Democratic Sentinel, Volume 8, Number 30, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 22 August 1884 — A Plymouth Eccentric. [ARTICLE]

A Plymouth Eccentric.

At Plymouth, in the olden days, lived a shrewd philosopher who rejoiced in the familiar title of Sam Barnes. Short of stature, keen of tongue, and squeaky of voice, Barnes was known to everybody, and in turn knew everybody so well that he was able to hit off their peculiarities to the delight of all hearers but the victim. It is related, for instance, that a miserly neighbor who, in the opinion of Plymouth farmers, starved his stock, complained to Barnes that his pig was sick. “Iv’e given him seaweed and rock weed,* the owner said, “and pigweed and burdock, and nothing seems to please him. What would you do, Sam, if he was yours?” “Well, now, I swear to man,” answered Sam, with his usual sharp, jerky manner, “if he was mine I’d try him with a little good meal and water. ” Barnes was a Universalist, and much did he pride himself thereon. One evening when the church bells were ringing, Sam, on his way to the corner grocery, where his comrades were wont to congregate, encountered the orthodox clergyman. “Halloo, Parsonß.,” piped Sam, “what on earth are all those bells a-ringing for?” “It is prayer-meeting evening, Mr. Barnes,” the clergyman replied, with pious severity and mild reproof in his voice. “Well, now, I swear,” Sam continued, as if the idea were a novel one to him. “What’s it for? What do you do there?” “We pray, Mr. Barnes.” “Pray? I swear to man! Now, my Bible says: ‘When ye pray go into your closet, and shut the door, and pray in secret.’” “But do youjpray in secret?” asked the divine, in that tone of pointed appeal which marks the consciousness of a home thrust. “Well, now,” retorted Barnes, undismayed, “if I should tell you there wouldn’t be nothing secret about it.” And with a triumphant chuckle he pursued his way to the corner grocery.— Boston Courier.