-twis'in hit hard. 
 
 " ' Yu infurnel ole scoundril, I'se cotch yu at las.' 
 What's yu a-duin wif my wife ?' 
 
 " ' Nuf — nufin. Yer — yer wife, got her coatail tangled 
 
TRAPPING A SHERIFF. 265 
 
 in the briars, an' I wer jis' in a neighborly way ontanglin 
 her.' 
 
 " ' Yas,' sez Wat, ' an' dam ef I don't ontangle yu, in 
 in a neighborly way. Say the shortes' an' mos' sarchin 
 pray'r yu knows, far yore season's over.' 
 
 " Jis' then Missis Staples spoke up, like she wer vish- 
 usly mad, 'Don't yu git too smart, Wat Mastin, TDOut 
 yer sorril-top wife. I aint her, by a frock full Jis' go 
 home tu Mary, an' simmer down cool ; yu hev no bis- 
 niss yere.' 
 
 " Wat 'tended tu be stonish'd. Sez he, ' I begs par- 
 don,' an' step'd back frum Doltin. The ole cuss wer 
 pow'fly 'stonish'd hissef, an' glad all over +00, fur hit spilt 
 Wat's title tu choke him tu deth. 
 
 " Hu in the devil kin she be, an' hu wer she 'spectin 
 tu meet ? wer now Doltin's tho'ts, an' he aiged up tu 
 her agin, when Wirt at one spring lit atwix' em. 
 
 " ' Susan — Doltin, by I wants tu know what 
 
 this means ?' Doltin tho't ove the venerson laig, an' 
 he sed in a houn' whimper, ' I never tetched her,' an' 
 broke tu run. In two jumps Wirt cotch 'im and fotch 
 'im back by his coat collar. 
 
 " Sez Missis Staples, ' Han' me the shawl yu promis'd 
 me, (she said this sorter low, and pitiful like,) afore yu 
 desarts me.' 
 
 " ' Shawl ! shawl !' shouted Wirt. ' Oh ! yu preshus 
 pair ove dam furnitur-takers.' 
 
 " I now stept forth jis' so, 'bout seving foot. Sez 1, 
 12 
 
c 266 TRAPPING A SHERIFF. 
 
 1 Mr. Doltin, I hes fotch yu that note yu rit tu Mary 
 Mastin,' in a seckrit sort ove whisper. 
 
 " ' Never mine nit now, Mister Lovingood, never 
 mine, I'se pow'fl busy jis' now ; sumuther time'll du.' 
 
 " Sez I, ' Yu mus' take hit now. Yu talked ove jugin 
 me 'bout the durn'd thing. Yere hit is, an' I reach'd 
 hit forrid, an' Wat grabbed hit. Ole Doltin groan'd. 
 
 " Sez Wat, a-rabbin hit onder Doltin's snout, ' that's 
 tester mony ontu yu, yu dam ole raskil.' 
 
 " ' Yas,' sez Wirt, a-pintin tu Susan, ' an thar stans' one 
 hundred and twenty poun's more testermony.' 1 
 
 " She purtended to cry, an' she sed, ' Oh, Mister Dol- 
 tin, what made yu use me so ?' 
 
 " ' I wish I may drap dead ef ever I used yu at all,' 
 sed Doltin, right quick. 
 
 " ' Yu hes ruinated me, Mister Doltin.' 
 
 " ' I never] said Doltin. 
 
 " ' An' yu never fotch me — no — no — sh-sh-all arter 
 all, hu, hu, hu ;' an' she wiped her eyes. 
 
 " ' I don't owe you no shawl ; wish I may drap dead 
 in a minut ef I dus.' 
 
 " ' Hu, hu, hu,' sez she, ' yu never gin me a thing yet, 
 yu dratted stingy hog, yu.' 
 
 " I swar he wer the wust befoozeled man I ever saw ; 
 he rub'd his eyes wif his fis,' an' batted em a few times, 
 then he looked wide open owl fashun, fas' at wun an 
 then at tuther, like he'd been dreamin a orful night-mar f 
 an' wurn't sure whether he wer awake yet. Susan, still 
 
TRAPPING A SHERIFF. 267 
 
 a-^ryin, an' a-talkin 'bout hevin his heart's blood, 
 tellin Missis Doltin, killin hersef, an' I dono what all 
 A gran' tho't now struck im, an' he jis' roar'd, ' I is the 
 high sheriff ove this county, an' I cumands the peace.'' 
 
 " Wurn't that a smashin lick ? 
 
 " Sez Wirt, ' Strip, high sheriff ove this county ; I'se 
 gwine tu hang yu dorg fashun. Wat, han' me that ropa* 
 The blusterin ole bell wether jis' wilted down' an' 
 sot in tu strippin slow, an' a-beggin, an' a-promisin, an' 
 a-makin money offers, we helpin him tu du his shuckin. 
 I foun' a par ove wimin's shoes, his buckskin gloves an' 
 a smellin bottil in his coat pockit. Missis Staples slipt 
 off tu the hous', when the strippin begun, an' I don't 
 blame her. 
 
 "Well, when we got all off bat his shut an' shoes,' 
 Wirt slipp'd the noose in wun aind ove the rope over 
 his head, an' thar wer tied tu tuther aind a ball ove 
 tow soaked in tupentine es big es a half bushel, wifout 
 his seein hit. I'd fotch a par ove wile, vigrus, skeer'd 
 tom-cats in each aind ove a bag, wif leather cullars, an 
 a big fish-hook sowed tu each cullar by a foot ove 
 strap. While Wirt wer fixin the noose, so es not tu 
 choke, I slipp'd up ahine him, an' hooked a cat tu each 
 corner ove his shutail, a-holden em off; he wer so 
 trimblin an' skeered he didn't feel me. While I wer 
 duin this, Wat struck a match an' lit the tupentine. 
 sayin : 
 
 " ' I means tu toas' yu es yu swings, yu dam malea- 
 
268 TRAPPING A SHERIFF. 
 
 factory.' I jis' craned forrid, an' whispered intu his 
 year — 
 
 " ' Bulge squar fur the briars, they won't foller in thar.' 
 " By the great golly, when he hearn that sentimint, 
 cuppled es hit wer wif Wat's toastin idear, he jis made a 
 rale hoss lunge, art I drapH the cats. Wun tuck up his 
 bar back, a-haulin up arter him the noth corner ove the 
 shutail onder-handid, an' tuther wun tuck down his 
 thigh, a-haulin the souf corner ove the shutail arter him. 
 They pulled agin each uther like ontu two wile steers 
 in a yaller-jackids nes'. The cat a-gwine up hill, made 
 the ole feller tote that side, an' shoulder sorter ahead 
 ove tuther, like he wer leanin frum a hot fire. The 
 cat gwine down hill, made him lift that laig like a 
 spring-halted hoss, only a heap faster, while the briars 
 hookin him everywhar, made him dodge all over, every- 
 way at onst. Frum his moshuns, he mout a-been 
 pussessed wif the devil, pow'fully. Yu never seed sich 
 lap-sided, high up, low down, windin about, jerkin, 
 oneven runnin in the world, but every durned step ove 
 hit wer strait away frum whar we wer, squar thru the 
 briar patch. The tupentine lit up a bright road ahine 
 him, kivered wif broke down an' tore up briars, an' his 
 white shut, an' the cats' eyes 'zembled a flag ove truce, 
 kivered wif litnin-bugs. 1 think I never seed es meny 
 cat's-eyes in es many places afore, tu be no more cats 
 than thar wer ; tails too, wer ruther numerous, an' sor- 
 ter swelled, an' claws a plenty. The noise he made, 
 
TRAPPING A SHERIFF. 269 
 
 soundid jis' like a two-hoss mowin-merslieen, drav by 
 chain-lightnin, a-cuttin thru a dry cane brake on a big 
 bet. An' thar wer wif the noise a ondercurrent ove 
 scan, like tarin starched muslin ; this, I speck wer the 
 briars an' cats a-breakin holts. ' Ha, ha !' sez Wirt, 
 ' wudn't he be great in a new country tu open out roads, 
 ur tote news ove the cumin ove the Injuns? Hell! 
 how he travils ! listen, jis' listen. Don't he make 
 things roar ?' I run tu his hoss, an' mounted, an' tuck 
 thru tu Wat's afore he got roun that far. I jump't off 
 in the thicket, an' crept up tu the road, furnint Wat's 
 door, tu see him tar apas'. Yere he cum ; I seed his 
 lite a-shinin, long afore I seed him, way abuv the trees ; 
 hit warn't hid onder no bushel. Wirt wer openin on 
 his trail, makin the mountains ring wif yells an' dread- 
 ful threats. Doltin toted his lite pow'ful irregular; 
 sumtimes hit wer trailin on the yeath, an' sumtimes hit 
 warn't, by 'bout fifteen foot. Hit wer a-lightin on, an' 
 a-flyin off the fence, on bof sides ove the lane, an' yu 
 cud a-seed tu a-pick'd strawberries, an' hit roar'd like a 
 storm ; the moshuns ove that lite, I speck, wer govern'd 
 by the workin ove the cats. I seed the activ bulge ove 
 one cat onder his shut, a-tryin hits durndes tu pull hits 
 corner ove the shutail up onder the collar, at the back 
 ove his naik ; the tuther cat wer a-dividin hits time, 
 'bout ekal, a-jumpin at the weeds, an' a-tryin tu run 
 furder down his big laig, an' they swap't work 
 now an' then: the down-hill cat wud go up onder 
 
270 TRAPPING A SHERIFF. 
 
 the shut an' a-tarin big fight imejuntlj foller'd, aindin 
 in tuther cat cumin down a spell. While they wer bof 
 up thar atwixt Doltin an' his shut, he look'd pow'ful 
 hump-back'd, an' lordamity ! how low he'd run then. 
 Sweet Margery ! jis' think ove two agravated onsanti- 
 fied he cats at yearnis' war, makin yer bar-back thar 
 battil groun, an' pendin on yer hide fur all thar fool- 
 holts. I swar hits a rale red-pepper waknin idear, jis' tu 
 think ove, wifout a cat in a mile — jewillekins ! The 
 eyes an' tails wer dreadful tu behole, an' thar groanin 
 an' spittin beat cats when they'se courtin, wus nur they 
 dus city folks at the same work. 
 
 " Mary hed hearn the noise, an' seed the lite, so she 
 cum tu the gate, jis' es the ole exhited fernomenon tore 
 apas'. She fotch a scream. 
 
 " ' Dear bless us ! what's all that ? Oh, mammy, run 
 out yere quick, an' see the devil a-chasin whippwills. ' 
 
 " When she sed that, Doltin tho't ove the whippor- 
 will he'd hearn at the briar-patch, an' b'leved Mary wer 
 mixed up wif the thing, an' he sobbed out — 
 
 " ' Oh yu dam 'saitful b — h, this is yure work. 
 " " ' Oh, mammy, mammy, that's poor Mister Doltin's 
 voice, as sure as yu ar born'd ! the poor dear man's ded, 
 an' that's him. Ole Smutty's arter, wif a torch ove 
 hell-fire. I dus wonder what he's been duin ?' 
 
 "She sed this sorter whifflin. I put my han roun 
 my mouf, an' bellered thru em in the mos' doleful way 
 yu ever hearn, frum the thicket — 
 
TRAPPING A SHERIFF. 271 
 
 " ' Margarit Mastin, the lawfal wife ove Watson Mas- 
 tin, the blacksmith, prepar tu go down whar thar's no 
 sly courtin, nur rar ripe garden-seed. Margarit, thar's 
 rath tu cum, yer crap's laid by, prepar,' an' I groaned. 
 
 "She arched her naik, an' tuck a wild blazin look 
 over at the thicket, like she wer studyin 'bout sumthin, 
 an' sez she, short an' vigrus — 
 
 " 'Durn my soul ef I go a step,' an' jis' busted thru 
 the standin corn like a runaway hoss. Thinks I, that 
 ar blade will never git religun frum a skeer. The ole 
 'oman got tu the door, jis' in time tu hear the las' 
 words, an' the soun Mary made a-tarin thru the corn. 
 She wer a-pinnin up her frock-buss urn. Sez I, doleful — 
 
 " ' Peggy Jane, my b'loved wife, I'se in hell, a-suf- 
 ferin fur robbin the peddler ; yu made me du hit /' Sez 
 she— 
 
 "Sammy, I didn't ; I only tole yu we needed his 
 truck.' Sez I — 
 
 " ' Fetch me sum warter, fur my tung's parch'd wif 
 fervent heat' Sez she — 
 
 "Thar's a spring back ove the ridge thar,' (that wer 
 a cussed lie.) Sez I — 
 
 " ' I'm a-cummin fur a gourd.' Sez she — 
 
 " ' Thar's nara gourd yere.' Dam ef she didn't hist 
 all her coats, haf a foot abuv her knees, an' tuck thru 
 the co'n too. 
 
 " I went intu the cabin, drawed one ove Dol tin's 
 gloves ontu littil Ear Ripe's head, fur a night-cap. Hits 
 
272 TRAPPING A SHERIFF. 
 
 name wer printed wif ink roun the wris' ; this went 
 roun hits forrid ; tuther glove I put in "Wat's overcoat 
 pockid, a-hangin on the wall, mounted the hoss, an' 
 tuck acrost the ridge tu head off Doltin at the ferry. 
 The ferryman's ole whipporwill wife hearn the noise 
 ove his cumin, an' seed the lite shinin frU the winder. 
 So she bounced outen bed in her shiftail, an' run tu the 
 door. Sez she — 
 
 " ' Laws a massy ! ole man, git up quick, an' set em 
 over ; make haste, ur they'll swim. The big show's 
 a-cumin in a hurry, fur yere's the rhionoserenus aready, 
 an' lots ove monkeys clost ahine him, an' the big Bar- 
 num Bengal lite arter them. Good lordy ! what tails ! 
 grashus me, what a noise ! marcyful hevings, what a 
 
 belly ! an' Oh, lord a massy on my poor soul ! 
 
 sakes alive !' 
 
 " She pernounced these las' words like she wer pow'- 
 ful shamed, an' I speck the fool wer, fur she pulled up 
 what she tuck tu be her aprun, an' kivered her face, 
 an' shet the door wif a snap, an' lef hersef on the outside. 
 I holler'd ' Higher — yer forrid ain't kivered yet.' She 
 run roun the chimley outen sight, still holdin up her 
 aprun. 
 
 "Doltin flew apas', shot down the bank, run thru the 
 ferryboat an' plouted off the fur aind head fust intu 
 the river. When he got farly tu swimin, hit wer cum- 
 furtin an' nice tu look at frum a high pint. He swum 
 breas' high fur tuther bank, and the durn'd cats, con- 
 
TRAPPING A SHERIFF. 273 
 
 trary tu the las', wer swimin far this wif thar tails strait 
 up, an' leanin frum each uther. This straiched his 
 shutail flat ove the warter, an' the lite wer a-bouncin 
 over the waves on Dol tin's wake, aidgin em all wif 
 gold. He look'd like a big high preshur snapin turkil, 
 wif a dark head, white shell, an' the cats answered fur 
 a par ove activ, brindil hine laigs. The river wer 
 trubbil'd pow'ful, a-slushin high up the banks, an' 
 a-slappin up agin the rake ove the ferry-boat, fur he 
 wer a-stirrin hit plum tu the mud. Every now an' 
 then he'd snort like a hoss, an' look back over his 
 shoulder ; his eyes wer es big es a bull's, an' blazed like 
 ontu two furnace-doors ; that mine ove his'n mus' 
 a-been pow'ful active jis 'bout then. Cats — ropes — 
 mad husbuns — an' a orful hell perdominatin amung 
 loose tho'ts ove wimen an' thar onsartinty as he riz 
 tuther bank, wif the limber cats danglin roun his laigs. 
 I holler' d over : 
 
 " ' Say thar, rar ripe cat 'tachmints am wus in law 
 nur sashararas, ain't they?' 
 
 " He never sed a word, but crawled tired like intu the 
 paw-paw thicket, drownded cats, rope, wet tow, an' all. 
 When he got home he tole his wife a doleful tale. 
 How the Democrats, jis' caze he wudn't tell the no- 
 nuthings' seckrit, hed tied him tu a wile hoss's tail, 
 an' turned hit loose, an' then started a passenger injine 
 ontu his trail tu skeer the hoss. He knowed they did, 
 fur he seed the head-lite clost arter 'im, the hole way, 
 12* 
 
274 TRAPPING A SHERIFF. 
 
 an' hearn the tchish, tchish shew ! ove the steam. (Cats, 
 George, by golly ! nuffin but cats.) What a thundrin 
 liar that man mus' be ; bat lyin's born'd wif sum folks, 
 jis like squint-eyes. While his wife wer ilin ove his 
 torn hide, an' a checkerin his back wif stripes ove 
 court-plarster, she axed him how so much fur cum tu 
 be stickin tu his wouns. He sed the hoss run thru a 
 hatter's shop wif 'im. Warn't that right down shifty ? 
 
 " Then sez she, ' Yer shut an' yu bof smell sorter cat- 
 ty, strong like. When she hinted at cats, he rar'd up on 
 aind, lookin wild roun the room ; sez he, ' Whar's eny 
 cats V 
 
 " George, them ar tom-cats mus' a-scratched intu his 
 conshuns afore they died, fur he jined chuch jis' es soon 
 he got abil tu walk thar. Hits strange, haint hit ? In 
 ole times I hearn tell they hed cities whar fellers run 
 tu, an' wer safe arter they'd dun sum pow'ful devil- 
 mint." 
 
 "Yes, Sut; cities of refuge." 
 
 " Well, dura my rags ef gittin ove religun ain't the 
 city ove rayfuge now-a-days ; yu jis' let a raskil git 
 hissef cotch, an' maul'd, fur his dam meanness, an' he 
 jines chuch jis' es soon es he kin straitch his 
 face long enuf tu fill the pius standurd, an' that's 
 eighteen inches fur lean peopil, an' fourteen fur fat 
 ones. I hes a city ove rayfuge mysef, what I allers 
 keeps along wif me," and Sut looked down proudly 
 and fondly at his legs. 
 
TRAPPING A SHERIFF. 275 
 
 "I forgot tu menshun a day ur two arter the cat- 
 race, I met up wif "Wat Mastin at the store. He mo- 
 shuned me roun back ove the hous'. Sez he — 
 
 " ' Sut, hell's tu pay at our hous'. Mary's been hid 
 out sumwhar till this mornin. She cum up draggil'd 
 an' hungry, an' won't say a durn'd word. An' ole 
 Missis McKildrin's plum gone.' Sez I — 
 
 " < Ain't yu glad ?' 
 
 "He stretched his mouf intu the wides' smile yu 
 ever seed, an' slappin me on the back, sez he — 
 
 " ' I «, by golly !' 
 
 " Then he lookt serious wif his head down. Sez 
 he— 
 
 " ' Doltin mus' be a pow'ful parseverin man when he 
 sets his head fur enything.' Sez I — 
 
 « 'Why?' 
 
 " ' Caze don't yu think, wif them cats, an' that skeer, 
 an' that hurtin, an' us arter 'im, tu hang 'im es he tho't, 
 he tuck time tu stop an' see Mary /' Sez I — 
 
 " < Oh no !' 
 
 " 'Yes he did, fur I foun one ove his gloves in my 
 overcoat pockid, an' he'd gin tuther one tu the baby, 
 fur a night-cap.' 
 
 " George, Wat Mastin hes a right thick streak ove 
 durn'd fool in him, sure es yu are born'd. 
 
 " Bout three days arter seein Wat I meets up wif 
 Mary on the road. She wer swingin her sun-bonnit 
 afore her by the strings, walkin fas' an' lookin down at 
 the groun. Sez I — 
 
276 TRAPPING A SHERIFF. 
 
 " ' Mornin ! Missis Mastin ; I lies lost two pow'fu) 
 fine cats, hes yu seed eny thing ove 'em roun yere?' 
 Sez she, an' her eyes blazed — 
 
 " ' I hope they ar in hell, whar yu ought tu be, yn 
 infunel mischief-make yu !' 
 
 f "The 'oman sartinly hes got sumfin agin me. I 
 wonders what hit kin be ?" 
 
DAD'S DOG-SCHOOL. 
 
 I had often laughed at an anecdote anent training a 
 puppy to hold fast, and doubtless so has many of my 
 readers, as told by the gifted W. T. Haskill. 
 
 I began to tell it one summer night at our camp-fire, 
 when Sut interrupted me : 
 
 " Stop, George ; yu can't du jestis' tu that ar doleful 
 bisness. Hit happen'd ur rather tuck place apupus, in 
 our famerly ; hit cudn't a-been did by eny uther peopil 
 on this yeath but us, fur hit am plum clarified dam 
 fool, from aind tu aind. Dad plan'd hit ; an' him, an' 
 mam, an' Sail, an' Bent, an' me — oh, yas ! an' the pup. 
 I'd like tu forgot him — we did the work, an' ef we 
 didn't make a purfeck nnish'd cumplete durn'd momox 
 outen the thing, thar's no use in hevin a genus fur bein 
 infunel nat'ral born fools et all. 
 
 " Dad, he's es tetchy about hit tu this day, es a sore- 
 back hoss is 'bout green flies. Ef yu want tu see him 
 shed his shut, quick es a fox kin cum outen a bag, an' 
 fall intu getherin rocks, an' then flingin em, jis' dam 
 
78 
 
 DAD S DOG-SCHOOL. 
 
 permiskusly, a-soltin an' a-pepperin the job wif red not 
 ravenus homeade cussin, yu growl like ontu a dorg 
 a-holdin ontu a hanketcher, nr a rag, an' yu'll mons'ous 
 soon see a bal'-headed man hot enuf tu fry spit. Hits a 
 pow'M delikit 'speriment tu try an' git out wifout a 
 scab abuv yer years. Be purfeckly redy tu run es 
 soon es yu growl, ef yu don't, hit'll rain on yu bad. 
 Sures' way is tu growl arter yu hes started, an' ef yu's 
 mons'ous fas' on foot yu may venter tu holler, ' Sick 
 'im Sugar !' but be keerful ; I'se seed hit tried. 
 
 "Yu see when I wer 'bout sixteen, Steve Crawley 
 • gin me a bnll pup, the culler ove rich cream, white on- 
 der the belly, an' on the lower aind ove the laigs, blue 
 snout, red eyes, wrinkl'd forrid, an' show'd his teef even 
 when he wus sleepin. Ugly as a she ho'net, an' brave es 
 a trap't rat. Dad tuck pow'fully tu 'im, 'caze thar naters 
 wer sorter like, I reckon. He wer the only critter I 
 8ver know'd dad tu be good tu, an' narra pusson yet. 
 
 " Late one Saturday, we sot in an' kill'd a-tarin big 
 black an' white yearlin bull beastes, an' on Sunday 
 mornin, arter gittin a big bellyful ove fried liver an' 
 chopp't inyuns, dad sot down ontu the cabin steps, in 
 the sun, a-playin wif ' Sugar,' that wer the pup's name. 
 I wer mounted ontu the fence a-shavin seed-ticks ofen 
 my laigs wif a barlow knife, an' mam wer in the yard 
 sittin ontu the half-bushel wif three ur four ove the 
 childers' heads in her lap, bizzy rite in the middil ove 
 a big still hunt arter insex, At las', sez dad — 
 
dad's dog-school. 279 
 
 " Silt, s'pose yu tote Sugar off wif yu down tu the 
 crick tu keep 'im frum follerin ove me, an' seein what 
 I dus. Yu cum back when yu hears me beller like 
 ontu a yung bull, an' I'll larn yer dorg tu hole on. I'se 
 jis' studied out the bes' way in creashun tu make 'im 
 hold tu enything ontil bunty hens sprouts tails. This 
 yere day's work'll be the makin ove the pup.' 
 
 " ' How on the yeath, dad, will yu du hit ?' sez I. 
 
 " Dad got up an' cotch a big hanful ove britches 
 ahine, atwixt the wais'bun an' the fork, rayther nigher 
 the fork tho', an' arter ginin hissef a few good holesum 
 scratchin rubs, sed — 
 
 " ' Jis' so ; I'll make yer sis Sail, thar, sow me up in 
 Suggins's hide, (that wer the yearlin's name, mine yu,) j^- 
 an' I'll play honed cattil rite squar intu Sugar's han, 
 while yu sicks 'im on, an' ef yu dus the sickin part like 
 yu orter, hit'll be the makin ove that ar pup. "When 
 he gits a savin holt ontu the hide, yu seize his tail, an' 
 sorter pull 'im back, but don't yu break the holt, ef yu 
 dus yu spiles a dorg, an' when I cums outen the hide, 
 dam ef I don't spile yu.' 
 
 " Mam cracked a insex vigrusly atwixt her thumbs, 
 an' then wiped her nails ontu her gown along her 
 thighs, an' sez she — 
 
 " ' Good law sakes ! now fur more onanimated fool, 
 ishness. Hu ever hearn ove the likes bein dun by the 
 daddy ove a famerly, an' him a bal'-headed man et 
 that, a-shedin his har fur the grave. Lovingood, yu'l] 
 
280 dad's dog-school. 
 
 keep on wif yer devilmint an' nonsense, ontil yu fetch 
 the day ove jedgement ontu our bar heads sum night, 
 kerthrash, afore hits time, ur sum uther ailment — col- 
 . y ery — measils — pollygamy, ur sum sich like, jis' see ef 
 yu don't, an' then yu'll run, an' leave me tu fight hit 
 out by mysef, yu know yu will. Now jis' quit, an' 
 let that ar blasted roun-headed pup edecate hissef like 
 yer uther childer dus.' 
 
 " 'Shet up that ar snagy feedin-hole ove yurn, yu 
 durn'd ole she hempbrake; yu'd 'pose my gwine tu 
 heaving, I raley du b'leve,' sez dad. 
 
 " ' No I won't :' sez mam, shakin her head. ' Yu'll 
 never try tu du that,' an' she peaner'd her fingers down 
 thru the har, along the side ove one ove the childer's 
 heads, clost arter a knowin ole insex, what hed been 
 raced before ; he wer aimin fur the wrinkil onder the 
 year-flap, but he never got thar ; he got hissef busted 
 like ontu a 'cussion-cap, 'bout a inch an' a 'alf frum his 
 den. 
 
 " ' Now,' sez dad, a-turnin tu me, still a-ru¥bii» slow 
 wif the hanful ove britches, ' yu see, Sut, he'll git good 
 holts ontu the hide, smell the blood, an' larn the nater 
 ove the varmint he's a-contendin wif. I'll beller an' 
 make b'leve I'se a-tryin tu git loose't, but not ack cow 
 for enuf tu tar loose't, ur dishartin 'im. Better nur 
 gwine tu school tu a Yankee cuttin-box 'oman, a durn'd 
 site ; an' in a month, jis' let ole widder Bradly's cow 
 jump intu the cabbiges agin, ef she's fonc( ove freezin 
 
DADS DOG-SCHOOL. 281 
 
 snouts wif a dorg. He'll stay wif her ontil apas' milkin 
 time nex day, an' not quit then. Oh ! I tell yu hit'll 
 be the makin ove the pup.' 
 
 " So dad tuck Sail off tu the loom-hous' whar the 
 hide wer a-hangin. I hed soltid hit good, tu keep 
 frum spilin, till dad cud turn hit intu whisky, an' I 
 whistled off Sugar. Arter I hed gone a few steps, I 
 hollered < Oh dad !' 
 
 " ' What ?' 
 
 " ' S'pose Sugar gits that savin holt yu wer speakin 
 ove, ontu yu, what am I tu du then?' 
 
 " ' Du hell !' sez dad, ' du nuthin but sick 'im on. 
 Hu ever hearn ove a man's bein dorg-bit thru a cow- 
 hide?' SezI— 
 
 " ' He's pow'ful fur reachin fur a pup, better mine, 
 dad.' 
 
 " I seed 'im begin tu hunt fur a rock, an' I struck a 
 peart shanghi trot fur the crick. Me an' the yung dorg 
 lay down amung the mint, an' listen'd tu the gurglin 
 ove the warter. 
 
 "Well, thinks I, my juty's a plain one enyhow. 
 'Jis' sick 'im on an' du nuthin else;' an' I means tu 
 du hit, fur hit am tu be the makin ove yu, my sweet 
 Sugar, I raley du 'speck. 
 
 " Torreckly I hearn dad a-bellerin jis' the bes' sampil 
 ove a yearlin's nise yu ever hearn, 'sceptin hit wer a 
 scrimpshun too coarse, an' a littil too fas' ; dad wer ex- 
 hited. ' Boor, woo woff — Bohua a huah ' — fust rate, hj 
 
282 dad's dog-school. 
 
 the jinglin Jehosaphat ! thinks I, an' Sugar cock't his 
 years an' bark'd. 
 
 " Dad hed fool'd the dorg. The only livin thing I 
 ever know'd 'im tu fool, 'sceptin a new doggery-keeper 
 now an' then, an' mam, she sed he fool'd her pow'ful 
 onst, that wer when she swore hersef tu be the mammy 
 ove his brats. 
 
 " Well, thar he wer in the yard ontu his all fours, 
 sow'd up body an' soul in the raw hide, hary side out, an' 
 he'd tuck off every durn'd stich ove his close. I tho't 
 pow'fully how my soltin the hide wer gwine tu work 
 arter the show begun tu. be exhitin, an' dad begun tu 
 sweat. Sail hed sow'd his hans plum up intu the hide 
 ove the fore laigs, an' the loose huffs wer floppin an' 
 crackin about below em es he walked, ur paw'd up dus'. 
 
 " She hed turn'd the head an' ho'ns back, raw side 
 out, es high es dad's eye-brows, an' tied the nose tu the 
 naik, so he cud see the inimy. His face wer smeer'd wif 
 the blood an' fat, the tail trail 'd arter him sorter dead 
 like, his sturn wer way up yander, his hine laigs bein 
 longer nur his fore wuns, an' takin the site altugether 
 hit cudn't be beat, fur a big, ruff, skeery, thing outen 
 hell, ur a mad-hous'. 
 
 " I seed mam a-pullin up a bean-pole in the garden, 
 an' arter tarin off the vines she sot hit up in the 
 chimbley corner wifout dad's notisin hit. I whispered 
 'What's yu gwine tu du wif that ar pole? gwine 
 a-fishin, say mam ?' Sez she — 
 
DADS DOG-SCHOOL. 283 
 
 " ' I'se gwine tu play ' She hempbrake ' wif hit ontu 
 that ar raw-hide, arter a while.' Then she went an' 
 stud in the door, wif her hans ontu her hips, an' the 
 childer mounted the fence. 
 
 " '"Well dad,' sez I, 'is yu good ready? shall I sick 
 'im on?' 
 
 "Dad wer fear'd Sugar'd fine out the trick, an' 
 wudn't speak, but jis' nodded his head, an' durn ef he 
 even didn't du hit like ontu a bull. 
 
 " I straddled Sugar, patted him ontu the ribs, an' sez 
 I ' Sick 'im boy,' an' the dorg went squar in. Dad sor- 
 ter horn'd at 'im an' blow'd. Sugar flew roun, an' my 
 dad flew roun ; the tail trail'd limber an' lazy, an' 
 tangled sumtimes amung dad's hine laiga Sugar, 
 a-huntin fur the right spot tu bite, dad 'tendin like he 
 didn't want 'im tu fine hit. The pup made a gran rush, 
 an' got a holt ni ontu the root ove the tail, an' sot his- 
 sef back. My dad kick'd wif bof hine laigs es quick 
 an' vigrus es a muel, an' 'stead ove bellerin, es he orter, 
 he shouted out right plain, ' Oh hell -fire !' He hed 
 kicked the pup plum intu the hous', atwixt mam's 
 laigs. Sez I — 
 
 " ' Dad, that won't du ; that warn't cow-kickin at all, 
 them's rale stud-hoss licks. Yu'll never be the makin 
 ove the pup, ef yu pouns 'im that ar way.' 
 
 "'Make hell I ' sez dad, 'this hide haint es thick 
 'bout the tail es hit orter be fur a yearlin's, an' he tried 
 tu rub hissef back thar, wif his fore laig, but the loose 
 
284 dad's d®g-school. 
 
 huffs flopp't about so, an' his hans bein sowed up v ha 
 didn't du hit tu suit hissef much, so he backed agin 
 the fence, an' rubbed his rump agin the aind ove a 
 rail, hog fashun, up an' down wif a jerk, yu know. 
 
 " 'Is Sugar's teef sharp, ole man?' sez mam, sorter 
 keerless like. 
 
 " 'How du I know,' growled dad, 'hits none ove 
 yure bisness, nohow, yu durn'd ole par ove warpin-bars, 
 what du yu know 'bout the makin ove pups?' 
 
 " Mam sorter glanced at the bean-pole, but sed nuffin. 
 Sugar wer sittin ontu his tail, his head an' fore laigs 
 stuck out frum bnder mam's frock-hem, whar dad hed 
 sent 'im, lookin sorter like he hedn't made up his mine 
 adzackly what wer bes T tu du. 
 
 " I cotch 'im by the nap ove the naik, an' drug 'im 
 out, an' sick'd 'im on agin. Durn my shut ef he hadn't 
 been studyin tu sum pupus while he wer onder mam's 
 coatails, fur he made his rush at tuther aind this time. 
 Sez I— 
 
 " 'Don't dodge dad, the hide's thicker 'bout the 
 ho'ns then hit am 'bout the tail. I'd scarcely spoke, 
 when I hearn Sugar's jaws snap. The yearlin's tail 
 warn't draggin lazy now. Hit wer stiff strait out, way 
 high up, an' sweepin the air clar ove insex, all roun the 
 yard. Jis' then I wudn't a- tuck ten dullers fur my dorg. 
 
 " ' Baw aw /' sez dad. 
 
 " ' Yearlin fur the yeath, adzackly Yu mocks thai 
 voice better nur yu dus thar kickin,' sez I. 
 
DAD'S DOG-SCHOOL. 285 
 
 " I wer disappinted, fur I wer listenin fur sum durn'd 
 plain Inglish frum dad, fur Sugar hed got hissef a steel- 
 trap holt ontu the pint ove his snout, an' his upper-lip. 
 Nose tu nose they wer, an' no jearlin skin atwixt, not 
 a durn'd inch es I cud see. Dad's ole warty snout wer 
 pull'd out tu a pint, like or.tu a mad bar's, an' es taper, 
 an' red an' sharp es a beet. The lip wer straiched es 
 fur onder hit, like ontu a shovil-plow, ur a store- 
 keeper's tin coffee-scoop, a-ketchin red gravy frum the 
 snout. Great golly ! how sweet hit mus' a-hurt, hit 
 makes my snout itch now. 
 
 " 'Ka-ka-a!' sed Sugar, leanin way back, an' wallin 
 his eye up at me. Dad leaned way forrid, an' they 
 swap't sides ove the yard faster nur folks turns in a 
 dance, an' the tail a-keepin every durn'd fly an' gnat 
 outen the yard fur six foot high. Jis' then I wudn't 
 a-tuck twenty dullers fur my dorg. 
 
 " The childer all yell'd, an' sed ' Sick 'im ;' they tho't 
 hit wer all gwine jis' es dad wanted, the durn'd littil 
 fools. Sugar wagg'd his tail, an' roun they'd fly agin. 
 
 " I hearn a new soun in the thicket, an' hit bein Sun- 
 day, I wer sorter 'spectin a retribushun ove sum nater. 
 I look'd that way, an' there I seed the bald aind ove 
 Squire Hanley's ole Sunday hoss, a-pushin hits way 
 thru the chinkepin bushes, the Squire hissef up on 
 daik, a-steerin wif wun hand, an' a-fendin off the lims 
 an' burrs wif tuther. Thinks I, thar, by golly ! yere'a 
 a regular two hundred an' twenty-five poun retribu 
 
286 dad's dog-school. 
 
 shun, arter us, an' our famerly devarsliun sure enu^ 
 armed wif a hyme book, an' loaded tu the muzzil wif 
 brimstone, bilin pitch, forkid flames, an' sich uthel 
 nicitys es makes up the devil's brekfus', an' sum ove 
 hit am gwine tu be ladled out tu us, rite now, ef the 
 Squire's face am tu be trusted es a sign. Hit looked 
 jis' like he'd swaller'd a terbacker-wum, dipp'd in 
 aquafortis, an' cudn't vomit. Even his pius ole hoss 
 show'd a grieved spirit frum foretop tu lip A appertite 
 tu run began tu gnaw my stumick, an' I felt my face 
 a-swellin wif shame. I wer shamed ove dad, shamed 
 ove mam's bar laigs an' open collar, shamed ove mysefj 
 an' dam, ef I minds right, ef I warn't a mossel shamed 
 ove the pup. But when I seed the squar, blazin look 
 mam met him wif, I made up my mine ef she cud stan 
 the stcrrm, I cud, an' so T didn't run that time — nara 
 durn'd step. 
 
 " Square Hanley wer one ove the wonderfulest men 
 in all my knowin. He wore a hat ten years, an' wore 
 a nail in the chuch wall bright, a-hangin hit on. He 
 wore a holler spot in the side ove his walkin-stick, wif 
 his finger alkr^ tetchin the same place, an' he wore 
 anuther greasy holler in one ove the groanin bainches, 
 ni ontu the noth corner ove the pulpit, jis' like the sit- 
 tin hole in a shoemaker's stool, only hit warn't lined 
 wif leather. His pea-sticks wer shod wif spikes, hia 
 fire wood wer clar ove knots es wiggen timber, hia 
 hens never laid on a Sarvdav, ?n' cot Tbej» he told em 
 
dad's dog-school. 287 
 
 to. He gin the hole ove Sunday tu the Lord, an' 
 shaved notes two days onder the skin ove weekly days, 
 an' allers made the feller what got shaved, wait an' git 
 prayed for, an' he throw'd intn the bargin a track ur 
 two, about the vanity ove layin up store goods on 
 yeath, fur the moths et the broadcloths, an' the thieves 
 stole tuther things. He toted the munny-puss ove the 
 chuch, an' histed the tchunes an' the backsliders. He 
 wer secon enjineer ove a mersheen, made outen a mess 
 ove sturgeon-backed, sandy-heeled ole maids, devarsed 
 wives, ur wimen what orter been wun ur tuther ; an' 
 uther thin minded pussons, fur the pupus, es they sed, 
 ove squelch in sin in the neighborhood, amung sich 
 domestic heathins es us, but raley fur the mindin gin- 
 er'lly ove everybody else's bisness. I forgot tu menshun 
 his nose , hit wer his markin feetur ; no uther mortil 
 
 V 
 
 ever hed heart tu tote jis' sich anuther nose. The skin 
 ofen hit wud a-kivered a saddil, an' wer jis' the rite 
 culler fur the job, an' the holes looked like the bow- 
 ports ove a gun-boat. He waded in onst tu stop a big 
 fite at muster, in a Christian way, an' a feller broke a 
 dorg-wood hanspike ur a chesnut fence-rail, I'se forgot 
 which, acrost that nose, an' twenty-seven bats, an' I 
 three kingfishers flew outen hit. The lick only made 
 the Squire blow hit tolabil strong, scatterin roun a peck 
 ove cobwebs, an' muddauber's nestes, an' he went on 
 a-stopin ove the fite. He wer on his way tu chuch that 
 mornin, an' hearin orful souns. he struck thru the 
 
288 dad's dog-school. 
 
 bushes tu 'zamine intu hit, bein bis juty es greaser ove 
 tbe squelchin s'ciety. 
 
 " His boss wer ove a pius turn ove mine, ur ole 
 Haney wund't a-keep bim a day. Nobody ever seed 
 bim kick, gallop, jump a fence, smell utber bosses, ur 
 chaw a bridil. He wer never beam squeal, belch, ur 
 make eny onsightly soun, an' 'side all them marks, he 
 bed scabs ontu bis knees an' mud on his snout. Mine 
 yu, I speaks ove the karacter ove tbe hoss afore, an' up 
 tu arter breakfus' that Sunday mornin, nuffin more, fur 
 I show'd him that day tu be es durn'd a ole hiperkrit 
 es ever toted a saddil, ur a hyme book. His wickid 
 kareer ainded in a tan-vat an' the buzzards clean'd his 
 bones. That orful Sunday shook even the Squire's 
 b'lief on sum pints ove herearter. He now thinks, they 
 orter take folks in hell, like they dus intu chuch, six 
 months on trial, an' that the vartue ove the thing be 
 tried imejuntly on me, an' mam. He b'leves we'd 
 bof make 'tarnity members easy. 
 
 " He rid up tu tbe fence keerfully, drap't tbe reins, 
 hilt up his bans, an' sez he — 
 
 " ' Furgivin Father abuv ! what's am yu tormentin 
 them ar two varmints fur, on the Lord's Holy Sabbath ? 
 Say, O ye onregenerits, whar' the patriark ove this de- 
 praved famerly ?' 
 
 " 'Look a-yere, Squire Haney,' sez mam, 'I'se hits 
 patriark jis' now ; mos' ove the time I'se hits tail, I 
 knows, but one thing sure, yu'd bes' trot along tu jet 
 
dad's dog-school. 289 
 
 meetin. This am a privit soshul famerly 'musement an' 
 hit needs no wallin up ove eyes, mir groanin, nur 
 secon han low-quartered pray'rs tu make hit purfeck, 
 'sides, we's got no notes tu shave, nur gals ole enuf tu 
 convart, so yu' better jis' go way wif yer four-laig'd, 
 bal-faced pulpit, an' preach tu sich es yersef, sum 
 else ; go 'long Squire, that's a good feiler. ' 
 
 " I'd pull'd a big jimsin burr, an' hilt hit up so mam 
 cud see hit, a-moshunin to'ards ole Ball-eye's tail. 
 Mam nodded her head. So while the Squire wer 
 sarchin a packet ove tracks, fur one against devilmint 
 ove Sundays, I sneak'd up ahine 'im. Sez mam es saft 
 an' sweet es ef I wer a sick baby — 
 
 " ' Sutty, my darlint, jis' start the Squire's hoss thar 
 5ir 'im. I'se fear'd he'll be late fur meetin, speshully 
 ef he stops at Missis G-ivinses.' (Yere he gin mam a 
 look frum onder his hat-brim, what spoke dam yure ole 
 soul, jis' es plain es ef the cussinest man in the county 
 hed hollered hit.) Start him easy my son, so es not tu 
 jostil the ole man's breakfus', hit . mout sour on his 
 stumick ; poor ole critter, he's colikey an' ailin enyhow, 
 ef his looks don't lie. ' I say ailin ; he only pull'd down 
 four greasy fifty-sixes, an' ef yu'd a-twisted his sweaty 
 neck-hankecher mtu a rope, hit 'ud burn like a torch. 
 
 " I planted the burr high up onder ole Ball-eye's tail, 
 
 an" he clamp't hit clost instantly. 'Bout the time he'd 
 
 squeezed hit tu the hurtin pint, I'd dun busted a four 
 
 foot, white-oak clap-board plum open, atwixt the root 
 
 13 
 
DAD 8 DOG-SCHOOL. 
 
 . ove his tail, an' the Squire's. The shock brot his 
 tail warter tite atwixt his laigs, an' every stickei 
 on the burr wer buried tu the butt in hoss-meat, ui 
 hoss-tail. 
 
 "He kicked one pupendicler kick, es high es the 
 cabin chimly. I seed the hole laingth ove his belly 
 even tu the susingil buckil frum behine, an' sure enuf 
 I hearn the Squire's coffee sloshin his chaw'd chickin 
 an' hard biled aigs 'bout pow'ful. 
 
 " ' Wo yu ! sirr,' sez he. 
 
 " 'That ar las' observashun am no use, Mister 
 Haney,' sez I. Anuther kick strait up at the sun. 
 
 " '"Wo yu orful ole fool.' Sez I — 
 
 " ' He can't wo, Squire, he's a-gittin happy, an' that's 
 hoss way ove shoutin.' 
 
 " Atwixt the kicks, he'd rise all fours frum the yeath, 
 'bout a foot, bouncin way, an' lite in the same tracks, 
 a-sweatin roun the eyes, wif a snort fur every bounce 
 an' a grunt wif every kick. Then he made a gudgeon 
 ove his fore laigs, an' kicked a plum suckil wif his hine 
 ones. Ef the air cud be printed on, yu'd a-seed a ring 
 ove hoss shoe marks, twenty foot acrost, eleving high, 
 an' jis' 'bout a han an' a half apart, heels all pintin tu 
 the center. 
 
 "The Squire got a good pullin holt wif wun han, 
 ontu the crupper, an' a-pushin wun wif tuther, in the 
 mane, while he sot his stirrips 'way forrid apas' Ball- 
 eye's bitts. Hit kep me pow'ful bizzy tu watch the 
 
dad's dog-school. 291 
 
 dorg makin an' ole Haney's happy hoss, bof on em wer 
 makin things happin so durnashun fas'. 
 
 " ' Trus' freely in heving Squire es long es crupper 
 holt lasts. I think hit' 11 hold a hour ur so yet, fur I 
 see the pint ove his tail laid clost tu his belly a-tetchin 
 the girth,' sez mam. 
 
 " £ Then pick a spot bar ove rocks fur yure profile tu 
 strike,' sez I. That wer a pow'ful cumfurtin remark 
 ove mine, an' wer soun doctrin too, warn't hit? 
 
 " ' Wo ! wo ! sirr, (a kick) yu blasted fool, (a kick) wo ! 
 
 I say, yu in ' (a kick.) Thinks I, thar that ar kick 
 
 wer a interpersision, fur hit kep the Squire frum plain 
 cussin. ' Sum ove yu (a kick) ketch hes bitts, (a kick.) 
 
 " ' Better pray fur a anvil tu cleave ontu his tail, a 
 jockdolagin big anvil,' sez mam. ' Hit'll cum if yu ax 
 hit, yea verily.' 
 
 " Jis' then Ball-eye findin his inimy tu be kick-proof, 
 Jiis faith gin out. He tuck a skeer, an' sot intu gittin 
 away, in a style no hoss ever used afore. The gait he 
 picked out fur the 'casion, warn't jis' the thing fur 
 leavin wrath, ur tribulashun wif, I don't think; thar 
 warn't enuf strait ahead leavin in hit, hit wer a 'sort- 
 mint made up ove dromedary gallop, snake slidin, side 
 windin, an' ole Firginey jig, tetched off wif a sprinkil 
 ove quadrille, step't off infunely fas' fur a pius-minded 
 hoss on a Sunday. 'Bout every thuty yards, he'd mix 
 in a kick, aimed at the back ove the Squire's head 
 Es soon es he farely started, mam hollered — 
 
292 dad's dog-school. 
 
 " ' Squire, when yu calls far the anvil, moutent hit 
 be es well tu ax fur a lockchain, an' a interpersition, 
 too. Yu don't know what mout happen ; them's orful 
 strange moshuns he's a-makin fur a pius hoss.' 
 
 " Ole Haney hed grabbed his bridil fur stoppin ur 
 steerin puposes, his hat wer jam'd fast on the back ove 
 his short fat naik, an' cock'd sharp up ahine his years, 
 red es a cock's comb, sot squar out onder the rim. His 
 elbows an' toes wer wide apart, like his hoss wer red 
 hot, an' durn'd ef I don't b'leve he wer. 
 
 " The las' words I hearn the Squire menshun es he 
 went outen site wer, ' Now I lay me down tu sleep.' 
 
 " Thinks I, that's a clost shot fur a off-han prayer wif 
 wet powder, but hit am aimed at the wrong hoard. A 
 man mus' a-had a pow'ful soun conshunce tu a-slept on 
 es wide awake a hoss es ole Haney hed atwixt his fat 
 laigs — a clar fall frum grace that hoss wer. 
 
 " The engineer ove the sin squelshin mersheen wer 
 foun that arternoon in the lauril, amung the rocks on 
 the krick, an' every way fur thuty foot, the groun wer 
 paper'd wif tracks, an' notes ove han. He wer hauled 
 home ontu a ox slide ; Ball-eye wer sole at public out- 
 cry nex day at cort fur backslidin an' fallin frum grace 
 an' fotch one dullar an' eighty cents, on 'count ove his 
 hide an' shoes. The burr wer sole an' delivered wif 'im 
 still sunk onder his tail. 
 
 " The fust words I noticed cumin frum dad, arte* 
 Squire Haney lef us in that ar mos' onnatral an' on- 
 manerly way, wer — 
 
dad's dog-school. 293 
 
 " 'Oke e 'urn'd 'up 'oose,' sez dad. 
 
 "His talk wer changin frum yearlin tu human, an' 
 hed got 'bout naif way. He ment hit fur chok the 
 durn'd pup loose, but I jis' minded my orders, ' Sick 
 'im on an' du nufan else,' an' I did hit like a man. 
 
 "Dad's tail flew frum the door tu the gate, then 
 Sugar's tail new frum the door tu the gate, then frum 
 the gate roun back agin, a constunt swappin ove places, 
 an' nobody pleas'd ; right peart ove dus' too. Jis' then 
 I wudn't a-tuck thuty dullars fur my dorg. 
 
 " ' Oke 'e 'up 'od 'am yure 'oles.' 
 
 " Oh, durnashun ! thinks I. I wer mistaken 'bout 
 a-changin ove tungs, that's good plain Inglish, wif the 
 trimmins, wantin nufnn but the use ove the upper lip. 
 I minded my fust orders — ' Sick 'im Sugar.' 
 
 " The snout ove the hide what wer tied back on the 
 naik, worked sorter loose, an' the fold hung down 
 on dad's an' Sugar's snouts, an' my onregenerit dad 
 wer blinefolded. The ho'ns hung dolefully loose at 
 each side ove his head, like they were tired ove the 
 dorg. 
 
 " Mam kept watchin thar moshuns pow'ful clost, 
 Sez she — 
 
 " ' Sut, that ar dorg's holt won't break, will hit?' 
 
 " ' Not,' sez I, ' onless dad's nose's rotten.' 
 
 " ' Thar is sum onsartinty 'bout hits bein soun, he's 
 soaked hit so much in sperrits,' sed mam, an' she 
 Studied a minnit, wif her finger ontu her lip. ' I'll risk 
 
 V 
 
294 dad's dog-school. 
 
 hits tarin, enyhow,' sed she. 'I never will furgive 
 mysef ef I lets this chance slip.' 
 
 " She got the bean-pole, spit in her hans, clar'd the 
 chips frum onder her wif her feet, an' as the two var- 
 mints flew roun agin, she riz on her tip-toes, an' fotch 
 down the pole wif bof hans frum way up yander, an' 
 laid 'bout four foot ove the aind es strait es a line frum 
 the root ove the hide's tail tu the ho'ns. Hit sounded 
 like bustin open a dry poplar log ; raised a stripe ove 
 dus' tu the top ove the har, four inches wide, an' hit 
 smoked all along thar, like hit wer afire. I jis' tho't 
 jewhillikins 'bout twiste. 
 
 " Dad squalled low onder hit, like a sore-back hoss 
 when yu'se a-mountin, an' es he flew roun agin, sez he — > 
 
 " ' 'Ell 'ire an' 'amnashun, 'ot's 'at?' Sez I— 
 
 " ' Nuffin ; but yu're knock'd down the martin's 
 gourd-pole, an' spilt the yung'uns.' 
 
 " He tried tu rise tu the human way ove standin, 
 but the tassil a-hangin tu his smeller were too heavy, 
 an' the holt wer es tender es a sore eye. Jis' then I 
 wudn't a-tuck forty dullars fur my dorg. Sez he — 
 
 " ' 'Am 'e 'artin 'ord 'ole, an' 'e 'unyuns 'oo.' 
 
 " Then he tried sum fust rate overhanded knockin 
 wif fas' one fore laig, an' then tuther. He made the 
 loose huffs rattil over Sugar's rump, but he jis' sed 
 • Ka ! a,' an' surged back tu his snout-pullin, an' roun 
 an' roun they fly agin. "What the devil they 'spected 
 tu gain by that, I can't fur the life ove me tell, but they 
 
DAD S DOG-SCHOOL. 
 
 295 
 
 seem'd tu be greed 'bout hit enyhow, fur every time 
 Sugar started, dam ef dad didn't start too, so quick yu 
 cudn't say which made the fas' moshun. The solt 
 mix'd wif sweat, wer one ove dad's reasons fur not 
 6tayin still much, I sorter think, an' a tender nose 
 made 'im foller Sugar's lead quick. ISTow, warn't hit a 
 hell ove a fix fur a ill-natered cuss like dad, hu allers 
 wud hev his own way, tu be in? Every time that my 
 dad's tail cum to'ards mam, down cum the bean-pole, 
 sure es suarise, cherow ! soundin an' lookin like beatin 
 carpets, an' feelin like splittin a body's back -bone wif a 
 dull axe. 
 
 "Dad. bli lie-folded es he wer, soon larntthe place in 
 his sarkit vhar the licks fell, an' by the jumpin Jinny 
 he'd cummence squattin afore he got thar. 
 
 " I dunno how hit wer adzacly, but the wind sum- 
 how gethered atwixt the hary side ove dad's hide, an' 
 the raw side ove the yearlin's ; an' every lick mam 
 isshood tu 'im wif that ar never-tire bean-pole, hit 
 wud bust out at the sowin, pow'ful suddin, soundin loud 
 an' doleful. Mam smiled every time she hearn hit. 
 
 " ' That ar yearlin mus' a-hed the colic afore hit wer 
 kill'd,' sed sis Callimy Jane. She's allers sayin sum 
 durn'd fool thing, hevin no barin on the case. 
 
 " ' Oh, hush, yu littil narrer-tail'd tucky hen,' sed 
 brother Benton, ' hits the onexpectedness ove the cumin 
 ove that ar bean-pole.' ' Ur the tetchin sensashun 
 arter hit dus cum,' sed I mysef. 
 
DADS DOG-SCHOOL. 
 
 " Mam also tuck time tu spar Bent a fust rate tetcn 
 wif her pole, cradlin fashun ! He went flyin outen his 
 tracks over the fence, wif his hans flat ontu his starn, 
 Es he lit in the weeds, sez he — 
 
 " ' I wer right, by golly ! hit am the pole what dus 
 hit' 
 
 " Callimy Jane, who wer a-lookin at Bent while he wer 
 up in the air, like she wer a-listnin, chirped out, 'An 
 so wer I.' I tho't mysef I hearn Bent's gallus but- 
 tons bust off. Jis' es he started up, he shet his mouth, 
 jis' in time tu ketch his heart. 
 
 " Cherow ! cum that eternil wollopin pole down agin, 
 along dad. He farely bawl'd — 
 
 " ' 'On't 'et up 'at 'artin' ole eny 'ore, yu 'am 'ules.' 
 Sez I— 
 
 " ' I haint sot the martin-pole up one time. Hits 
 mam what keeps a-settin hit up, an' hit won't stay 
 up.' 
 
 " ' Quit, yu 'am 'itch, an' let 'e 'ole lie,' sez dad. 
 
 " ' Thar hit lies,' answered mam, es she fotch hit down 
 along his back anuther rale saftnin swallop. The dus' 
 hed quite risin now, outen that ar skin. Sez I — 
 
 " ' Stan hit dad, stan hit like a man ; hit may be a 
 littil hurtin tu yu, but dam ef hit ain't the makin ove 
 the pup. Stay wif that hide, Sugar, my boy, yu'se 
 mity ni a deplomer'd dorg.' 
 
 "Dad begun tu. totter on his hine laigs; his sturn 
 warn't way up yander, like hit wer when he fust open'd 
 
dad's dog-school. 297 
 
 the dorg-school. Hit wer down 'bout levil wif his 
 shoulders, an' he wer a-cumin tu his knees pow'ful fas' 
 behine. I seed his tail a-trimblin, a mons'ous bad 
 sign in ho'ned cattil. Dad ax'd ef hit wan't twelve 
 o'clock? Jis' then I wudn't a-tuck fifty dullers fur 
 my dorg. I felt like he wer ni about made. 
 
 " When Sal hed got dun so win up dad, he started her 
 tu the still-hous' arter a jug ove Spanish fly whisky, tu 
 made happy cum arter he let out his dorg-school, an' 
 she jis' now got back, tuck a look at the case es hit 
 stood, an' got mad. Sez she — 
 
 " ' Yu durn'd yaller son ove a b — h, III break yer 
 holt' She flung down the jug, an' snatched the axe. 
 SezI— 
 
 " ' Mine, Sal, whatever yu du, don't yu cut the dorg. 
 He's 'bout made ; be keerful how yu place yer licks.' 
 
 " ' Aim fur the ho'ns my darter,' sed mam. 
 
 " Yere she cum, wif a vigrus overhandid splitter, 
 aidge foremos', aim'd tu fall atwixt Sugar's years ; but 
 he yerk'd back a littil es the lick cum, an' hit went 
 thru the dubil ove the hide, skelpin a piece ove skin 
 ofen dad's forrid, 'bout es big es a duller, kept on an' 
 sliced off Sugar's two smellin holes a half inch thick. 
 Then hit tuck a chunk ofen dad's snout, 'bout the 
 size an' culler ove a black hart cherry. Then hit went 
 littil lower an' kerried along a new moon ofen dad's 
 upper lip, an' a littil ove Sugar's lower lip, an dad's 
 fore finger pint, kept on down, tuck one ove Sugar's 
 *13 
 
298 dad's dog-school. 
 
 fore paws clean, a yearlin's huff, an' then pass'd on intu 
 the yeath, up tu the helve, an' thar hit stop't. Sea 
 Sal— 
 
 " ' Thar, durn yu /' 
 
 "Sugar keeled over one way, an' dad tuther. One 
 fainted stiff, an' tuther ruinated furever, es a dorg. I'd 
 a-tuck a raggid counterfit dullar on a wile cat-bank fur 
 him now. That wer the liveliest Sunday I ever seed 
 at home. 
 
 " I cried rite peart, tho', es I flung a big rock wif a 
 strip ove bark tied roun hit intu the ho'net hole in the 
 crick that night." 
 
 " What made you cry, Sut, was it your father's con- 
 dition?" 
 
 " Father's con-durnashun. I furgot tu menshun that 
 Sugar wer fas' tu tuther aind ove that ar strip ove bark. 
 Who wanted a three-footed dorg, wif no smellin holes ? 
 I didn't. He wer the mos' pufeckly spiled pup in the 
 makin I ever hearn tell ove. Mout a-lookt fur a gin- 
 eral durn'd momoxin ove things tho', when dad tuck 
 the job wif Squire Haney tu help. 
 
 " Boys, I'se sleepy now ; yere's wishin (Sut raised on 
 his elbow and held up his flask to the light) yu all 
 good dreams, an' yu, George, may yu dream ove ownin 
 three never-failin springs, so clost tugether yu kin lay 
 on yure belly an' reach em all — the biggis' wun run- 
 nin ole whisky, the middil one strained honey, an' the 
 leas' an' las' — cold warter. wif nara ' natral born durn'd 
 
dad's dog-school. 299 
 
 fool in two miles tu bother yu, an' when yu wake tip, 
 may yn fine hit tu be a mortal fac'. 
 
 " Es tu me, ef I kin jis' miss dreamin ore hell ur ole 
 Bullin's all I ax. Sum one ove yu moue that ar saddil 
 down yander, by the corner ove the camp, further out 
 en the way ove my laigs. Now le's snore sum ; blc^v 
 ont the light" 
 
 THE END. 
 
hf~ 
 
Dick & Fitzgerald, 
 
 PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK. 
 
 POST OFFICE BOX 978. 
 
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 Conventions ; 
 
 Forms for Constitutions of Lyceums or Insti- 
 tutes, Literary and other Societies ; 
 
 The Powers and Duties of Officers, unth Forms 
 for Treasurers', Secretaries', and other Offi- 
 cial Reports ; 
 
 The Formation and Duties of Committees ; 
 
 Rules of Order and Order of Business, with 
 Mode of Procedure in all cases; 
 
 How to Draft Resolutions and other Written 
 Business; 
 
 A model Debate, introducing (he greatest pos- 
 sible variety of points of order, with correct 
 decisions by the Chairman ; 
 
 The Rules of Order, in Tabular Form, for in- 
 stant reference in all cases of Doubt that 
 may arise, enabling a Chairman to decid* 
 on all points at a glance. 
 
 The Work is divided into different Sections, for the purpose of Consecutive Insta action 
 as well as Beady Reference, and includes all Decisions and Rulings up to the present 
 
 day. Paper covers 30 CtS, 
 
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Popular Book? sent Free of Postage at the Prices annexed. 
 
 READINGS AND RECITATIONS. 
 
 iavanaugh's Exhibition Reciter. For very Little Children. A collection 
 01 entirely Original Recitations, Dialogues and short Speeches, adapted for very little 
 boys ind girls, including also a variety of pieces, humorous, serious and dramatic, 
 suitable for children from Three to Ten years old, for public and private School Exhi- 
 bitions and other Juvenile Entertainments. 
 
 It also includes a Maj-Day Festival xor very little children, and a number of beauti- 
 ful Speaking Tableaux. By the author of " Kavanaugh's Juvenile Speaker." Bound 
 
 in illuminated paper covers "30 Cts. 
 
 Bound in illuminated board covers 50 cts. 
 
 Kavanaugh's Juvenile Speaker. For very Little Boys and Girls. Con- 
 taining short and easily -learned Speeches and Dialogues, expressly adapted for School 
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 hundred and twenty -three effective pieces. By Mrs. Bussell Kavanaugh, Illuminated 
 
 paper cover 30 ets. 
 
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 Dick's Series of Eecitations and Readings, Nos. Ito 17. Comprising 
 
 a carefully compiled selection of Humorous, Pathetic, Eloquent, Patriotic and Senti- 
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 Edited by Win. B. Dick. Each number of the Series contains about 180 pages, Hlumi- 
 
 nated paper cover, each 30 Cts. 
 
 Bound in full cloth. 50 cts! 
 
 Beecher's Reoitations and Readings. Humorous, Serious, Dramatic, 
 including Prose and Poetical Selections in Dutch, Yankee, Irish, Negro and other Uia- 
 
 lects. 180 pages, paper covers 30 Ct>3, 
 
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 Howard's Recitations. Comic, Serious and Pathetic. Being a collection 
 of fresh Recitations in Prose and Poetry, suitable for Exhibitions and Evening Parties. 
 
 180 pages, paper covers 30 Cts. 
 
 Bound in boards, cloth back 50 CtS. 
 
 Spencer's Book of Comic Speeches and Humorous Recitations. V 
 
 collection of Comic Speeches, Humorous Prose and Poetical Recitations, LaughaDls 
 
 £>ramatic Scenes and Eccentric Dialect Stories. 192 pages, paper covers 30 CtS- 
 
 Bound in boards, cloth back 50 CtST 
 
 Wilson's Book of Recitations and Dialogues. Containing a choice 
 
 selection of Poetical and Prose Recitations. Designed as an Assistant to Teachers and 
 
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 Bound in boards, with cloth back 50 CtS. 
 
 Barton's Comic Recitations and Humorous Dialogues. A variety ot 
 
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 180 pages, paper covers 30 Cts. 
 
 Bound in boards, with cloth back 50 Cts. 
 
 Brudder Bones' Book of Stump Speeches and Burlesque Orations. 
 
 Also containing Humorous Lectures, Ethiopian Dialogues, Plantation Scenes, Negro 
 Farces and Burlesques, Laughable Interludes and Comic Recitations. 188 pages. 
 
 Paper covers 30 cts. 
 
 Bound in boards, illuminated 50 cts. 
 
 Burbank's Recitations and Readings. A collection of Humorous, Dra- 
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 \lfred P. Burbahk; and containing many choice selections never before in print, as 
 
 | well as some old favorites. 16mo, paper cover 25 Cts. 
 
 Martine's Droll Dialogues and Laughable Recitations. A collection oi 
 
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 Bound in boards, with cloth back 50 cts, 
 
 WE WILL SEND A CATALOGUE, containing a complete list, of all the 
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Popular Books Sent Free of Postage at t he Prices Annexed. 
 
 DIALOGUE BOOKS. 
 
 Dick's Comic Dialogues. A Collection of Easy and Effective Dramatic 
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 formance by Young People. 16mo, paper covers 30 Ct* 
 
 Bound in beards 50 CtS. 
 
 Uick's Dialogues aud Monologues. Consisting of Original Darmatic 
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 capacity of young people of both sexes, and the Monologues are sprightly and effectiv*. 
 
 16mo, paper covers 30 CtS. 
 
 Bound in boards 50 CtS. 
 
 Steele's Exhibition Dialogues. A collection of Dramatic Dialogue* 
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 ances. By Silas Steele. 150 pages. Illustrated paper covers 30 Cts, 
 
 Bound in boards 50 Cts 
 
 McBride's New Dialogues. Especially designed for School and Literary 
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 178 pages, illuminated paper covers 30 Cts. 
 
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 McBride's Temperance Dialogues. Designed for the use of Schools, 
 
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 McBride's Humorous Dialogues. A collection of New Dialogues, full of 
 
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 180 pages, illuminated paper covers SQ cts. 
 
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 Graham's Sehool Dialogues for Young People. Being a new and orig 
 
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 prepared and well calculated to develop dramatic talent. 
 
 176 pages, illuminated paper covers 30 CtS. 
 
 Bound in boards, cloth back 50 CtS, 
 
 Holmes' Very Little Dialogues for Very Little Folks. Containing 
 
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 Frost's New Book of Dialogues. Containing twenty-nine entirely New 
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 fifteen years. 180 pages, paper covers 30 cts. 
 
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 Frost's Humorous and Exhibition Dialogues. This a collection of 
 
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 iound in Boards 50 Ct» 
 
 T£ WILL ShND A CATALOGUE free to any address, containing a list of all the Dia- 
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 itrJon» them, 
 
Popular Books sent Free of Postage at the Prices annexed. 
 
 AMATEUR THEATRICALS. 
 
 All the plays in the following excellent books are especially designed for Amateur 
 performance. The majority of them are in one act and one scene, and may 
 be represented in any moderate-sized parlor, without much preparation of 
 oostume or scenery. Catalogue, with number and sex of performers in each, 
 furnished on application. 
 
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 Bound in boards 50 Cts. 
 
 'Alice in Wonderland, and other Fairy Plays for Children. Consist- 
 
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 piest manner, light comedy, burlesque and extravaganza. By Kate Freiligrath- 
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 a brilliant vein of wit and humor. The music of all the songs introduced is given, 
 
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 Barmby's Musical Plays for Young People. Suitable for Private 
 
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 irresistably Comical in expression, and elegant in construction. Each Play include* 
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 duced, making it complete in itself, both in text and music. 201 pages. 
 
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 Parlor Theatricals; or Winter Evenings' Entertainment. Contain. 
 
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 engravings. Paper covers 80 0t8. 
 
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 Howard's Book of Drawing-Room Theatricals. A. collection of 
 
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 Hudson's Private Theatric als . A collection of fourteen humorous plays. 
 Four of these plays are adapted for performance by males only, and three are for 
 
 females. 180 Pages, paper covers 30 Cta 
 
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 Vngent's Burlesque aud Musical Acting Charades. Containing ten 
 
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 Ifrost's Dramatic Proverbs and Charades. Containing eleven Pro- 
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 arranged for Tableaux Vivants. 176 pages, paper oovers 30 cts. 
 
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 Frost's Parlor Acting Charades. These twelve excellent and original 
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 and amusing situations. 182 pages, paper covers 30 Cts. 
 
 niuminated boards 50 Cts, 
 
 Frost's Book of Tableaux and Shadow Pantomimes. A collection of 
 
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 FrOBt's Amateur Theatricals. A collection of eight original plays ; all 
 
 short, amusing and new. 180 pages, paper covers SO Ots- 
 
 Bound in boards, with cloth back 50 cts- 
 
Popular Books sent Free of Posta ge at tho Prices annexed. 
 
 Dick's Encyclopedia of Practical Receipts and Process. Contain. 
 
 Ing 6,422 practical receipts, written in a plain and popular manner, and illustrated with 
 explanatory wood-cuts. Being a comprehensive Book of Reference for the Merchant, 
 Manufacturer, Artisan, Amateur and Housekeeper, embracing valuable information in 
 the Arts, Professions, Trades, Manufactures, including Medicine, Pharmacy and Do- 
 mestic Economy. The scope of this work is entirely different from any other book of 
 the kind. Besides being a complete and almost indispensable book of reference for the 
 thousand and one receipts and articles needed in every householdj farm, garden, etc., 
 It incHides clear and easily understood directions for the application of many of the 
 Arts laually acquired only by long experience, and so divested of technicalities, or the 
 technical terms used so fully explained, as to bring the entire subject within the compre- 
 hension of any person of ordinary intelligence. It would be difficult to find any one of 
 the 6,422 paragraphs in this work (many of which contain several receipts) that is not! 
 worth at least the price of the book to the person desiring to apply it. A great number 
 of them are original contributions prepared expressly for the Encyclopedia, or are jo 
 be found only in rare and costly works. The Scientific American says : " It is wortlw 
 of a place in the library of any home, workshop, factory or laboratory." j 
 
 607 pages, royal octavo, cloth $6.00 
 
 Sheep 6.00 
 
 What Shall We Do To-Night? or Social Amnsements for Evening 
 
 Parties. This elegant book affords an almost inexhaustible fund of amusement for 
 Evening Parties, Social Gatherings, and all Festival Occasions, ingeniously grouped 
 together so as to furnish complete and ever-varying entertainment for Twenty- six 
 evenings. It embraces all the 
 
 Charades, Tableaux, Parlor Pantomime*, 
 the world -renowned Punch and Judy; 
 GaUanty Shows, Shadow - Pantomime ; 
 
 Dramatic Dialogues and Parlor Theatri- 
 cals, with a selection of Original Plays, 
 etc., with full directions for rendering 
 them effective, 
 
 Best Round and Forfeit Games rendered 
 perfectly plain by original examples ; a 
 great variety of Ingenious Puzzles, En- 
 tertaining Tricks and Innocent Sells ; 
 new and original Musical and Poetical 
 Pastimes, Startling Illusions and Mirth- 
 Provoking Exhibitions, including com- 
 plete directions and text for performing 
 written expressly for this work. It is embellished with over one hundred descriptive 
 and explanatory engravings, and contains 366 pages, 12mo, extra cloth. .. $2.00 
 
 Barber's American Book of Ready-Made Speeches. Containing 159 
 
 original examples of Humorous and Serious Speeches, suitable for every possible 
 occasion where a speech may be called for, together with appropriate replies to each. 
 Including : 
 
 Presentation Speeches, 
 
 Convivial Speeches, 
 
 Festival Speeches, 
 
 Addresses of Congratulation. 
 
 Addresses of Welcome, 
 Addresses of Compliment, 
 Political Speeches, 
 
 Dinner and Supper Speeches for Clubs, 
 
 Off-Hand Speeches on a variety of Subjects, 
 
 Miscellaneous Speeches, 
 
 Toasts and Sentiments for Public and 
 Private Entertainments, 
 
 Preambles and Resolutions iff Congratula- 
 tion, Compliment and Condolence. 
 
 With this book any person may prepare himself to make a neat little speech or reply to 
 one when called upon to do so. Tney are all short, appropriate, and witty, and even 
 
 ready speakers may profit by them. Paper 50 cts. 
 
 Bound in boards, cloth back 75 Cts 
 
 Dick's Original Album Verses and Acrostics. Containing Original 
 
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 For Autograph Albums ; 
 To Accompany Bouquets ; 
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 For Wooden, Tin, Crystal, Silver and 
 Golden Weddings; 
 
 For Album Dedications ; 
 To Accompany Philopena Forfeits ; 
 For Congratulations ; 
 For Valentines in General, and all 
 Trades and Professions. 
 
 It contains also Two Hundred and Eighteen Original Acrostic Verses, the initial It .em 
 of each verse forming a different Lady's Christian name, the meaning and derivation 
 of the name being appended to each. The primary object of this book is to furnish 
 entirely fresh and unhackneyed matter for ail who may be called upon to fill and adorn 
 a page In a Lady's Album ; but it contains also new and appropriate verses to suit 
 Birthday, Wedding and all other Anniversaries and Occasions to which verses of Com. 
 
 pliment or Congratulation are applicable. Paper covers 50 Cts. 
 
 BoundlnfuU cloth , 75 ©tf. 
 
Popular Books sent Free of Postage at the Price* annexed. 
 
 Dick's Book of Toasts, Speeches and Responses. Containing Toasts 
 
 and Sentiments for Public and Social Occasions, and specimen Speeches 'with apprv 
 p-nate replies suitable for the following occasions : 
 
 Public Dinners, 
 Social Dinners, 
 Convivial Gatherings, 
 Art and Professional Banquet*, 
 Manufacturers' Meetings, 
 Agricultural and Commercial Festivals, 
 Special Toasts for Ladies, 
 Christmas, Thanksgiving and other 
 Festivals, 
 
 | Friendly Meetings. 
 
 Weddings and their Anniversaries, 
 Army and Navy Banquets, 
 Patriotic and Political Occasions, 
 Trades' Unions and Dinners, 
 Benedicts' and Bachelors' Banquets, 
 Masonic Ctiebraiions, 
 Sporting Coteries, 
 All Kinds of Occasions. 
 
 This work includes an instructive dissertation on *he Art of making amusing After-dinnaf 
 Speeches, giving hints arfd directions by the aid of which persons with only ordi- 
 nary intelligence can make an entertaining and telling speech. Also, Correct Rule* 
 and Advice for Presiding at Tabic. 
 
 The use of this work will render a poor and diffident speaker fluent and witty — and 
 a good speaker better and wittier, besides affording an immense fund of anecdotes, 
 wit and wisdom, and other serviceable matter to draw upon at will. 
 
 Paper covers. Price 80 cts. 
 
 Bound in boards, cloth back 50 Cts. 
 
 Dick's Parlor Exhibitions, and How to Make them Successful. Con- 
 taining complete and detailed directions for preparing and arranging Parlor Exhibi- 
 tions and Amateur Performances. It includes, 
 
 Tableaux Vivants, 
 Living Portraits, 
 Living Statuary, 
 Dame History's Peep Show. 
 Shadow Pantomimes. 
 
 Popular Ballads illustrated by 
 
 appropriate action, 
 Charades of all kinds, 
 Parlor Pantomimes, 
 Punch and Judy, 
 
 AUK FIFTY OTHER DIVERTING PARLOR PASTIMES AND AMUSEMENTS. 
 
 it contains also a full Catalogue of the celebrated "Art Exhibition"; and a practical 
 treatise on the wonderful Science of Second-Sight, by the aid of which all the start- 
 ling effects and achievements of second-sight maybe performed by any one possess- 
 ing a tolerably retentive memory. 
 
 This work is thoroughly practical, and gives the fullest instructions for preparing and 
 lighting the stage, the construction of the Frames for Living Portraits, and shows 
 how each performance can be presented with complete success. It is illustrated with 
 
 numerous engravings explaining the text. 160 pages, paper cover 30 Cts. 
 
 Bound in boards, cloth back 50 Cts. 
 
 Worcester's Letter-Writer and Book of Business Forms, for Ladies 
 
 and Gentlemen. Containing Accurate Directions for Conducting Epistolary Cor- 
 erspondence, with 270 Specimen Letters, adapted to every Age and Situation in Life, 
 and to Business Pursuits in General ; with an Appendix comprising Forms for Wills, 
 Petitions, Bills, Becelpts, Drafts, Bills of Exchange, Promissory Notes, Exeoutors' 
 and Administrators' Accounts, etc., etc. This work is divided into two parts, th« 
 portion applicable to Ladies being kept distinct from the rest of the book, in order to 
 provide better facilities for ready reference. The Orthography of the entire work !• 
 based on Worcester's method, which is coming more and more into general use, from 
 the fact that it presents less ambiguity in spelling. 216 pages. 
 Bound in boards, cloth back 50 cts. 
 
 Dick's One Hundred Amusements for Evening Parties, Picnics and 
 
 Social Gatherings. This book is full of Original Novelties. It contains: 
 ffew and Attractive Games, clearly illustra- 
 ted by means of Witty Examples, show- 
 ing how each may be most successfully 
 
 played. 
 
 Surprising Tricks, easy of performance. 
 Musical and other innocent sells. 
 
 A variety of new and ingenious puzzles. 
 
 Comical illusions, fully described. Thest 
 surprising and grotesque illusions are very 
 startlina in their effects, and present Utile 
 or no difficulty in their preparation. 
 
 ALSO AN ENTIRELY NEW VERSION OF THE CELEBRATED " MRS. JARLKY's WAX WORM." 
 
 Tke whole beng illustrated by sixty fine wood engravings. Paper covers 30 OtS. 
 
 Bound in boards with cloth back 50ol& 
 
Popular Books sent Free of Postage at the Prices annexed. 
 
 Allyn's Ritual Of Freemasonry. Containing a complete Key to the 
 following Degrees : Degree of Entered Apprentice ; Degree of Fellow Craft ; Degree 
 of Master Mason; Degree of Mark Master; Degree of Past Master; Degree of Excel- 
 lent Master ; Degree of Royal Arch ; Royal Arch Chapter ; Degree of Royal Master ; 
 Degree of Stlect Master ; Degree of Super-Excellent Master ; Degree of Ark and Dove ; 
 Degree of Knights of Constantinople; Degree of Secret Monitor; Degree of Heroine 
 of Jericho ; Degree of Knights of Three Kings ; Mediterranean Pass ; Order of Knights 
 of the Red Cross ; ' Order of Knights Templar and Knights of Malta ; Knights of th« 
 Christian Mark, and Guards of the Conclave; Knights of the Holy Sepulchre; The 
 Holy and Thrice Illustrious Order of the Cross ; Secret Master ; Perfect Master ; Inti- 
 mate Secretary; Provost and Judge; Intendant of the Buildings, or Master in 
 Israel; Elected. Knights of Nine ; Elected Grand Master; Sublime Knights Elected ; 
 Grand Master Architect ; Knights of the Ninth Arch ; Grand Elect, Perfect and 
 Sublime Mason. Illustrated with 38 copper-plate engravings ; to which is added, a 
 Key to the Phi Beta Kappa, Orange, and Odd Fellows Societies. By Avert Allyn, K, 
 B.C. K. T. K. M., etc. 12mo, cloth $5.00 
 
 Lester's "Look to the East " (Webb Work). A Ritual of the First 
 
 Three Degrees of Masonry. Containing the complete work ol the Entered Appren- 
 tice, Fellow Craft and Master Mason's Degrees, and their Ceremonies, Lectures, etc. 
 Edited by Ralph P. Lester. This complete and beautiful Pocket Manual of #ie First 
 Three Degrees of Masonry, is printed in clear, legible type, and not obscured by any 
 attempts at cypher or other perplexing contractions. It differs entirely from all 
 other Manuals, from the fact that it contains neither the passwords, grips, nor any 
 other purely esoteric matter with which Masons, and Masons only, are necessarily 
 entirely familiar. It affords, therefore, a thorough and valuable guide to the regular 
 " work " in the above degrees, divested of everything that any member of the Frater- 
 nity would object to see in print, or hesitate to carry in his pocket. It gives the 
 correct routine and proper forms to be observed in 
 
 Opening and Closing the Lodge in Each 
 
 Degree. 
 Calling Off and Calling On. , 
 
 Calling the Lodge up and down. 
 
 The Entire Ceremonies of Initiating, Pass- 
 ing and Raising Candidates. 
 
 The Lectures all Kitually and Monitorially 
 Complete. 
 
 Bound in cloth $2-00 
 
 Leather tucks (pocket-book style), gilt edges 2.50 
 
 Duncan's Masonic Ritual and Monitor; or Guide to The Three Sym- 
 bolic Degrees of the Ancient York Kite, Entered Apprentice, Fellow Craft and 
 Master Mason. And to the Degrees of Mark Master, Past Master, Most Excellent 
 Master and the Royal Arch. By Malcolm C. Duncan. Explained and Interpreted by 
 copious Notes and numerous Engravings. Itis not so much the design of the author 
 to gratify the curiosity of the uninitiated, as to furnish a Guide to the Younger Mem- 
 bers of the Order, by means of which their progress from grade to grade may be facil- 
 itated. With the aid of this invaluable Masonic Companion, any Mason can, in a 
 short time, become qualified to take the Chair as Master of a Lodge. Nothing is 
 omitted in it that may tend to impart a full understanding of the principles of 
 Masopry. This is a valuable book for the Fraternity, containing, as it does, the 
 Modern " Work " of the order. No Mason should be without it. 
 
 Bound in cloth $2-50 
 
 Leather tucks (pooket-book style), with gilt edges 3-00 
 
 Beard's Painting On China. What to Paint and How to Paint it. A 
 
 Hand-Book of Practical Instruction in Overglaze Painting, for the Use of Amateurs in 
 the Decoration of Hard Porcelain. By James C. Beard. A book of elaborate infor- 
 mation on all points in the Art of China-Decoration, giving a complete list of the 
 colors especially adapted for this purpose, and showing the effects produced when 
 subjected to the " firing " process. It describes all the necessary appliances, and ex- 
 plains their uses. The thoroughly practical scope of this work will be seen by an 
 examination of its contents, each division of the work being complete, and written in 
 a plain, familiar style, easy of comprehension and guaranteeing success. A descrip- 
 tion is given of the best styles of kilns or muffles, with directions for their use, by 
 the aid of which the amateur can " fire " his own work in any stove or range. This 
 work is printed in the best style, on fine paper, with full-page colored illustrations, 
 and an elegant cover, executed in the most artistic manner. Small quarto, illumi- 
 nated flexible cover, Price $1-00 
 
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