Democratic Sentinel, Volume 16, Number 25, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 8 July 1892 — JUDGE BURNS’ SPEECH. [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

JUDGE BURNS’ SPEECH.

OTHEEthe speech! W I wish to goodness ypfv the Fourth of July /Twlwas over!” Mr. Jeffrey groaned as C if all the Bins of 1 i— — Chicago were loadI'pi' ed on his conscience, t—-- Presently he remarked in a calm . voice to his pretty young wife behind the teakettle: “Mrs. !£§§? Jeffrey, these biscuits are a success.” "vl when Mr. Jefh frey had said so the \J ** last half of the sev- (£ enth hot biscuit, ' with its thick coat

of butter, reached the place where the groan had come from. But while stirring his fifth cup of tea he said, with another groan: “That speech makes me lose my appetite. You don’t know how a fellow can be worried about his maiden speech, Molly!' You need not fret about such things. That’s a comfort, anyway." “You need not worry either, Jeff. Ask to be excused, if it bothers you. They will invite somebody else to take your place. ’’ “Won’t do, Molly! I was rather pleased when the committee asked me, and so I promised right away. It would look bad to back out now. ” “Look here, Will, suppose I write that speech for you, and you deliver it. ” “Oh, Moll, I would not think of such a thing!” “Why not? Why can’t we help each other in this as in everything else? The one of us that finds the thing easier ought to do it. ” “It’s a great deal harder than you think.” “I remember the time when I was Molly Boss. I thought it a great deal easier then to dash off an oration than to bake a decent loaf of bread. Well, shall I write it for you? ” “No, thank you, Molly. It would never do, I am afraid. A fellow ought to stand on his own ground. I am bound to do it all by myself." He looked the picture of proud independence. “All right, Will, do just a 3 you think best.” Bhe seemed a little humiliated.

“Never mind, Molly 1 I believe in your biscuits and coffee and butter, and lots of other things. You are about as nice and good a little wife as any fellow could wish for; but I would not have you dabble in political speeches. St. Paul doesn’t approve of it, either,” he added jocularly. “I don’t think St. Paul would object if he could come back. So broad-mind-ed a man as he would be sure to alter some of his opinions for the use of our times. Besides, I offered to write it in order to relieve you, sir. A woman can write and still hold her tongue, and keep below the rostrum.” “All right. You see, Molly, there is another hitch. You can’t argue that away, if you tried ever so hard. I don’t believe a woman can say all she has to say in five minutes. No speaker will be allowed more than five minutes at the celebration. Now, a woman never knows when to stop. She can’t do it to save her life. Her tongue will wag about things in general for half an hour, and by that time she is generally so excited you could not stop her any more than you could stop a watch that’s wound up for the day. You would have to bu’st it or throw it in the water; nothing less violent could stop it. ” “Do stop, Jeff, you horrid man! There, that’s nice! And I, who thought I had trained you well to think highly of me and the rest of us women! You will have to be put through a new and special course of training, sir. And as for that speech, .you may sigh about it as much as you please, for all I care. I would not write that speech for you now if you went down on your knees to ask me for it—no, sir. You will have to write it by your own proud self, hubby.” The big, bearded young “hubby” evidently thought her mock anger a good joke. “No, I won’t waste a drop of ink on it,” he said. “Wo are just going to think it over on the stoop, my pipe and I. I guess I can see through it before to-morrow morning. ” When the roosters awoke Mr. Jeffrey next morning before sunrise he said: “Molly, you ought to have heard my speech! It went off like a rocket; the people clapped like fury, and the fellows yelled themselves hoarse. I dreamed it was the Fourth of July-, and my speech came off first-rate in four minutes fifty seconds. Ido wish it had Lot toeen a dream!”

Molly Boss had been a village sohool teacher. She was a small, airy creature, and still she understood how to wind the biggest boys round her little fingers. They were tame enough in her presence, but behind her back they were ready to fight for the honor of carrying coal to her stove, and the bliss of drawing water for her at the well. There never had been so popular a schoolmarm in that village, But at the very height of her popularity Miss Boss handed in her resignation to the trustees, and disappt ared from the world at the end of the month. At that period she was seen entering a village church, where a simple marriage ceremony changed her into Mrs. Jeffrey, the wife of a struggling farmer from the neighborhood. Miss Molly Boss had worked five hours a day and rested on Saturdays,Sundays,legal holidays and summer vacation; Mrs. Jeffrey worked sixteen hours a day and knew of no Saturday holidays, no Sunday rest, no summer vacation. Miss Molly Boss had cashed S4O a month; Mrs. Jeffrey cashed just S4O s less. Still Mr 3. Jeffrey was supremely happy, even after a year of married life, and could not understand

how in the world she could have gotten along as Molly Boss. What a great difference loves makes, anyway! The young couple were doing well, but they had to work very hard. He toiled in the fields and stable from sunrise till sunset certain parts of the year; she worked in the kitchen and dairy all dav long, all year round, and had breath enough left to sing merrily at her work. And she had the loveliest color in her cheeks, not due to cosmetics, but manufactured by the old reliable firm, Youth, Health and Kitchen fire.

It was haymaking time on the farm—a busy, warm time. The Fourth of July, the village celebration, and Mr. Jeffrey’s maiden speech were drawing close. Dinner was over—dish-washing too—and Mrs. Molly now proceeded to churn butter. A buggy stopped at the gate; an elderly gentleman, with gray whiskers and gold spectacles, came walking up to the house, and shook Mrs. Jeffrey’s outstretched hand on the doorstep, where the little lady, in her neat .print dress and white apyon, had come to meet her unexpected visitor, one of her former school trustees, “I am so glad to see you, Judge Burns!” said her lips and her smile, and she meant it. “How are you and your people? Take this rocking-chair.” “I am sorry I can not stay, Mrs. Jeffrey; I am on my way to Pinelake on business. Very warm day—the dust nearly choked me —so I thought I would come and ask you fora drink out of your well, if you will allow me, Mrs. Jeffrey.” They were, both standing by “the old oaken buckfet” at the well, where the Judge had enjoyed a cool drink. “I am sorry Mr. Jeffrey missed your visit,” said Mrs. Jeffrey. “I know he would be delighted to have a talk with you! Could you not come in to tea on your way back from Pinelake? Mr. Jeffrey will be in then. We shall bo so happy to have you—and there will be fresh buttermilk by that time. I remember you were fond of it. ” “I saw Mr. Jeffrey in the fields a little way off,” the Judge remarked, with a smile. “I do believe he was talking to the hay-stacks. .1 am nearly sure I caught some scraps of an oration. He stood there, pitchfork in hand, before a row of stacks, and harangued them: ‘Ladies and gentlemen! On this memorable day.’ I knew he was practicing his Fourth of July speech, and sympathized with him, for I am in the same box. For Mr. Jeffrey it has at least the charm of novelty; but wait until he has served the same dish some fifteen or twenty years; he will be pretty tired of patriotic speeches by that time.” He smiled and she smiled. “He complains now already. I offered to write that little speech for him, but he declined.” “Declined! Did he, really? Well, well. Look here, Mrs. Jeffrey, let somebody else have it. Ask me, for instance.” “Oh, Judge Bums; you are joking.” “Not at all, not at all, my dear madam; I never was more in earnest. Do let me have that speech, please! lam willing to stoop down to pick up the crumbs that fall from the rich man’s board—in this case. But remember, it must be short—five minutes, and no more.”

“Would it not be a capital joke on Mr. Jeffrey?” the lady said, half-musingly. “Well, Judge, I don’t care if I write it, for the fun of the thing. You must not tell him, though, before the Fourth of July is over. After the celebration you may tell him whenever you like. ” “I can keep my peaoe if you can, Mrs. Jeffrey. Will you write it while I go to Pinelake’ I might stop here on my return, in a couple of hours, and get tlfb manuscript. ” “I could not possibly do that. Business goes before pleasure, you know. I have my butter to churn.” “Look here; suppose you let me churn your butter while you write the speech?” The old gentleman was by this time fairly interested in this novel transaction. He went to tie the horse and buggy under a shade tree, while thinking by himself: “There Is plenty of time, and it will be cooler to drive in an hour or so. Churning is easy enough, lam sure; it’s women’s work. It won’t take me long. It will be quite a change, too —variatio delectat. It will be inter-

esting to see what kind of opus that smart little lady turns out." Mr. Jeffrey practiced oratory before an audience of haystacks, in the sweat of his honest brow. Puck, the Judge’s horse, made frantic efforts to keep off the flies. Mrs. Molly sat in the parlor, where her marriage certificate and teacher’s diploma looked down upon her out of their frames. Her pen was busily rasping over the note paper, and the writer looked pretty, cool and happy. Judge Burns looked neither cool nor happy in the cellar, sitting on a stool before an old-fashioned churn. The old gentleman was fast losing his temper, and making but slow progress with the butter. He did not find it as easy as he thought—no woman’s work by any means. Why, he felt like swearing, so thoroughly out of patience was he with that old churn, a regular mediaeval instrument of torture. He felt like shaking Jeffrey, too, if he had been on hand to lie shaken. “He was a brute; that's what he was,” Judge Burns muttered, “that big, burly young fellow, to let that delicate-looking, little wife of his make such a slave of herself, and break her back over that abominable chum! He would give Jeffrey a talking to. Thank heaven, Mrs. Burns has never been asked to do such work. Why, it was outrageous to let a woman handle that chum.”

Bang, splash, bang, splash, up and down went the stick of the churn. The work grew heavier and heavier, the Judge hotter and hotter. Down flew the gold spectacles; the hat followed suit; soon the coat lay on the floor alongside of the hat. Bang, splash, said the chum. With a final bang the Judge jumped up from his stool in sheer despair, growling between his teeth: “Goodness sakes! Millennium will be at hand before that butter is done!” “Well, Judge, how are you getting on?” said a cheery voice, and Mrs. Jeffrey’s light print dress lit up the cellar door. He picked up his coat and hat with a dazed, haggard look, and said, “This is not lady’s work, Mrs. Jeffrey. I found out as much as that. You ought

not to work that chum; you will hurt yourself. ” “I chum three times a week. I don’t mind it much now; I am used to it." Seeing how tired he looked, she suddenly changed the subjeot, and said: “Do come with me out of this gloomy plaoo to the veranda. There is quite a breeze now.” She picked up his glasses an(J wiped them on her apron, while he preceded her up stairs. “This is the nicest corner in the afternoon, and this is the easiest rocking-chair. Sit down, sir. There is a palm-leaf. Now get cool and comfortable while I come back with fresh buttermilk for you. Won’t you enjoy buttermilk of your own making? Here are your glasses, and here is—the speech. ” She pulled it out of her apron pocket and handed it reluctantly and timidly. "Now, please don’t make fun of my work, and I will praise yours so much more. ” She courtesied and disappeared. Mr. Burns put on his glasses without delay, unfolded the few leaflets, rfnd read. And when he was through read-

ing he looked as if he had been listening to the first bluebird’s eong in early spring. Ho was in iho best humor by the time Mrs. Jeffrey appeared with a pitcher full of buttermilk. “What do you think of the butter?” ho called out. “It’s a great success, and I congratulate you; and I am ever so much obliged to you, Mr. Burns. ” Then she added, in an undertone: “And the speech?” “It could not be improved upon, my dear Mrs. Jeffrey. You are an orator to the manner born, upon my word. Allow me to congratulate and express my thanks." They shook hands over the pitcher of buttermilk and laughed like a couple of happy children. A moment after, Judge Burns, with the Fourth of July oration in his breast pocket, drove Puck on toward Pinelake.

The Fourth of July had come, and proved to be a regular scorcher. There wa s a noisy crowd at the village celebration, and the market-place was thickly strewn with burnt out fire-crackers, peanut shells, banana and orange peels. The speakers’ platform was ablaze with bunting, and every window around the square seemed a lrame for pretty faces and gorgeous millinery. Mr. Jeffrey’s speech was one of the first on the programme, but it was by no means one of the best. He began solemnly in a voice as loud as a fog-horn: “Ladies and gentlemen—this memorable day,” etc. For one minute there was a flow of pompous phrases, carefully committed to memory—then there came a sudden stop—another start—another stop. The tall speaker pulled up his shirt collar as if he was choking, started anew, got more and more entangled, wished himself a mile under ground, flushed, stammered, and was at last gently reminded by the president that his time was up. Tho last speaker was Judge Burns. And what a wonderful speech he made! There was no end of cheering and clapping. Tho girls waved their handkerchief, after having wiped off their tears. “Wasn’t it perfectly lovely?” “Just too lovely for anything! ” The women smiled hud the men nodded approval. “It was a-daisy and no mistake.” “Hurrah for Judge Bums.” “Three cheers for Hezekiah Burns.” At an open window opposite the platform sat the postmaster’s wife, and beside her a little lady in a white dress, with a pretty, flushed face and a pair of very bright eyes fixed on the speaker, and turning to the village clock the moment Judge Burns closed his oration. Mr. and Mrs. Jeffrey drove home early after the celebration. He had nothing to say, and was as cross as a bear after his failure. His wife did not show any sympathy either—so unlike j her, too. She seemed to have enjoyed ; herself thoroughly. Everything seemed i funny to her on the way home, where ho could see no fun at all. Her very laugh grated on his ear for the first time. “Catch me making a fool of myself again in public! ” he thought, but he did not say so. While he put the horse in the stable Mrs. Molly got the tea ready, an unusually good tea, and just the kind of jelly he liked best. In the evening she actually struck a match to light his pipe on the stoop, and laughingly pulled his curly hair. “What’s the matter with you to- i night, Molly? I don’t see what tickles you.” “I suppose it’s the celebration that | has gone to my head. It is Fourth of I July but once a year.” “Yes, thank goodness!” he muttered, j puffing away at his pipe. Next morning’s mail brought a couple ( of letters and the local paper. This once \ the Guide seemed the center of attrac- j tion to both Mr. and Mrs. J. “Let’s see about the celebration," she said, eagerly. “Do read aloud, I Will ” “rfaven’t time. It would take me all | the afternoon. Here are columns and ! columns, but not about me; Oh, yes, sure enough. They are ‘in hopes Mr. Jeffrey’s com crop will turn out a great- I er success than his oration.’ Well, I | don’t care what they say,” He laughed j good-naturedly, for he had gotten over I his mortification. “Here is Judge Bums’ J speech; nearly all of it, it seems, and half a column of eulogy on it, Just lis- l ten what they say: ‘A perfect jewel of } poetic expression—ia chaste pearl of ora- J tory—dewy freshness—a lightning flash j of patriotic eloquence.’ Are you chok- j ing, Molly?” She was as red as a berry, j coughed and laughed alternately, j “Well, I must say it was a flrst-rato j speech, lut no more than might be expected of a lawyer who has the gift of gab. He is an old hand at that sort of thing. Why, he Uas spoken in public these last thirty years. It’s his business to talk, just as it Is mine to raise corn and wheat. How did you like his speech, I Molly?” “I can’t say I thought it so very won- | derful,” she said. “It was nice enough, and short. He was through before his time was up. I noticed that more than anything else.” “You don’t mean (o say so? Why, I thought of you while he spoke—how you would appreciate him. They were all wild about that speech, both men and women. It was full of fun and fire and enthusiasm. Choking again, Molly? Shall I slap you on your back?” She shook her head. “Yes, he understands J his business, that’s certain. What’s j that? Looks very much like Burns' I handwriting. What can he have to writs about?” j Mrs. Molly flushed to the very roots ol j

hor wavy hair, while Mr. Jeffrey out the : envelope with a table-knife, and fell ! into a brown-study over his letter. His wife watched him With a roguish twinkle Jin her eyes. He looked as if he was reading the will of a maiden aunt whose ; Inheritance he had been sure of, and who had suddenly died after changing | her will in favor of tho Hottentot mis- ; slon. The letter really was. from Judgo Burns, and read as follows: ! Mr Dear Mr. jErrREv: Excuse an old friend who gladly took what you had deI dined. The oration I delivered yesterday, literally after the manuscript, was tho | work of Mrs. Jeffrey. While she wrote that ; very excellent spfeeeh, which I accepted us I a godsend, I took her place at the churn, and spent ono of the most laborious hours of my life making butter. The transaction being altogether in my favor, 1 feel : very much indebted to Mrs. Jeffrey, and I hope she will accept a token of my sincere regard in the shape of a now patented churn, which, as the manufacturers claim, will make churning a more child’s play, i My dear Mr. Jeffrey, your partner in marriage has more brains, heart, and enoVgy than you and I taken together. Sincerely your friend, Hezekiah E. Burns. “Molly, did—did you really write that speech?” “Yes, sir," said Mrs. Molly. “And il came off inside of five minutes, sir. Your coffee is cold. Let me give you another cup, Willie, dear.”—Ceoil Gohl, in Harper’s Bazar.

REHEARSING TO THE HAYSTACKS.

JUDGE BURNS AT THE CHURN.