Democratic Sentinel, Volume 11, Number 22, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 1 July 1887 — READIN' THE DOCKYMENT. [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

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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