Democratic Sentinel, Volume 11, Number 22, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 1 July 1887 — Page 6

OLD BESS.

Jest astonished ther family by cuttin up pranks Ez wuz never afore done by beast on four shanks (An’ in them days not even by two-legged cranks;. Naow, Old Bess wuz ther nicest uv family kine, With er genuine Puritan pedigree fine— Not er drop uv bad blood ter be traced in ther line; An’ ther crittur'd conducted herself in er way Ter command ther respect uv ther people, they say, Upter when she observed independence thot day. Yer kin think Er’m er drawin’ an awful long bow Wen Er tell yer ther yam, but et’s actooally sao— Thot ’twas nuthin but drunkenness ailed thet ere caow; ( Et’s er fact, boys, believe me er not, ez yer please— Et won't change et er bit —et’s ez straight ezcut cheese, She jest drank half er gallon er spirits with ease. Yer see, grauther wuz or man ez sleek ez er priest. On all pints uv religion till he wuz deceased— An' b’gosh! he said corn-juice wuz wusser’n stale yeast; ’Twas er hard blow ter him ter stand under and grin, W’en Old Bess cut her caper an’ drank up thet gin— Tho’ I alius will hold she wuz blameless uv sin.

In ther taowne uv Kersocket, erway daowne in Maine (Et yer look on er map uv old King George's reign, Yer will find ther place markod in big print letters plain); There ther Britishers made their headquarters one day, Just aoutsiae ther taownship whore granthor's farm lay, An' Old Bess chewed her cud on’ cropped grass and loose hay. Ther day when independence an’ liberty cum, W’en ther bells wuz er pealin’, ’mid saounds uv ther drum, An’ ther tories in taown wuz nigh stricken dumb, Er small squad uv wild foragers aout on er spree Spied Old Bess by ther brook ez she stood 'neath er tree, An’ jest filled her with gin in their rollicksome glee. When their bottles wuz emptied ther red-coats laughed long, While ther neighborin’ hills re-echoed their song, An’ Old Bess stood amazed an’ wondered whut’s wrong. When my granther came aout with his pail an’ his stool Ther wild troopers bed gone and wuz daown ber ther pool, An’ Old Bess she was actin’, b’gosh! like er fool. Ez sho flu raound ther pastur’ on ’lectrical legs. Yer’d er tho’t she wuz dancin’ er top er fresh eggs. An’ she made ther old farmer skip, too, on his pegs Till ther sweat et jest poured daown his cheeks on ther run— While he prutty nigh swore: “Whoal by ther gret horn spun! Er in no shakes on er chasin’ er caow ’n ther sun!” So he waited ontil ther critter stood still, Then approached her quite gently with “Soh! Bess, vu ill?” When he milked in ther pail er most generous fill. Naow ther farmer'd got thirsty er chasin’ ther caow, An’ he sot daown ther pail fur ter mop off his brow, With er muttered “Er vuml” an’ er smothered “Er swaow!”

So afore he went hum he jest tuk er gret swig Uv ther milk, then gave Borne ter old Baooter, ther pig, An’ went inter ther bam where he whooped up er jie: “Whut s ther matter’th ther milk?" ther young dairymaid cried; Then th6r fumbly all tasted an’ vowed with just pride, *Twas ther best in their lives they over hed tried. An’ in consequence all er ther milk wuz soon gone— Not er drap uv it left ez sure ez ycu air born I An’ ther ’feet thet it hed wuz er sort uv er corn. Xfeow ther Deacon he called 'fore ther milk wuz drank up, An’ old granny She lowed thet he must hev er cap, So ter please her ther Deacon he sipped er •mall sup,

O yer want me to tell yer er story, yer »ay 1 Spin er yam bout America’s fire-cracker dav? Tell yer sunthin’ as hez er big lass in it, hey t Mabbe naow, yer may think thet et ■ easy > tew du. Tell er story thet's comical. suitable tew; Still Er guess Er l make . aout, tho’ Er can’t say } et’s new. On ther Fo’th er July, in the year 70— (Es mer granther’g alive thet’s ther date he would fix’, i Wuz ther time w’en Old Bess played gome wonderful tricks.

The result wuz electrical, raaily so. quite! Fer ther skimpy old Deacon behaved like er fright. An’ declared he’d buy Bess thet very same night On ther follerin momin’ ther sun’s rays wuz high An’ no one ter Old Bess in ther p&stur’ cum nigh, Till the Deacon’s wee spouse heard her bellerin’ cry. Naow, her husband from hum stayed erwav all thet night. An’ cum back erlookin’ ez tho’ all weren’t right. An’ er most comical skeercrow an’ pit} able sight! He had slep’ in ther pastur’ an’ rolled in ther dirt Till his best clothes wuz grimed an’ he’d t :rn his white shirt — So no wonder he talked with a Stammerin’ spurt!

W’en his wife com eraound ter mer granther’s old farm She hod worked herself up ter ther failin’ pint warm, But the sight she saw there gave hor cause fer alarm; Fur ther housemaid wuz sleeping near by er cold fire. While ther darter lay on a big sofa near by her, And wuz groanin’ and moanin', an’ callin’ her sire. Naow, erway ter ther village ther busy dame flew, Ter report ter ther neighbors ther gossip she knew; An’ ther people all listened ontil she was through, When they puckered their lips, with er raise ov ther brow, And gave utterance ter an’ emphatical “Naow! Whu’d er thunk it! Thet beats me all holler, Er swoow!” W’en old granny erwoke et wuz late in ther . . day ’ An surprised, bless my stars! but 'bout granther, stay— He wus faound in ther barn where he’d hid in ther hay, An' he acted right curious—dazed, so they said, Like ez es he hod lost all ther brains in his lied ; He said nuthin’, but walked straight up-stairs ter his bed. All ther gossips erbaout hed naow plenty tow du Ter relate ter ther quidnuncs whu would ask ’em, “Whut's nu?’’ An' et soon reached ther ear ov ther Britishers tew; But thor story they told no one ever believed— Whut er scandalous thought! That ther deaconess conceived Sich er story ez thet an’ ther village deceived. Ther idea uv tryin’ ter change tid-bits uv news By inventin’ sich yarns wuz tew filmy er ruse— They’d er mind ov their own ter berlieye ez they’d chuse; Still ther doubt fixed ets raoots in thor minds over few, And they gave ter mer granther ther credit thet’s due, So Er trust you'll be lenient an’ du ther same, too. Thet you’ll speak lightly ov granther’s milky high-fly— Give ther credit ter Old Bess whu hez gone upon high, Ez thor fust celebrator ov the Fourth er July.

Burt Arnold.

READIN' THE DOCKYMENT.

H E Fourth of July at Bolney’s w Grove was not, as the editor of the Burley Oak had prepared himself to say, the most enjoyable event of the season, although, while the committee of arrangements was at ' work there were none of those serious hitches which so often bring about the failure of a commendable enter- ;> prise. In fact, everyworked with ensmoothness jjSuntil it was settled that Colonel Joe Swagerty

should read the Declaration of Independence. Then Miles Brewer got up and said: “Fellers, I had calklated on readin’ that ar dockyment myself. I told a wider woman that I’m goin’ to see, that I would read it, an' es I don’t she’ll think that I ain't got no influence in this here community, an’ my chances will be sp’iled right thar.” “Now, Miles,” replied Colonel Swagertv, “thar you go, flyin’ smack smooth offen the handle. I’m an older man than you air, an’ am ther’fo’ mo’ in accord with the dockyment. Tell you what'll be about right: I’ll read it fust, an’ then es the boys ’low it ain't read right, w’y then you ken give it a whirl.” “I’m a thousan’ times ableeged to you,” Miles replied, “but I ain’t a-goin’ to read no second-hand declaration fur no man; so you ken count me out.” “ Oh, I reckon we ken worry along without you,” said Colonel Swagerty. “All right,” rejoined Miles. “Es thar’s any worryin’ to be done you fellers air goin’ to do it; you ken bet yore old dockyment on that.” “Sorry he went off thater way,” said the chairman of the committee. “Let him go,” replied Colonel Swagerty. tin’t big enough to read a dockyment that kivers the whole country, an’ es he don’t want to come out an’ enjoy hisse’f, w’y, let him stay away. He don’t know ’zackly what the whole thing’s about, nohow. He never heard of the battle of New Orleans, an’ of cou’se hain’t expected to know that the dockyment kivers that purticuler conflick.” The day was beautiful. A number of benches had been arranged in the grove, and a gayly decorated stand had been erected by the Colonel, who, proud of the distinction which he bad won, and determined that the “dockyment” should not be humiliated while in his hands, had bought lumber with his own money, and had, with his own aitistic “paw,” painted an eagle on a bed-sheet and hung it on a swinging limb just above the stand. The brass band from over the creek came in a wagon

which had been used a few days Defore to convey a condemned negro to the place of execution; and a cruel fellow, who is always provided with a wet blanket which he delights in throwing upon the glowing coa's of good cheer, remarked that the negro ought to have been brought to the celebration, and that the band would have rendered more lasting services to the country by being hanged. In view of the fact that the band boys bad only practiced dnring the rainy days of four weeks (and the farmers had complained of dry weather), there was, I reluctantly admit, some justice in the remark. When (he band had ceased to harass that great national air. "Molly Darling,” the Colonel climbed upon the platform. He sat down, and after looking over a number of papers, turned to a friend ar/ wit.i an air of great perplexity said: “Bill, by Rings, I’ve lost that preshus dockyment.” “That’s bad,” Bill replied. “Ain’t you got somethin’ else that’ll do as well?” “I ain’t got a thing but cut-throat mortgages.” “Bead one of them,” Bill suggested. “I'm almost afeerd.” “Oh, you neenter be. Nobody will ever know the diffurence, an’ ’sides that, the Declaration of Independence was only the liftin’ of a mortgage after all." “I hat’s a fact, Billie. You've got a great head on you, my son, an’ es you watch yoie pints like yore Aunt Nancy watchin’ a kittle of b ilin’ soap, you’ll own a cross-roads sto' an’ a new suit of jeans one of these here days. Wall,” getting up, “ the brin’le cat is about ready to make a jump.” Tnen he faced the crowd and said: “Feller citizens, we have met here on this solemn occasion—not so blamed solemn as you mout suppose—met on this lively occasion—not so lively but it mout be worse —to celebrate this great celebration. I will now read to you a dockyment that ” Just then there arose the fearful cry of “Mad dogs!” “Mad dogs!” Six or eight terrific-looking dogs had dashed into the crowd, and (ho people were running fer their lives. Three of the dogs dashed up to the speaker's stand, and, sitting down on

the ground, pointed their noses at the Colonel and the members of the committee. By this time the crowd had dispersed. The Colonel and his friends were alone. “Merciful heaven!” loudly mourned the Colonel, “they are going to jump up here]” The dogs had begun to cut ugly capers. “Grab a limb an’ climb up in the tree,” some one shouted.

The Colonel seized a limb, and after every one else had found a safe lodgment, he succeeded in climbing a short distance, when, to his horror, he found that he could climb no further, and what made the situation still more thrilling, he found that the swinging limb dipped him down to within a few feet of the most ferociouslooking dog. “Oh, Lord!” the miserable man groaned, as he felt himself again dipped down, “I’ll bet anything he nabs mo this time. Why must I be burdened with so much flesh? Can’t you relieve me of a little of it?” “The dog will do that!” shouted some one who was safe in the top of the tree. “You scoundrel,” shouted the Colonel, “you infernal scoundrel Oh, Lord, forgive me for using such harsh language, for lam dipping down again. Oh, Lord, did you see him snap at me? I’m gone—bet a hundred dollars I’m gone. Look at him! Oh, Lord, he’s going to jump at me. Bet a hundred an’ fifty I’m gone.” The day wore away in agony, and a night of misery settled down. The Colonel, alternating between praying and betting, {lapsed the night somehow, and when dayight came the worn-out man saw that the dogs were gone. The Colonel, unable to climb down, turned loose and fell off like a sloth. Miles Brewer, early that morning, called up a pack of bloodhounds, and, as he fed them, remarked: “Good old boys. They tell me that you done yore woik fine. Wouldn’t take noth'n’ fur you. Didn’t hear the readin’ of the dockyment, did you? Good old boys.”

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HE DIDN'T SELL OUT.

Some years ago, when Bamum’s circus passed through a country village, a small boy’s father was too poor to allow his son the chance to see the menagerie. The boy saved some money through selling some fried pies his mother cooked to help him out, and, with a double basket load, on Fourth of July morning he walked to the next village, where he told Barnum his story, and the good-hearted showman passed him in and gave him permission to peddle his pies among the visitors. The boy wandered around with mouth agape at the living curiosities he viewed for the first time, and finally came to the elephants. Here he set his basket down to rest his arm, and while watching one elephant the second reached out and appropriated his basket of pies. The elephants fed themselves with the sweetmeats and politely returned the boy his basket. He started out of the tent with his empty basket and met Mr. Barnum. “Well, well, little boy,” said the showman, “you’ve had good luck, hain’t you? Sold out quickly?” “No, sir,” said the boy, between his sobs. “Didn’t sell them? Why, what have you done with them?” “I—l—l -I didn’t dew nuthin’—wi-wi-wi-with ’em. Th-th-th-tha-thet darned bi-bi-big ingy rubber thing too-too-took ’is t-t-t-ail ’n shoved ’em in his pocket,” blubbered the unfortunate lad, with a series of boo-hoos.

THE GLORIOUS FOURTH.

Words unmarried to ideas! The Glorious Fourth has come! Pound the hollow-sounding drum, Hear the speaker spout his geysers, hurl his cataracts of speech; Hear the eloquence compounded of unmixable ingredients,one per cent, of thought original, Ninty per cent, of screech. The Glorious Fourth has come! Beat the deep-resounding drum, Scorch your fingers, burn your whiskers, shoot a large hole through your head, Fire your cannon, shoot your arm off, break your leg and save your country Then be carried home to bed!

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JAKE’S JOLLIFICATION.

|AKU was tall for his /.years, raw-boned, lank, •stoop-shouldered, and, a stereotyped expression of wide-mouthed ) wonder always on his face, he was as fair a specimen of a backwoods Hoosier as one would wish to see. He was just turned eighteen, having reached that period of his existence when he was inclined to occasionally disregard parental authority and in-

dulge in certain pleasures, such as half-hol-iday trips to the county-seat town, attending picnics or dances on the green, an occasional horse-race, etc., to all of which his father entered the most strenuous objections, but generally without avail. But, taken all in all, Jacob Poe was not wholly bad; in fact, he was in many respects a most excellent boy. He had known no)hing but a life of the most slavish toil ever since he had been old enough to “pack” water in a jug to the hands in the field; and as he grew up his duties increased until, several years before we have introduced him to your notice, he had done a man’s work on the farm. He drove team, plowed, worked picking “trash” and rolling logs in the “clearing,” and "made his hand” in the harvest field, and had received for it his clothes, board, and three mouths’ schooling each year. In a vague and somewhat nebulous manner Jake felt that he had reason for being at times discontented and rebellious. He had an illy defined idea that he ought to be do-

ing better in the world than he was doing; but with his limited knowledge of the world and its ways, and his lack of booklearning, he was naturally timid about launching out in any enterprise of his own. One bright morning late in June he had been plowing corn in the bottom field until, becoming tired and thirsty, he tied his horse in the fence-corner while he himself sought a neighboring spring to drink from its cooling waters and to rest in the grateful shade of the thick woods, along the Borders of which lay the cornfield where he had been at work. While reclining at full length on his back on the grassy carpet which old Dame Nature had so kindly laid, and gazing upward into a sky as blue and beaut ful as only a June sky can be, his ear caught ths sound of voices. Instantly he was on his feet, and, casing his eyes in the direction of the highway, which was only a few rods distant, he saw two men seated in a beautiful painted wagon and apparently talking to some others at the roadside. “Jeeminy! What’s that?” he ejaculated, and at once started toward them. As he clambered up onto the fence by the roadside, he saw painted in big letters on the side of the wagon the word “Barnum,” while a little distance away were ten men plastering tbe walls of an old deserted blacksmith shop with flaming posters announcing that the “triple alliance of matchless aggregations,” etc., would exhibit in Kokomo, for one day only, July the Fourth. Jake forgot all about his horse and plow and the corn which was needing his attention so badly. As one by one, and section by section, the great colored sheets went up, his interest increased, until having finally taken in the full grandeur of the coming show, he exclaimed: “It’s a dang shame fer old Barnum to bring hiß cirkus ’long here jest in the beginin’ of wheat enttin’. Why’n thunder can’t be wait till after harvest, then a feller might stan’ sum chaincte of goin’.’! i A moment later, however, the cloud on his face brightened, and the thought which had lifted it found expression; “Thtmner

■ HE Glorious Fourth has come! Beat the loud-re-sounding drum, thoot the cracker,fire the pistol, punch the Eagle, make him scream; Day of powder and torpedoes, iemon- -» ade that knows no lemon, ginger-pop devoid of ginger, Ice-cream innocent of > cream! - The Glorious Fourth has come! Beat the patriotic drum. Tune the fife, and blow the bugle, shoot the rocket through the spheres; Let the iapidmouthed declaiiner pour his patriotic passion, eloquence divorced from meaning,

and liten, I kin go at night; it’s only eight miles to town, and I kin ride it after supper—es pap’ll let me off.” By this time the men had finished (heir work and hastily climbing into tlieir wagon, they drove rapidly away. Jack watched them until they disappeared around a bend in the road, when he slowly got down from the fence and returned to his work. “I reckon,” said old man Poe that day at dinner, “that pervidin’ the weather keeps on favorin’ us, the wheat’ll do to cut by the Fourth; fact right smart chaincte of its beg linin' to turn a’ready.” “Oh, pshaw, pap!” said Jake, “you’re alius crowdin’ the cattle. I think the wheat’s ’bout as backward this year as I ever saw it. Tenny rate I don’t think we kin cut a lick in it till after the Fourth. ’Sides, I’m a goin’ to the cirkus that day, and you might as well make your ’rangements that way now.” It is unnecessary to give (he dialogue which followed Jake’s declaration as above quoted; but suffice it to say the matter was compromised by his father agreeing to let him off in time to attend the night performance in case they were in the wheat field on the Fourth, and if not, Jake was to have the whole day for a holiday. * * *- * * * *

At an early hour on the momiDg of the Fourth, the streets of Kokomo presented a lively appearance. Judging from the almost countless number of country people who crowded and jostled along the pave, sat in stairw'ays and in stores when seats weie to be obtained at all, there was very little wheat cut in Howard County that day. As the hours went slowly by (he crowd increased, until by ten o’clock tbe four sides of the public square were lined with a dense mass of sweltering humanity, while the large, green plat about the Court House, shaded as it was by a goodly number of thrifty young maples, was a veritable picnic ground, on which many were already eating their luncheons so as to be in ample time to get t ckets for the afternoon performance. Need I tell you our friend Jake was among the very earliest arrivals? I fancy

not. He had ridden a colt into town, apd knowing it would not stand “hitched out” all day long, he had put it up at the livery, and with “Dud.” Perkins, his faithful friend and chum, had been down to the show-grounds to see the procession form, had made friends with some of the hostlers in the stables, and by carrying several tubs of water fiom the creek close by, had before ten o’clock, earned their tickets of admission into the show. The parade was grand; in fact, the most skeptically inclined, those who came expecting to be humbugged, said it was the biggest thing they had ever seen, and that the show was suretobe immense. Indeed, many wbo openly avowed that they came only to see the parade, and who had declared that that was all that would be worth seeing, now concluded to stay and witness the afternoon’s entertainment. Among those earliest in their seats under the. huge canopy of canvas were Jake and “Dud.” The show opened, as do all circuses, with the grand entree; and then followed act after act, in such swift and bewildering succession, and of such a wonderful character, that our two friends mutually confessed, as did many others, no doubt, that they wouldn’t have missed it for anything. Finally one of the old clowns cams bounding into the ring, followed by a small but wicked-looking mule, which he introduced as the famous trick mule. He also stated with much elegance of phrase that Mr. Bamum offered one hundred dollars in gold to any one who would be able to ride the little fellow three times around the main ring. Now Jake had, as yet, never seen the four-footed animal which he could not ride. So after much earnest consultation with “Dud, ” he stepped out and offered to make the attempt to stride the little mule that had so far succeeded in pitching his previous riders over his head, and that almosf before they knew it. The ringmaster offered to hold Pedro, as the mule was called, while Jake got on; but Jake declined his kindness. Quick as a flash he was on the animal's back, and had locked his long legs under its belly and entwined his arms about its neck; then lying forward, he took one of its ears between his teeth and began to bite it fiercely. Amazed at this new treatment, and stung with pain, Pedro forgot to cut his antics, but dashed off at furious gallop, and almost before the slowmen —or t e crowd either, for that matter —had realized it, had run three times about the ring. As Jake quickly slid from the little fellow’s back, the cheers and sLouts of' the aud.ence wore almost deafening, while he, hardly realizing what he had done, stood and gazed first at tha sea of faces, then at the clown, the mule and the ringmaster, like one in a dream. Still more was he fiust rated when Mr. Bamum himself stepped into the ring, and, taking Jake by the hand, praised him for his pluck, tact and excebent horsemanship, and presented him with the purse containing one hundred dollars in bright shining gold. Jake,-in a confused way, thanked him, and was turning to go when the old showman caught him by the arm, and with him standing by his side mounted a lrgh stcol. He then introduced Jake to the audience, and amid a hurricane of applause the poor fellow was allowed to take his seat. Jake was the lion of the hour, and he is to-day the hero of his neighborhood. For miles around be is known as Pedro Jake, “the feller, and the only feller, who ever rid the trick mule at Barnum s < irons. ’’

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