by Rick Raphael
BANTY TIM
REMARKS OF SERGEANT TILMON JOY TO THE WHITE MAN'S COMMITTEE OF SPUNKYPOINT, ILLINOIS
BY JOHN HAY
I reckon I git your drift, gents,-- You 'low the boy sha'n't stay; This is a white man's country; You're Dimocrats, you say; And whereas, and seein', and wherefore, The times bein' all out o' j'int, The nigger has got to mosey From the limits o' Spunky P'int!
Le's reason the thing a minute: I'm an old-fashioned Dimocrat too, Though I laid my politics out o' the way For to keep till the war was through. But I come back here, allowin' To vote as I used to do, Though it gravels me like the devil to train Along o' sich fools as you.
Now dog my cats ef I kin see, In all the light of the day, What you've got to do with the question Ef Tim shill go or stay. And furder than that I give notice, Ef one of you tetches the boy, He kin check his trunks to a warmer clime Than he'll find in Illanoy.
Why, blame your hearts, jest hear me! You know that ungodly day When our left struck Vicksburg Heights, how ripped And torn and tattered we lay. When the rest retreated I stayed behind, Fur reasons sufficient _to_ me,-- With a rib caved in, and a leg on a strike, I sprawled on that cursed glacee.
Lord! how the hot sun went for us, And br'iled and blistered and burned! How the Rebel bullets whizzed round us When a cuss in his death-grip turned! Till along toward dusk I seen a thing I couldn't believe for a spell: That nigger--that Tim--was a crawlin' to me Through that fire-proof, gilt-edged hell!
The Rebels seen him as quick as me, And the bullets buzzed like bees; But he jumped for me, and shouldered me, Though a shot brought him once to his knees; But he staggered up, and packed me off, With a dozen stumbles and falls, Till safe in our lines he drapped us both, His black hide riddled with balls.
So, my gentle gazelles, thar's my answer, And here stays Banty Tim: He trumped Death's ace for me that day, And I'm not goin' back on him! You may rezoloot till the cows come home, But ef one of you tetches the boy, He'll wrastle his hash to-night in hell, Or my name's not Tilmon Joy!
EVENING
_By A Tailor_
BY OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES
Day hath put on his jacket, and around His burning bosom buttoned it with stars. Here will I lay me on the velvet grass, That is like padding to earth's meager ribs, And hold communion with the things about me. Ah me! how lovely is the golden braid That binds the skirt of night's descending robe! The thin leaves, quivering on their silken threads, Do make a music like to rustling satin, As the light breezes smooth their downy nap.
Ha! what is this that rises to my touch, So like a cushion? Can it be a cabbage? It is, it is that deeply injured flower, Which boys do flout us with;--but yet I love thee, Thou giant rose, wrapped in a green surtout. Doubtless in Eden thou didst blush as bright As these, thy puny brethren; and thy breath Sweetened the fragrance of her spicy air; But now thou seemest like a bankrupt beau, Stripped of his gaudy hues and essences, And growing portly in his sober garments.
Is that a swan that rides upon the water? O no, it is that other gentle bird, Which is the patron of our noble calling. I well remember, in my early years, When these young hands first closed upon a goose; I have a scar upon my thimble finger, Which chronicles the hour of young ambition. My father was a tailor, and his father, And my sire's grandsire, all of them were tailors; They had an ancient goose,--it was an heirloom From some remoter tailor of our race. It happened I did see it on a time When none was near, and I did deal with it, And it did burn me,--O, most fearfully!
It is a joy to straighten out one's limbs, And leap elastic from the level counter, Leaving the petty grievances of earth, The breaking thread, the din of clashing shears, And all the needles that do wound the spirit, For such a pensive hour of soothing silence. Kind Nature, shuffling in her loose undress, Lays bare her shady bosom;--I can feel With all around me;--I can hail the flowers That sprig earth's mantle,--and yon quiet bird, That rides the stream, is to me as a brother. The vulgar know not all the hidden pockets, Where Nature stows away her loveliness. But this unnatural posture of the legs Cramps my extended calves, and I must go Where I can coil them in their wonted fashion.
THE OLD SETTLER
_His Reasons for Thinking there is Natural Gas in Deep Rock Gulley_
BY ED. MOTT
"I see by the papers, Squire," said the Old Settler, "that they'rea-finding signs o' coal ile an' nat'ral gas like sixty here an' thar indeestric's not so terrible fur from here, an' th't konsekently land theyusety beg folks to come an' take offen their hands at any price at allis wuth a dollar now, jist for a peep over the stun wall at it. Theminute a feller finds signs o' ile or nat'ral gas on his plantation heneedn't lug home his supplies in a quart jug no more, but kin roll 'emin by the bar'l, fer signs o' them kind is wuth more an inch th'n asartin-per-sure grass an' 'tater farm is wuth an acre."
"Guess yer huggin' the truth pooty clus fer wunst, Major," replied theSquire, "but th' hain't none o' them signs ez likely to strike anywharin our bailiwick ez lightnin' is to kill a crow roostin' on the NorthPole. Thuz one thing I've alluz wanted to see," continued the Squire,"but natur' has ben agin me an' I hain't never seen it, an' that thingis the h'istin' of a balloon. Th' can't be no balloons h'isted nowhar,I'm told, 'nless thuz gas to h'ist it with. I s'pose if we'd ha' had gashere, a good many fellers with balloons 'd ha' kim 'round this way an'showed us a balloon raisin' ev'ry now an' then. Them must be luckydeestric's that's got gas, an' I'd like to hev somebody strike it 'roundhere some'rs, jist fer the sake o' havin' the chance to see a balloonh'istin' 'fore I turn my toes up. But that's 'bout ez liable to happenez it is fer to go out an' find a silver dollar rollin' up hill an' myname gouged in it."
"Don't ye be so consarned sure o' that, Squire," said the Old Settlermysteriously, and with a knowing shake of his head. "I've beena-thinkin' a leetle sence readin' 'bout them signs o' gas, b'gosh! Ihain't been only thinkin', but I've been a-recollectin', an' the chancesis th't me an' you'll see wonders yet afore we paddle over Jurdan. I'ma-gointer tell ye fer w'y, but I hadn't orter, Squire, an' if it wa'n'tfer makin' ye 'shamed o' yerself, an' showin' th't truth squashed in themud is bound to git up agin if ye give her time, I wouldn't do it. Yemowt remember th't jist ten years ago this month I kim in from a leetleb'ar hunt. I didn't bring in no b'ar, but I fotched back an up-an'-upaccount o' how I had shot one, on' how th' were sumpin' fearful an'queer an' amazin' in the p'formances o' that b'ar arter bein' shot.Mebby ye 'member me a-tellin' ye that story, Squire, an' you a-tellin'me right in my teeth th't ye know'd th't some o' yer friends had took tolyin', but th't ye didn't think any of 'em had it so bad ez that. But Ihain't a-holdin' no gredge, an' now I'll tell ye sumpin' that'll s'priseye.
"Ez I tol' ye at the time, Squire, I got the tip ten year ago thismonth, th't unless somebody went up to Steve Groner's hill place an'poured a pound or two o' lead inter a big b'ar th't had squatted on tha'farm, th't Steve wouldn't hev no live-stock left to pervide pork an'beef fer his winterin' over, even if he managed to keep hisself an'fam'ly theirselfs from linin' the b'ar's innards. I shouldered my gunan' went up to Steve's to hev some fun with bruin, an' to save Steve'sstock, an' resky him an' his folks from the rampagin' b'ar.
"'He's a rip-snorter,' Steve says to me, w'en I got thar. 'He don'tthink nuthin' o' luggin' off a cow,' he says, 'an' ye don't wanter hevyer weather eye shet w'en you an' him comes together,' he says.
"'B'ars,' I says to Steve, 'b'ars is nuts fer me, an' the bigger an'sassier they be,' I says, 'the more I inj'y 'em,' I says, an' with thatI clim' inter the woods to show bruin th't th' wa'n't room enough herebelow fer me an' him both. Tain't necessary fer me to tell o' thehalf-doze
n or more lively skrimmages me an' that b'ar had ez we folleredan' chased one another round an' round them woods--how he'd hide ahindsome big tree or stumps, an' ez I went by, climb on to me with all fouro' his feet an' yank an' bite an' claw an' dig meat an' clothes offen metill I slung him off an' made him skin away to save his bacon; an' howI'd lay the same way fer him, an' w'en he come sneakin' 'long arter meagin, pitch arter him like a mad painter, an' swat an' pound an' chokean' rassel him till his tongue hung out, till I were sorry for him, an'let him git away inter the brush agin to recooperate fer the next round.'Tain't wuth w'ile fer me to say anything 'bout them little skrimmages'cept the last un, an' that un wa'n't a skrimmage but sumpin' that'd 'a'skeert some folks dead in their tracks.
"Arter havin' a half-dozen or so o' rassels with this big b'ar, jist ferfun, I made up my mind, ez 'twere gettin' late, an' ez Steve Groner'sfolks was mebby feelin' anxious to hear which was gointer run the farm,them or the b'ar, th't the next heat with bruin would be for keeps. Iguess the ol' feller had made up his mind the same way, fer w'en I runagin him the las' time, he were riz up on his hind legs right on theedge o' Deep Rock Gulley, and were waitin' fer me with his jaws wideopen. I unslung my gun, an' takin' aim at one o' the b'ar's forepaws,thought I'd wing him an' make him come away from the edge o' the gulley'fore I tackled him. The ball hit the paw, an' the b'ar throw'd 'em bothup. But he throw'd 'em up too fur, an' he fell over back'rd, an' wenthead foremost inter the gulley. Deep Rock Gulley ain't an inch less'nfifty foot from top to bottom, an' the walls is ez steep ez the side ofa house. I went up to the edge an' looked over. Ther' were the b'arlayin' on his face at the bottom, whar them queer cracks is in theground, an' he were a-howlin' like a hurricane and kickin' like a mule.Ther' he laid, and he wa'n't able to rise up. Th' wa'n't no way o'gettin' down to him 'cept by tumblin' down ez he had, an' if everanybody were poppin' mad I were, ez I see my meat a-layin' at the bottomo' that gulley, an' the crows a-getherin' to hev a picnic with it. Themore I kept my eyes on that b'ar the madder I got, an' I were jist aboutto roll and tumble an' slide down the side o' that gulley ruther than goback home an' say th't I'd let the crows steal a b'ar away from me, w'enI see a funny change comin' over the b'ar. He didn't howl so much, andhis kicks wa'n't so vicious. Then his hind parts began to lift themse'fsup offen the ground in a cur'ous sort o' way, and swung an' bobbed inthe air. They kep' raisin' higher an' higher, till the b'ar wereact'ally standin' on his head, an' swayin' to and fro ez if a wind wereblowin' him an' he couldn't help it. The sight was so oncommon out o'the reg'lar way b'ars has o' actin' that it seemed skeery, an' I felt ezif I'd ruther be home diggin' my 'taters. But I kep' on gazin' at theb'ar a-circusin' at the bottom o' the gulley, an 't wa'n't long 'forethe hull big carcase begun to raise right up offen the ground an' comea-floatin' up outen the gulley, fer all the world ez if 't wa'n't more'na feather. The b'ar come up'ards tail foremost, an' I noticed th't helooked consid'able puffed out like, makin' him seem lik' a bar'lsailin' in the air. Ez the b'ar kim a-floatin' out o' the dep's I couldfeel my eyes begin to bulge, an' my knees to shake like a jumpin'jack's. But I couldn't move no more'n a stun wall kin, an' thar I stoodon the edge o' the gulley, starin' at the b'ar ez it sailed on up to'rdme. The b'ar were making a desper't effort to git itself back to itsnat'ral p'sition on all fours, but th' wa'n't no use, an' up he sailed,tail foremost, an' lookin' ez if he were gointer bust the next minute,he were swelled out so. Ez the b'ar bobbed up and passed by me I couldha' reached out an' grabbed him by the paw, an' I think he wanted me to,the way he acted, but I couldn't ha' made a move to stop him, not ifhe'd ha' ben my gran'mother. The b'ar sailed on above me, an' th' were alook in his eyes th't I won't never fergit. It was a skeert look, an' alook that seemed to say th't it were all my fault, an' th't I'd be sorryfer it some time. The b'ar squirmed an' struggled agin comin' to setchan' onheerdon end, but up'ard he went, tail foremost, to'ard the clouds.
"I stood thar par'lyzed w'ile the b'ar went up'ard. The crows that hadbeen settlin' round in the trees, 'spectin' to hev a bully meal, went toflyin' an' scootin' around the onfortnit b'ar, an' yelled till I weredurn nigh deef. It wa'n't until the b'ar had floated up nigh onto ahundred yards in the air, an' begun to look like a flyin' cub, that mysenses kim back to me. Quick ez a flash I rammed a load inter my rifle,wrappin' the ball with a big piece o' dry linen, not havin' time to tearit to the right size. Then I took aim an' let her go. Fast ez the ballwent, I could see that the linen round it had been sot on fire by thepowder. The ball overtook the b'ar and bored a hole in his side. Thenthe funniest thing of all happened. A streak o' fire a yard long shotout o' the b'ar's side where the bullet had gone in, an' ez long ezthat poor bewitched b'ar were in sight--fer o' course I thort at thetime th't the b'ar were bewitched--I could see that streak o' firesailin' along in the sky till it went out at last like a shootin' star.I never knowed w'at become o' the b'ar, an' the hull thing were astartlin' myst'ry to me, but I kim home, Squire, an' tol' ye the story,jest ez I've tol' ye now, an' ye were so durn polite th't ye said I werea liar. But sence, I've been a-thinkin' an' recollectin'. Squire, Idon't hold no gredge. The myst'ry's plain ez day, now. We don't want nobetter signs o' gas th'n th't, do we, Squire?"
"Than what?" said the Squire.
"Than what!" exclaimed the Old Settler. "Than that b'ar, o' course!That's w'at ailed him. It's plain enough th't thuz nat'ral gas on theGroner place, an' th't it leaks outen the ground in Deep Rock Gulley.Wen that b'ar tumbled to the bottom that day, he fell on his face. Hewere hurt so th't he couldn't get up. O' course the gas didn't shutitself off, but kep' on a-leakin' an' shot up inter the b'ar's mouth anddown his throat. The onfortnit b'ar couldn't help hisself, an' bimby hewere filled with gas like a balloon, till he had to float, an' away hesailed, up an' up an' up. Wen I fired at the b'ar, ez he was floatin'to'ard the clouds, the linen on the bullet carried fire with it, an'w'en the bullet tapped the b'ar's side the burnin' linen sot it on fire,showin' th't th' can't be no doubt 'bout it bein' gas th't the b'arswallered in Deep Rock Gulley. So ye see, Squire, I wa'n't no liar, an'the chances is all in favor o' your seein' a balloon h'isted from gasright in yer own bailiwick afore ye turn up yer toes."
The Squire gazed at the Old Settler in silent amazement for a minute ormore. Then he threw up his hands and said:
"Wal--I'll--be--durned!"
VERRE DEFINITE
BY WALLACE BRUCE AMSBARY
It' verre long, long tam', ma frien', I'm leeve on Bourbonnais, I'm keep de gen'rale merchandise, I'm prom'nent man, dey say; I'm sell mos' every t'ing dere ees, From sulky plow to sock, I don' care w'at you ask me for, You'll fin' it in my stock.
Las' w'ek dere was de _petite fille_ Of ma frien', Gosse, he com' Into ma shop to get stock_ing_, She want to buy her som'; She was herself not verre ol', Near twelve year, I suppose; She com' to me an' say, "M'sieu, I wan' to buy som' hose."
I always mak' de custom rule, No matter who it ees, To be polite an' eloquent In transack of ma beez; I say to her, "For who you wan' Dese stockings to be wear?" She say she need wan pair herself, Also for small bruddere.
She say her bruddere's eight years ol' An' coming almos' nine, An' I am twelve, mos' near t'irteen, Dat size will do for mine: An' modder she will tak' beeg pair, She weigh 'bout half a ton, She wan' de size of forty year Go_ing_ on forty-one.
THE TALKING HORSE
BY JOHN T. McINTYRE
Upon a fence across the way was posted a "twenty-four sheet blockstand," and along the top, in big red letters, it read:
"_H. Wellington Sheldon Presents_"
Then followed the names of a half dozen famous operatic stars.
Bat Scranton sat regarding it silently for a long time; but after he hadplaced himself behind his third big cigar he joined in the talk.
"In fifteen years dubbing about this great and glorious," said he, "Inever run across a smoother piece of goods than old C
ap. Sheldon. To seehim, now, in his plug hat, frock coat and white English whiskers, you'dspot him as the main squeeze in a prosperous bank. He's doing theFrohman stunt, too," and Bat nodded toward the poster, "and he handlesit with exceeding grace. When I see him after the curtain falls upon abunch of Verdi or Wagner stuff, come out and bow his thanks to a housefull of the town's swellest, and throw out a little spiel with anaristocratic accent, I always think of the time when I first met him.
"Were any of you ever in Langtry, Ohio? Well, never take a chance on itif there is anywhere else to go. It's a tank town with a community ofseven hundred of the tightest wads that ever sunk a dollar into the toeof a sock. There was a fair going on in the place, and I blew in thereone September day; my turn just then was taking orders for crayonportraits of rural gentlemen with horny hands and plenty of chin fringe.I figure it out that about sixty per cent. of the parlors in the middlewest are adorned with one or more of these works of art, but Langtry,Ohio, would not listen to the proposition for a moment; as soon as theydiscovered that I wasn't giving the stuff away they sort of lostinterest in me and mine; so I began to study the time-table and kick offthe preliminary dust of the burg, preparatory to seeking a new base ofoperations.
"As I made my way to the station I caught my first glimpse of Cap.Sheldon. He had a satchel hanging from around his neck and was winsomelywrapping ten dollar notes up with small cylinders of soap and offeringto sell them at one dollar a throw.