Democratic Sentinel, Volume 11, Number 22, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 1 July 1887 — OLD BESS. [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

OLD BESS.

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.

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,

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.