Southwestern Humor

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Southwestern Humor

LESSON READING ................................................................................................... 3

Turkey Tom of ‘Arkinsaw’ by Chasseur Boheme ................................................................................................... 3

Simon Starts Forth to Fight the "Tiger," and Falls in with a Candidate Whom He "Does" to a Cracklin'.

(Chapter the Fourth) by Johnson Jones Hooper ..................................................................................................... 7

A Race and a Frolic ! by Jeremiah Smith ............................................................................................................... 12

OPTIONAL READING .............................................................................................. 14

Johnson Jones Hooper .......................................................................................... 14

Some Adventures of Captain Simon Suggs. .......................................................................................................... 14

The Captain Attends a Camp-Meeting. (Chapter the Tenth)................................................................................ 14

George Washington Harris .................................................................................... 22

Sut Lovingood. Yarns Spun by a "Nat'ral Born Durn'd Fool. ................................................................................. 22

Preface. ................................................................................................................................................................. 22

Sut Lovingood's Daddy, Acting Horse. .................................................................................................................. 25

Sut's New-Fangled Shirt. ....................................................................................................................................... 29

Mark Twain .............................................................................................................. 33

The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County .............................................................................................. 33

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LESSON READING

Turkey Tom of ‘Arkinsaw’ by Chasseur Boheme The Southwest, in years gone by, as the “Bee Hunter” well knows, was full of original characters;

many still linger among us, but the clearings which everywhere prevail are letting in the sunshine of

conventional life, and fast consuming the individualities alluded to. Among those who have left a

mark upon the neighborhood in which they lived, was “Turkey Tom;” he has long since

disappeared, but he is still remembered as one of the best hunters and awfullest liars on record.

Tom was not reckoned much of a beauty, he was a long lank pattern of humanity, hawk-nosed and

hatchet-faced, with shocking red hair, and a pair of deep sunken grey eyes, which were always

“skinned,” and appeared to be trying to get a peep into the middle of next week. He was born,

bred, brought up, and polished off, in the state of Arkansas, and left home with a through ticket for

any kind of a spree--from a ball to a “bar-fight,” from a corn-shucking to an election riot--a graduate

at all kinds of hunting, but “special death to turkies, bar, and deer.” His habits were solitary, and he

built his cabin far from his fellows in the heart of the woods. Occasionally, though, he would come

into town always with his rifle on shoulder, and then the grocery was his headquarters for the day.

Striding up to the bar with his long swining gait, he would turn to the crowd with the airs of a

prince, and with a majestic wave of his hand: “Gentlemen, yours obejiently; what are we to drink?”

The company were expected to “jine in.” Tom had but one toast, and that invariably after touching

glasses all round: “Gents, to the bottom if it was forty feet,” and down went the whiskey without a

pause. Usually very taciturn, nothing short of a gallon of “the aforesaid” could induce him to

“open;” but once started, he could discourse by the hour upon the glories and beauties of his native

State--Arkansas. Hear him “spread himself:”

“Arkinsaw is the garden spot of arth--the cream of the created univarse. The sile is richer and game

is plentier than in any other section in the world. The only drawback to health is the human

arthquakes--fever and ague, as some folks call ‘em--which is orful. In fact, I have known the ‘shakes’

so bad that the simmons were all shuck off o’ the trees’ and the glass all shattered outer the

winders. Besides, the travelin’ aint nuthin to brag on. I remember gwine up the Arkinsaw river

onc’t, and every mile or so the passengers had to git out and shove the boat over the sand-bars;

and one mornin’ the fog was so thick that we had to use bowie-knives to cut our way through.

Arkinsaw beats the world for black bars, purty wimmen, and big timber. I’ve seen trees there so

high that the first limbs were clean outer sight, and so big that it took a week to walk around ‘em. A

feller started oncet to walk through one that was holler without carryin’ his vittals with him, and he

starved to death on the trip. I was gwine up the Mississip onc’t in one of them little up-country

boats, when we met a big Arkinsaw cypress floatin’ down. I tell you it was a whopper. The Cap’n

run his boat alongside, and fastened the ropes to it. Off she started snortin’ and puffin’, but it didn’t

budge a peg. The Capen ripped aroun’, cussin’ like fury, and hollerin’ out, ‘Fire up below there, you

lubberly rascals!’ The wheels clattered away, and the blaze rolled from the chimbly, but that log

was actilly carryin’ us down stream. Dreckly up come a feller in a red shirt, and says he, ‘Capen, you

are strainin’ the ingine mitily.’ ‘Cut loose and let it go, then,’ says the Capen. They cut the ropes,

and the boat then went ahead a little ways, but the ingine was raly so exhausted that we jest had to

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stop. Next day there come along a fine big steamer; we hailed her, got aboard, and there was that

same log hitched alongside. We wooded off o’ that cypress all the way to Memphis.

“Black bars are bigger, plentier, and more cunnin’ in Arkinsaw, than in the rest of creation. The old

hes have a way o’ standin’ on their hind legs and makin’ a mark with their paws as high as they can

reach on the bark of some certin tree, generally a sasserfras. It’s a kinder rekurd they keep, and I

spose it’s a great satisfaction to an old he bar to have the highest mark on the tree. I was a layin’

hid one day close to a tree where the bars wur in the habit of makin’ their marks, watin’ for one of

‘em to come along. After a while I hears a noise close to me, and lookin’ aroun’, what should I see

but a small bar walkin’ straight on his hind legs, with a big chunk in his arms? I could a’ shot him

easy, but I was mity curious to see what he was gwine to do with that chunk. He carried it rite to

the tree where the marks wur, stood it on eend against it, and then gittin’ on top of it reached way

up the tree and made a big mark about a foot above the highest. He then got down, moved the

chunk way off from the tree, and you never seen any such caperin’ as he cut up. He would look up

at his mark, and then lay down and roll over in the leaves, laughin’ outright, just like a person; no

doubt tickled at the way somebody would be fooled. There was somethin’ so human about it I

hadn’t the heart to shoot him.

“Just to show how cunnin’ bars are I’ll tell you what happened to me up in Arkinsaw. You see, one

fall, before I gathered my corn, I kept missin’ it outer the field, and I knew the bars were takin’ it,

for I could see their tracks; but what seemed mity curious, I never could find where they eat it--nary

cob nowheres abouts. One mornin’ arly I happened aroun’ the field, and there I saw an old she and

two cubs just come outer the patch, walking off with their arms full o’ corn. I was determined to

find out what they did with so much corn, and follered along after ‘em without makin’ any noise.

Well, after goin’ nearly a mile, I saw em stop, and--gents, what do you think?--there was a pen full

o’ hogs, and the bars wur feedin’ ‘em. You see that season the hogs wur so poor, on account of

having no mast, that they wouldn’t make even good bar feed, and these bars had actilly built a rail

pen, put hogs in it, and were fattenin’ ‘em with my corn!”

I recollect well the first time I ever saw “Turkey Tom.” Some years since I was out hunting early one

morning morning during the “gobbling season” and was quietly stealing through the woods, when I

was suddenly accosted by some one issuing from a thicket.

“Hillo! I say, stranger, you aint seen nuthin of a one-eyed, ball-face, bob-tail pony cruising aroun’

here this mornin’?”

“Nary one-eyed, ball-face, bob-tail pony, my friend,” I replied.

“Well, I reckun the little cuss has strayed off to’ards home.”

[Unclear] about moving on, when, seeing that he carried a rifle, I asked him if he had been

successful in hunting.

“Stranger,” he answered me, “I am allers successful, and it don’ matter whether in clearin’ or

canebrake, ef ever I put my eye on a varmint he has about as much chance as a nigger baby in a

bar-fight--he’s a gone darkey, certin’. As fur turkies, I don’t know whether they wur made fur me to

hunt, or I wur made jest to hunt ‘em. You see, when I wur a baby they give me a turkey-bone to cut

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teeth on, and I rather reckun it worked into my natur’. Stranger, a turkey gobbler is mity cunnin’--

the cunninest thing in the wurld, I reckon, except a wide-awake wider, or a one-eyed banker. Hunt

a gobbler, sit close for a while, and he will git so smart that he won’t gobble without runnin’ his

head in a holler, and won’t cross a branch where it is muddy enough to show his tracks. Up in

Arkinsaw once I hunted jest sich a one a considerable spell afore I fixed him. I had my heart set on

killing him, and I actilly believe if I hadn’t got that gobbler it would have been the death of me. He

dodged me so long that I was jest wastin’ away to a shadder. That turkey roosted on my stomach

and gobbled in my ears every night. At last, though, I fixed his flint for him. I diskivered he was too

fat and too heavy to fly, and, findin’ it wur no manner of use tryin’ to burn powder at him, one

mornin’ I put my dogs on his scratchins. My dogs is fast, but they run that gobbler three hours

before they caught him. The last mile I could track him jest by the grease that dropped out him as

he became heated, and when the dogs picked him up he wur actilly nuthin but one gob of ile and

feathers. Stranger, that gobbler’s beard was so long that he allers carried the end of it his mouth in

running to keep from treadin’ on it, and his spurs were so big that I used one of ‘em for a powder

horn.

“Remarkably large turkies you have in Arkinsaw,” I hinted.

“Yes, stranger, but everything else is big in proportion in that State. The musketeers grow to be as

big as jack snipes, and the ticks are larger than your terrapins here.”

That is my earliest recollection of “Turkey Tom.”

Pray for him and let him pass!

Alluding to my reminiscences, I am rejoiced if my scaly chat has recalled to memory the many

pleasant hours which you have wiled a way on the shady banks of the sparkling Amite, and spent in

spinning the minnows over the clear lakes of “old Concordia,” casting about the mouth of the

Cocodra, where bar-fish and trout most do congregate. Blessed are they “whose lines have fallen in

pleasant places.” What a host of reminiscences must crowd upon you as you revert to the days of

long ago--the days of picture painting and parlor life--the days spent by the rolling surf of the

Southern Gulf, fishing, crabbing, and tempting the lazy gull within gunshot--the ruder days of

hunter’s life in swamp and canebrake--the days of “Live Oak inspector,” shooting ibis and alligators

along the sluggish Bayous of Louisiana--and, far back in time, the days when you presided over the

“Intelligencer” with your friend Patterson--not him, though, surnamed “Billy,” about whom the

world is still so anxiously putting the question, “who struck him.”

Softly! Perhaps, in raking among the ashes of the past, I have disturbed the grave of some long

since buried hope, or resurrected some ambition remembered but as a fitful dream, or perhaps I

have dug up some memento hidden that it might be forgotten, bringing only sorrow with its

recollection! Peace be with thee and thine, “Tom Owen.” May your shadow never grow less, and

may you live a thousand years to hold the reins with the “Senior” over the true “Spirit” team.

Have you forgotten your friend W--, who gave you the “wrinkles” about turkey-hunting and arrow-

fishing? If so, turn to the “Hive of the Bee Hunter,” and there you will find his “pictur,” as he

reclines with his rifle behind a log, his eye intent on the turkey strutting in the distance. W-- was a

bachelor then, a hunter, fisherman, philosopher, a picker up of small pebbles, and lived in a

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“shanty.” Now he is a married man, turns his attention to “revenue,” and is the independent

proprietor of a two-story house with paint on it. He still keeps in order his rifle and fishing tackle,

though all game has long since disappeared from his neighborhood, and a six-inch sucker looks to

him “very like a whale.” He tells me to say to you that his fighting weight is now two hundred and

fifty pounds, and still growing.

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Simon Starts Forth to Fight the "Tiger," and Falls in with a Candidate

Whom He "Does" to a Cracklin'. (Chapter the Fourth) by Johnson Jones Hooper

READER! didst ever encounter the Tiger?--not the bounding creature of the woods, with deadly

fang and mutilating claw, that preys upon blood and muscle--but the stealthier and more ferocious

animal which ranges amid "the busy haunts of men"--which feeds upon coin and bank-notes--

whose spots, more attractive than those of its namesake of the forest, dazzle and lure, like the

brilliantly varying hues of the charmer snake, the more intensely and irresistibly, the longer they

are looked upon--the thing, in short, of pasteboard and ivory, mother-of-pearl and mahogany--THE

FARO BANK!

Take a look at the elegant man dealing out the cards, from that bijou of a box, there. Observe with

what graceful dexterity he manages all the appliances of his art! The cards seem to leap forth

rather in obedience to his will, than to be pulled out by his fingers. As he throws them in alternate

piles, note the whiteness and symmetry of his hand, the snowy spotlessness of the linen exposed

by the turn-up of his coat-cuff, and the lustre of the gem upon his little finger. Now look in his face.

Isn't he a handsome fellow--a man to make hearts feminine ache? And how singularly at variance

with the exciting nature of his occupation, is the expression of his countenance! How placid! He has

hundreds depending upon the turn of the next card, and yet his face is entirely calm, if you except a

very slight twitching of the eye-lids, which are so nearly closed that the long lashes nearly

intermingle. A pretty, gentlemanly Tiger-keeper, in sooth! He smiles now--mark the beauty of that

large mouth, and the dazzling splendour of those teeth!--as he addresses the florid and flushed

young man, there at the table, whose last dollar he has just swept from the board. "The bank is

singularly fortunate to-night. Nothing but the best sort of luck could have saved it from the skilful

combination with which you attacked. Ninety-nine times out of a hundred you would have broken

it--I've had an escape." Spite of his ruinous losses, the poor devil is flattered by the compliment. Oh

ass! of skull most impenetrable! To-day you are, or rather you were, on your way to college, with

the first year's expenses--the close parings of the comforts of the old widow your mother, and the

thin, blue-eyed girl your sister--in your pocket. This day twelvemonth, you will keep the scores of a

gambling house and live upon the perquisites! See if you don't! The Tiger has cheated the

professors, and you have cheated your family and--yourself!

Almost every man has his idiosyncrasy--his pet and peculiar opinion on some particular subject.

Captain Simon Suggs has his; and he clings to it with a pertinacity that defies, alike the suggestions

of reason, and the demonstrations of experience. Simon believes that he CAN WHIP THE TIGER, A

FAIR FIGHT.

He has always believed it; he will always believe it. The idea has obtained a lodgment in his cranium

and peremptorily refuses to be ejected! It is the weak point--the Achilles' heel, as one might say--of

his character. Remind him of the time, in Montgomery, when by a bite of this same Tiger, he lost

his money and horse, and was compelled to trudge home afoot! ah, but then, he "hadn't got the

hang of the game." Bring to his recollection how severely it scratched him in Girard!--oh, but "that

fellow rung in a two-card box" upon him. Ask him if he did'nt drop a couple of hundreds at the Big

Council? Certainly--but then he was "drinky and played careless;" and so on to the end.--Still he

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inflexibly believes he is to get the upper hand of the Tiger, some day when it is exceedingly fat, and

wear its hide as a trophy! Still the invincible beast lacerates him instead! Such is the infatuation of

Captain Suggs.

Acting under this delusion Simon determined, as soon as he obtained the money by the "land

transaction" recorded in our last, to visit the city of Tuscaloosa, where the Legislature was to

commence its session in a few days, with the double object of "weeding out" members, and making

a grand demonstration against some bank. His "pile," to be sure, considering how extensive were

the operations contemplated, was certainly small--inadequate. But as Simon remarked, upon

setting out, "there is no telling which way luck or a half-broke steer will run." So perhaps the

amount of his capital was really not a matter of any great consequence. He carried a hundred and

fifty dollars with him; the results might not have been different, had he carried a thousand and

fifty--who shall say?

The Captain--would that we could avoid the anachronism we commit every time we apply the

military designation of Simon, in speaking of events which occurred anterior to the year of grace

1836;--however, let it go--the Captain left his horse at a farm-house near Montgomery, and took

the mail-coach for the capital. The only other passenger was a gentleman who was about to visit

the seat of government, with the intention of making himself a bank director, as speedily as

possible. The individual assumed, and insisted on believing, that Simon was the member from

Tallapoosa. This, of course Simon denied--but denied "in such a sort!"----

"I should be highly pleased, sir, if you could make it consistent with your views of the public good,

to receive your support for that directorship, sir"--quoth the candidate.

"What keen people you candidates are, to find out folks," said Simon. "But mind, I haint said yet I

was a member. I told wife when I started, I warn't goin' to tell nobod----hello! I liked to a ketcht

myself--didn't I?" said Simon, winking pleasantly at the embryo director.

"Ah, you're a close, prudent fellow, I see," said the candidate; "I like prudence, sir, in public officers,

sir! It's the bulwark, sir, to hang the anchor of the state upon, to speak nautically, sir. But as I was

remarking, if duty to the state, to the country, and to the institution itself, would permit, I would be

profoundly grate----."

"Yes"--interrupted Suggs--"prudence is the stob I fasten the grape-vine of my cunnoo to. I said I

wouldn't tell it--nor I won't."

"The present directory, sir, or at least a portion of it, sir, does not display that zeal, sir, in the service

of the public--that promptitude, sir, and that spirit of accommodation--which the community has a

right to expect, sir. Though, perhaps, I oughtn't, on account of the delicacy of my position, to make

invidious remarks, sir--and sir, I make it a point never to do so--still, I may be permitted to say, that

should the legislature honor me with their confidence, sir, I shall--that is to say, sir, a very different

state of affairs may be anticipated. The institution, sir, should command the whole of my

intellectual energies and faculties, sir. The institution, sir---."

"To be sure! to be sure! I onderstand," said Simon. "The institution's what we're all after. As for the

present directory, they're all a pack of d--d swell-heads. Afore I left Montgomery I went to one on

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'em, and told him who I was, and let on that I wanted a few dollars to pay expenses down. He

knowned, in course, I'd soon be gittin' four----hello! I'm about to ketch myself agin!"--and Simon

laughed, and winked at his companion.

"Four dollars per diem, besides mileage," said the candidate with a witching smile.

"Never mind about that, I say nothin' myself--other people can say what they please. Any how, that

feller wouldn't let me have a dollar!"

"What ungentlemanly conduct!" remarked the financier, energetically."

"D--d if he would--not a dollar--without I'd pledge myself to support him. That sir, I scorned to do,"

continued Simon, half rising from his seat, and swelling with indignation; "so I told him I'd see him

as deep in h--ll as a pigeon could fly in a fortnight, first----"

"A very proper reply, sir--a very spirited reply, sir--just such a one, sir, as a man of high moral

principle, refined feelings, pure patrio----"

"Oh, I gin him thunder and lightnin' stewed down to a strong pison, I tell you. I cussed him up one

side and down tother, twell thar warn't the bigness of your thumb nail, that warn't properly cussed.

And in the windin' up, I told him I'd pay my stage fare as fur towards Tuskalusy as my money hilt

out, and walk the rest of the way, I would--but I'll show him," added the captain with a savage

frown.

"Magnanimous, sir! that was magnanimous! A great moral spectacle, sir! You cursing the director,

sir--withering him up with virtuous indignation--threatening to walk eightly miles, sir, over very

inferior roads, to discharge your public functions--he cowering, as doubtless he did, before the

representative of the people! Yes, sir, it was a sublime moral spectacle, worthy of a comparison

with any recorded specimens of Roman or Spartan magnanimity, sir. How nobly did it vindicate the

purity of the representative character, sir!"

"Belikes it did"--said the Captain--"shouldn't be surprised. There was smartly of a row betwixt us,

certin. We did'nt make quite as much noise as a panter and a pack of hounds, but we made some.

When we blowd off, I judge he had the wust of it: he looked like he had, any how."

"No doubt of it, sir; no doubt at all, sir. And now, my dear sir, if you will permit me to indicate what

would have been my deportment upon such an occasion, I trust I can make you comprehend the

difference between the conduct of an insolent official, and that of the high-bred, gentlemanly,

public functionary!"

Captain Suggs gesticulated his willingness to listen; felicitating himself the while, upon the fact that

Mr. Smith, his county member, would not be along for several days. The chances were altogether

favourable for making a "raise," without fear of immediate detection--which is all the Captain ever

cared for. So he isn't taken red-handed, after-claps may go to the devil!

"Why, sir," resumed the candidate, after taking a sly peep at a printed list, to get the name of the

member from Tallapoosa--"why, sir, if you had approached me as you did the individual of whom

we have been speaking; I occupying--you understand, sir--the important fiscal station of bank

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director, and you the highly honorable official position which you do occupy, of representative of

the respectable county of Talla--"

"Stop! I never said my name was Smith; nor I never set myself up for a legislatur man! You heerd

me tell the driver when I got up, not to tell the people who I was and whar I was goin'!"

"Oh, we understand all that, my dear sir, perfectly--perfectly!" said the candidate, with a smile of

humorous intelligence.--"There are many reasons why gentlemen of distinction should at times

desire to travel without being known."

"I'll be d--d if thar ain't!" thought Captain Simon Suggs.

"But my dear sir, there are persons so skilled in human nature, so acute in their perceptions of

worth and talent, that they detect at a glance those whom the people have honored. You can't pass

us my dear sir!--ha! ha! Oh no! We recognize you at once! However, as I was going on to remark--

had you approached me under the circumstances stated, I should have said to you--Colonel Smith,

your election by the enlightened people of the important county you represent, is ample guaranty

to me, that you are a gentleman of the nicest honor, and the most unimpeachable veracity, even if

the fact were not conclusively attested by your personal appearance. The sum you need, my dear

Colonel, for expenses, is of course too small to justify a discount. Will you oblige me by drawing for

the requisite amount on my private funds?--that's what I, sir, should have said, sir, under the

circumstances."

"By the Lord, stranger," remarked the Captain, seizing the candidate's hand and shaking it

repeatedly with great warmth, to all appearance as completely overwhelmed with gratitude for the

supposititious loan, as he could possibly have been had it been real--"by the Lord, that would a-

been the way! I'd a'stuck to a feller that done that way, twell the cows come home--I'd cut the big

vein of my neck before I'd ever desert sich a friend! I'd wade to my ears in blood, to fight by that

man's side; d--d if I wouldn't."

"Perhaps," said the candidate, "it isn't too late yet, to offer you a trifling accommodation of the

sort?"

"No, it aint too late at all," answered Simon with admirable naiveté; "I could take a twenty, to right

smart advantage yet!"

The office-seeker's pocket book was out in a twinkling, and a bank note transferred therefrom to

Suggs' vest pocket.

"Of course, without the slightest reference to this little transaction, my dear Colonel, I count on

your help."

"Give us your hand," said Suggs between his sobs--for the disinterested generosity of his

companion had moved him to weeping--and they shook hands with great cordiality.

"You'll use your influence with your senator and other friends?"

"Look me in the eye!" replied the Captain with an almost tragic air.

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The candidate looked steadily, for two seconds, in Simon's tearful eye.

"You see honesty thar--don't you?"

"I do! I do!" said the candidate with emotion.

"That's sufficient, aint it?"

"Most amply sufficient--most amply sufficient, my dear Colonel"--and then they shook hands again,

and took a drink from the tickler which the financier carried in his carpet bag.

Suggs and his new friend travelled the remainder of the way to Tuskaloosa, in excellent

companionship, as it was reasonable they should. They told their tales, sang their songs, and drank

their liquor like a jovial pair as they were--the candidate paying all scores wherever they halted.

And so things went pleasantly with Simon until his meeting with the tiger, which ensued

immediately upon his arrival, and whereof we defer a description to the succeeding chapter. of-

pearl and mahogany--THE FARO BANK!

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A Race and a Frolic ! by Jeremiah Smith

It was a drizzley day, and the weeping boughs of the trees, and bending tops of the tall cane that

hung over the road had completely saturated my clothing. Cold, wet, and hungry, I halted at the

door of the only “ establishment” in the village of H------ at which strangers could “ tie up.” The

house was built of hewn logs, and above the door the sign of “Union Hotel” had first caught my eye

and gave promise of a dinner of ham and “corn dodgers ;” but when I surveyed the crowd about

the door “ hope withering fled !” It was “the day of the race” but the race was over, and winners

and losers were assembled for a frolic. A hurra and a shout greeted my arrival.

“ How do you go it ?” inquired a stout man at my stirrup.

“ Two to one, if you dare, on Medley !”

“ Plank the pewter,” said another--“ no cure no pay--hurra ! hurra ! whoopyew !” And at this I

found myself borne upon the shoulders of half a dozen into the house, over chairs and stools and

the fallen comrades of my supporters, until they reached the bar, where they made a deposit of

their responsibility at the counter, shouting all the while “ liquor ! liquor ! sixteen glasses of brandy

oddy ! hurra !” Smash went a dozen decanters, and the fragments jingled upon the floor.

It was not the first time that I had travelled in this region, and what would once have assured me

that I was in a den of cut throats, now only served as an annoyance for the loss of dinner and rest.

The most effectual way to make drunkenness in others at all supportable, is to get drunk yourself ;

for

“ --------- what’s drinking ? A mere pause from thinking !”

So without ceremony--for remonstrance in this instance would have only made matters worse--I

gulped down a strong decoction of brandy and water. “ Go it ye cripples !” said the fellow who

pushed it to me, “ he’s a captain !” Hardly had I recovered breath before another glass was

crammed at me : “ come, come,” said Jack Snooley, “ don’t fret the cattle Tom,” at the same time

taking the glass from the person who presented it. Emboldened by having so powerful an advocate,

I begged them to let me take a little breath, but it was a short respite, and I was forced to “ go it

again.” A shout at the door called the attention of the party that way ; and looking out, I saw a long-

legged fellow upon the back of my jaded steed maneuvering like a militia major at a general

muster. “ Hold the stakes, captain, two hundred dollars aside, my weight to Tom Snooley through

the paths.” The stakes were deposited and the judges selected. It was in vain that I plead the

condition of my horse, and advised the man to draw the bet, assuring him he would lose.“

Nobody’s business,” said the rider; “ if I’m a fool my money’s not.” An idea struck me at the time,

forced out perhaps by the brandy which had now began to operate powerfully.

“ Well, gentlemen,” said I, “ if my horse is to run, I must ride him myself.” No objection was made,

and the fellow who was mounted yelled like a Choctaw, for he was sure now that I was “ a bite.”

We mounted and rode to the end of the quarter-paths, placed the judges at their stands, and threw

up “ heads or tails” for “ the word” and choice of paths. The latter resulted in my favor.--The

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bystanders now began to set their bets, and the knowing ones backed my poor horse, believing

that I was a regular built one. While they were making their bets I was surveying the ground over

which to make my escape from the “ foul crowd” that beset me. A great flourish and parade were

now made about the start. At length we came up square to the polls, and “ Go !” was reiterated by

judges and all. Away we went, clatter ! clatter ! clatter ! and loud roared the mob, my competitor

pawing the dirt into my face like hail stones of a dark night ! All at once it ceased, and the yells of

the crowd ceased. Looking back I saw horse and rider rolling upon the ground ; but knowing the

rule of “ no stopping in horse-racing,” onward I went, little caring who won so I cleared the whole

field, after which I knew I would be safe. Fortune willed it otherwise.--Coming up to the “ Hotel,”

my horse after winning the race, bolted from the road, and was making full speed for the river

bank--a bluff of some thirty feet ! “ Stop him ! by G--d, stop him !” shouted all hands--crack went a

pistol shot, and down went my horse on his knees, pitching me far over his head. How long I lay in

this situation I am unable to determine, for I had taken as complete a farewell to the recollections

of all earthly things as ever man did who had “ shuffled off this mortal coil.”

All was silent as death at the Union Hotel when I returned to a state of half consciousness. An old

lady sat by the bedside bathing my cheeks with spirits of camphor, and a grave and respectable

personage was feeling my pulse, whose countenance greeted me with a bland smile : “ Thank God

!” said the old woman, as I groaned and looked wildly around--the recollections of the past day

confusedly mingling with strange phantoms. The remainder is soon told. The pious gentleman to

whom I owe my life, was a Methodist preacher, who, if he made but few proselytes to his holy

creed, had the gratification of knowing that he was the instrument through whose agency a poor

mortal was preserved from being hurried unprepared into eternity. And I here take occasion to

bear testimony to the many kindnesses I have known administered at his hand. By the next day I

was able to stir, and the good dame---wife to the landlord--placed a letter in my hand which read

thus :--

“ I am gratified to learn that you have recovered. You will find enclosed $200, which please receive

as payment for your horse, and if you can delay your journey, I would be much pleased to have

your company at my plantation for as many days as you can devote to our rude society.”

The hostess informed me that the shooting of my horse was to prevent him from tumbling down

the precipice, which would have proved certain death to both horse and rider, my recollection of

which corroborated the supposition. No pay would be received by any of the kind people who

attended me, and I was informed that my tavern bill was paid by Captain -------, the writer of the

above letter. The town was now as still as if another “ race day” would never arrive. Purchasing

another horse, I bid adieu to the village of H......, in the Territory of Arkansas, and if ever I travel

that way again, may it never be when there is a race and a frolick on hand. Yours, &c., J. S.

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OPTIONAL READING

Johnson Jones Hooper

Some Adventures of Captain Simon Suggs.

The Captain Attends a Camp-Meeting. (Chapter the Tenth)

CAPTAIN SUGGS found himself as poor at the conclusion of the Creek war, as he had been at its

commencement. Although no "arbitrary," " despotic," "corrupt," and "unprincipled" judge had

fined him a thousand dollars for his proclamation of martial law at Fort Suggs, or the enforcement

of its rules in the case of Mrs. Haycock; yet somehow -- the thing is alike inexplicable to him and to

us -- the money which he had contrived, by various shifts to obtain, melted away and was gone for

ever. To a man like the Captain, of intense domestic affections, this state of destitution was most

distressing. "He could stand it himself -- didn't care a d--n for it, no way," he observed, "but the old

woman and the children; that bothered him!"

As he sat one day, ruminating upon the unpleasant condition of his "financial concerns," Mrs. Suggs

informed him that "the sugar and coffee was nigh about out," and that there were not "a dozen

j'ints and middling, all put together, in the smoke-house." Suggs bounced up on the instant,

exclaiming, "D--n it! somebody must suffer!" But whether this remark was intended to convey the

idea that he and his family were about to experience the want of the necessaries of life; or that

some other, and as yet unknown individual should "suffer" to prevent that prospective exigency,

must be left to the commentators, if perchance any of that ingenious class of persons should

hereafter see proper to write notes for this history. It is enough for us that we give all the facts in

this connection, so that ignorance of the subsequent conduct of Captain Suggs may not lead to an

erroneous judgment in respect to his words.

Having uttered the exclamation we have repeated -- and perhaps, hurriedly walked once or twice

across the room -- Captain Suggs drew on his famous old green-blanket overcoat, and ordered his

horse, and within five minutes was on his way to a camp-meeting, then in full blast on Sandy creek,

twenty miles distant, where he hoped to find amusement, at least. When he arrived there, he

found the hollow square of the encampment filled with people, listening to the mid-day sermon

and its dozen accompanying "exhortations." A half-dozen preachers were dispensing the word; the

one in the pulpit, a meek-faced old man, of great simplicity and benevolence. His voice was weak

and cracked, notwithstanding which, however, he contrived to make himself heard occasionally,

above the din of the exhorting, the singing, and the shouting which were going on around him. The

rest were walking to and fro, (engaged in the other exercises we have indicated,) among the

"mourners" -- a host of whom occupied the seat set apart for their especial use -- or made personal

appeals to the mere spectators. The excitement was intense. Men and women rolled about on the

ground, or lay sobbing or shouting in promiscuous heaps. More than all the negroes sang and

screamed and prayed. Several, under the influence of what is technically called "the jerks," were

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plunging and pitching about with convulsive energy. The great object of all seemed to be, to see

who could make the greatest noise --

"And each -- for madness ruled the hour --

Would try his own expressive power."

"Bless my poor old soul!" screamed the preacher in the pulpit; "ef yonder aint a squad in that

corner that we aint got one outen yet! It'll never do" -- raising his voice -- "you must come outen

that! Brother Fant, fetch up that youngster in the blue coat! I see the Lord's a-workin' upon him!

Fetch him along -- glory -- yes! -- hold to him !"

"Keep the thing warm!" roared a sensual seeming man, of stout mould and florid countenance,

who was exhorting among a bevy of young women, upon whom he was lavishing caresses. "Keep

the thing warm, breethring! -- come to the Lord, honey!" he added, as he vigorously hugged one of

the damsels he sought to save.

"Oh, I've got him!" said another in exulting tones, as he led up a gawky youth among the mourners

-- "I've got him -- he tried to git off, but -- ha! Lord!" -- shaking his head as much as to say, it took a

smart fellow to escape him -- "ha! Lord!" -- and he wiped the perspiration from his face with one

hand, and with the other, patted his neophyte on the shoulder -- "he couldn't do it! No! Then he

tried to argy wi' me -- but bless the Lord! -- he couldn't do that nother! Ha! Lord! I tuk him, fust in

the Old Testament -- bless the Lord! -- and I argyed him all thro' Kings -- then I thronged him into

Proverbs. -- and from that, here we had it up and down, kleer down to the New Testament, and

then I begun to see it work him! -- then we got into Matthy, and from Matthy right straight along to

Acts; and thar I thronged him! Y-e-s L-o-r-d!" -- assuming the nasal twang and high pitch which are,

in some parts, considered the perfection of rhetorical art -- "Y-e-s L-o-r-d! and h-e-r-e he is! Now g-

i-t down thar," addressing the subject, "and s-e-e ef the L-o-r-d won't do somethin' f-o-r you!"

Having thus deposited his charge among the mourners, he started out, summarily to convert

another soul!

"Gl-o-ree!" yelled a huge, greasy negro woman, as in a fit of the jerks, she threw herself

convulsively from her feet, and fell "like a thousand of brick," across a diminutive old man in a little

round hat, who was squeaking consolation to one of the mourners.

"Good Lord, have mercy!" ejaculated the little man earnestly and unaffectedly, as he strove to

crawl from under the sable mass which was crushing him.

In another part of the square a dozen old women were singing. They were in a state of absolute

extasy, as their shrill pipes gave forth,

"I rode on the sky,

Quite ondestified I,

And the moon it was under my feet!"

Near these last, stood a delicate woman in that hysterical condition in which the nerves are

incontrollable, and which is vulgarly -- and almost blasphemously -- termed the "holy laugh." A

hideous grin distorted her mouth, and was accompanied with a maniac's chuckle; while every

muscle and nerve of her face twitched and jerked in horrible spasms.*

javascript:Start('suggs1.html')

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Amid all this confusion and excitement Suggs stood unmoved. He viewed the whole affair as a

grand deception -- a sort of "opposition line" running against his own, and looked on with a sort of

professional jealousy. Sometimes he would mutter running comments upon what passed before

him.

"Well now," said he, as he observed the fullfaced brother who was "officiating" among the women,

"that ere feller takes my eye! -- thar he's been this half-hour, a-figurin amongst them galls, and's

never said the fust word to nobody else. Wonder what's the reason these here preachers never

hugs up the old, ugly women? Never seed one do it in my life -- the sperrit never moves 'em that

way! It's nater tho'; and the women, they never flocks round one o' the old dried-up breethring --

bet two to one old splinter-legs thar," -- nodding at one of the ministers -- "won't git a chance to

say turkey to a good lookin gall to-day! Well! who blames 'em? Nater will be nater, all the world

over; and I judge ef I was a preacher, I should save the purtiest souls fuss, myself!"

While the Captain was in the middle of this conversation with himself, he caught the attention of

the preacher in the pulpit, who inferring from an indescribable something about his appearance

that he was a person of some consequence, immediately determined to add him at once to the

church if it could be done; and to that end began a vigorous, direct personal attack.

"Breethring," he exclaimed, "I see yonder a man that's a sinner; I know he's a sinner! Thar he

stands," pointing at Simon, "a missubble old crittur, with his head a-blossomin for the grave! A few

more short years, and d-o-w-n he'll go to perdition, lessen the Lord have mer-cy on him! Come up

here, you old hoary-headed sinner, a-n-d git down upon your knees, a-n-d put up your cry for the

Lord to snatch you from the bottomless pit! You're ripe for the devil -- you're b-o-u-n-d for hell, and

the Lord only knows what'll become on you!"

"D--n it," thought Suggs, "ef I only had you down in the krick swamp for a minit or so, I'd show you

who's old! I'd alter your tune mighty sudden, you sassy, 'saitful old rascal!" But he judiciously held

his tongue and gave no utterance to the thought.

The attention of many having been directed to the Captain by the preacher's remarks, he was soon

surrounded by numerous well-meaning, and doubtless very pious persons, each one of whom

seemed bent on the application of his own particular recipe for the salvation of souls. For a long

time the Captain stood silent, or answered the incessant stream of exhortation only with a sneer;

but at length, his countenance began to give token of inward emotion. First his eye-lids twitched --

then his upper lip quivered -- next a transparent drop formed on one of his eye-lashes, and a similar

one on the tip of his nose -- and, at last, a sudden bursting of air from nose and mouth, told that

Captain Suggs was overpowered by his emotions. At the moment of the explosion, he made a feint

as if to rush from the crowd, but he was in experienced hands, who well knew that the battle was

more than half won.

"Hold to him!" said one -- "it's a-workin in him as strong as a Dick horse!"

"Pour it into him," said another, " it'll all come right directly!"

"That's the way I love to see 'em do," observed a third; "when you begin to draw the water from

their eyes, taint gwine to be long afore you'll have 'em on their knees!"

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And so they clung to the Captain manfully, and half dragged, half led him to the mourner's bench;

by which he threw himself down, altogether unmanned, and bathed in tears. Great was the

rejoicing of the brethren, as they sang, shouted, and prayed around him -- for by this time it had

come to be generally known that the "convicted" old man was Captain Simon Suggs, the very "chief

of sinners" in all that region.

The Captain remained grovelling in the dust during the usual time, and gave vent to even more

than the requisite number of sobs, and groans, and heartpiercing cries. At length, when the proper

time had arrived, he bounced up, and with a face radiant with joy, commenced a series of vaultings

and tumblings, which "laid in the shade" all previous performances of the sort at that camp-

meeting. The brethren were in extasies at this demonstrative evidence of completion of the work;

and whenever Suggs shouted "Gloree!" at the top of his lungs, every one of them shouted it back,

until the woods rang with echoes.

The effervescence having partially subsided, Suggs was put upon his pins to relate his experience,

which he did somewhat in this style -- first brushing the tear-drops from his eyes, and giving the

end of his nose a preparatory wring with his fingers, to free it of the superabundant moisture:

"Friends," he said, "it don't take long to curry a short horse, accordin' to the old sayin', and I'll give

you the perticklers of the way I was 'brought to a knowledge'" -- here the Captain wiped his eyes,

brushed the tip of his nose and snuffled a little -- "in less'n no time."

"Praise the Lord!" ejaculated a bystander.

"You see I come here full o' romancin' and devilment, and jist to make game of all the purceedins.

Well, sure enough, I done so for some time, and was a-thinkin how I should play some trick --"

"Dear soul alive ! don't he talk sweet!" cried an old lady in black silk -- "Whar's John Dobbs? You

Sukey!" screaming at a negro woman on the other side of the square -- "ef you don't hunt up your

mass John in a minute, and have him here to listen to his 'sperience, I'll tuck you up when I git

home and give you a hundred and fifty lashes, madam! -- see ef I don't! Blessed Lord!" -- referring

again to the Captain's relation -- "aint it a precious 'scource!"

"I was jist a-thinkin' how I should play some trick to turn it all into redecule, when they began to

come round me and talk. Long at fust I didn't mind it, but arter a little that brother" -- pointing to

the reverend gentlemen who had so successfully carried the unbeliever through the Old and New

Testaments, and who Simon was convinced was the "big dog of the tanyard" -- "that brother spoke

a word that struck me kleen to the heart, and run all over me, like fire in dry grass --"

"I-I-I can bring 'em!" cried the preacher alluded to, in a tone of exultation -- "Lord thou knows ef thy

servant can't stir 'em up, nobody else needn't try -- but the glory aint mine! I'm a poor worrum of

the dust" he added, with ill-managed affectation.

"And so from that I felt somethin' a-pullin' me inside --"

"Grace! grace! nothin' but grace!" exclaimed one; meaning that "grace" had been operating in the

Captain's gastric region.

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"And then," continued Suggs, "I wanted to git off, but they hilt me, and bimeby I felt so missuble, I

had to go yonder" -- pointing to the mourners' seat -- "and when I lay down thar it got wuss and

wuss, and 'peered like somethin' was a-mashin' down on my back --"

"That was his load o' sin," said one of the brethren -- "never mind, it'll tumble off presently, see ef it

don't!" and he shook his head professionally and knowingly.

"And it kept a-gittin heavier and heavier, ontwell it looked like it might be a four year old steer, or a

big pine log, or somethin' of that sort --"

"Glory to my soul," shouted Mrs. Dobbs, "it's the sweetest talk I ever hearn! You Sukey! aint you got

John yit? never mind, my lady, I'll settle wi' you!" Sukey quailed before the finger which her

mistress shook at her.

"And arter awhile," Suggs went on, "'peared like I fell into a trance, like, and I seed --"

"Now we'll git the good on it!" cried one of the sanctified.

"And I seed the biggest, longest, rip-roarenest, blackest, scariest --" Captain Suggs paused, wiped

his brow, and ejaculated "Ah, L-o-r-d!" so as to give full time for curiosity to become impatience to

know what he saw.

"Sarpent! warn't it?" asked one of the preachers.

"No, not a serpent," replied Suggs, blowing his nose.

"Do tell us what it war, soul alive! -- whar is John?" said Mrs. Dobbs.

"Allegator!" said the Captain.

"Alligator!" repeated every woman present, and screamed for very life.

Mrs. Dobb's nerves were so shaken by the announcement, that after repeating the horrible word,

she screamed to Sukey, "you Sukey, I say, you Su-u-ke-e-y! ef you let John come a-nigh this way,

whar the dreadful alliga--- shaw! what am I thinkin 'bout? 'Twarn't nothin' but a vishin!"

"Well," said the Captain in continuation, "the allegator kept a-comin' and a-comin' to'ards me, with

his great long jaws a-gapin' open like a ten-foot pair o' tailors' shears --"

"Oh! oh! oh! Lord! gracious above!" cried the women.

"SATAN!" was the laconic ejaculation of the oldest preacher present, who thus informed the

congregation that it was the devil which had attacked Suggs in the shape of an alligator.

"And then I concluded the jig was up, 'thout I could block his game some way; for I seed his idee

was to snap off my head --"

The women screamed again.

"So I fixed myself jist like I was purfectly willin' for him to take my head, and rather he'd do it as

not" -- here the women shuddered perceptibly -- "and so I hilt my head straight out" -- the Captain

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illustrated by elongating his neck -- "and when he come up and was a gwine to shet down on it, I jist

pitched in a big rock which choked him to death, and that minit I felt the weight slide off; and I had

the best feelins -- sorter like you'll have from good sperrits -- any body ever had!"

"Didn't I tell you so? Didn't I tell you so?" asked the brother who had predicted the off-tumbling of

the load of sin. "Ha, Lord! fool who! I've been all along thar! -- yes, all along thar! and I know every

inch of the way jist as good as I do the road home!" -- and then he turned round and round, and

looked at all, to receive a silent tribute to his superior penetration.

Captain Suggs was now the "lion of the day." Nobody could pray so well, or exhort so movingly, as

"brother Suggs." Nor did his natural modesty prevent the proper performance of appropriate

exercises. With the reverend Bela Bugg (him to whom, under providence, he ascribed his

conversion,) he was a most especial favourite. They walked, sang, and prayed together for hours.

"Come, come up; thar's room for all!" cried brother Bugg, in his evening exhortation. "Come to the

'seat,' and ef you won't pray yourselves, let me pray for you!"

"Yes!" said Simon, by way of assisting his friend; "it's a game that all can win at! Ante up! ante up,

boys -- friends I mean -- don't back out!"

"Thar aint a sinner here," said Bugg, "no matter ef his soul's black as a nigger, but what thar's room

for him!"

"No matter what sort of a hand you've got," added Simon in the fulness of his benevolence; "take

stock! Here am I, the wickedest and blindest of sinners -- has spent my whole life in the sarvice of

the devil -- has now come in on narry pair and won a pile!" and the Captain's face beamed with holy

pleasure.

"D-o-n-'t be afeard!" cried the preacher; "come along! the meanest won't be turned away! humble

yourselves and come!"

"No!" said Simon, still indulging in his favourite style of metaphor; "the bluff game aint played here!

No runnin' of a body off! Every body holds four aces, and when you bet, you win!"

And thus the Captain continued, until the services were concluded, to assist in adding to the

number at the mourners' seat; and up to the hour of retiring, he exhibited such enthusiasm in the

cause, that he was unanimously voted to be the most efficient addition the church had made

during that meeting.

The next morning, when the preacher of the day first entered the pulpit, he announced that

"brother Simon Suggs," mourning over his past iniquities, and desirous of going to work in the

cause as speedily as possible, would take up a collection to found a church in his own

neighbourhood, at which he hoped to make himself useful as soon as he could prepare himself for

the ministry, which the preacher didn't doubt, would be in a very few weeks, as brother Suggs was

" a man of mighty good judgement, and of a great discorse." The funds were to be collected by

"brother Suggs," and held in trust by brother Bela Bugg, who was the financial officer of the circuit,

until some arrangement could be made to build a suitable house.

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"Yes, breethring," said the Captain, rising to his feet; "I want to start a little 'sociation close to me,

and I want you all to help. I'm mighty poor myself, as poor as any of you -- don't leave breethring" --

observing that several of the well-to-do were about to go off -- "don't leave; ef you aint able to

afford any thing, jist give us your blessin' and it'll be all the same!"

This insinuation did the business, and the sensitive individuals re-seated themselves.

"It's mighty little of this world's goods I've got," resumed Suggs, pulling off his hat and holding it

before him; "but I'll bury that in the cause any how," and he deposited his last five-dollar bill in the

hat.

There was a murmur of approbation at the Captain's liberality throughout the assembly.

Suggs now commenced collecting, and very prudently attacked first the gentlemen who had shown

a disposition to escape. These, to exculpate themselves from any thing like poverty, contributed

handsomely.

"Look here, breethring"" said the Captain, displaying the bank-notes thus received, "brother Snooks

has drapt a five wi' me, and brother Snodgrass a ten! In course 'taint expected that you that aint as

well off as them, will give as much; let every one give accordin' to ther means."

This was another chain-shot that raked as it went! "Who so low" as not to be able to contribute as

much as Snooks and Snodgrass?

"Here's all the small money I've got about me," said a burly old fellow, ostentatiously handing to

Suggs, over the heads of a half dozen, a ten dollar bill.

"That's what I call maganimus!" exclaimed the Captain; "that's the way every rich man ought to

do!"

These examples were followed, more or less closely, by almost all present, for Simon had excited

the pride of purse of the congregation, and a very handsome sum was collected in a very short

time.

The reverend Mr. Bugg, as soon as he observed that our hero had obtained all that was to be had at

that time, went to him and inquired what amount had been collected. The Captain replied that it

was still uncounted, but that it couldn't be much under a hundred.

"Well, brother Suggs, you'd better count it and turn it over to me now. I'm goin' to leave presently."

"No!" said Suggs -- "can't do it!"

"Why? -- what's the matter?" inquired Bugg.

"It's got to be prayed over, fust!" said Simon, a heavenly smile illuminating his whole face.

"Well," replied Bugg, "less go one side and do it!"

"No!" said Simon, solemnly.

Mr. Bugg gave a look of inquiry.

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"You see that krick swamp?" asked Suggs -- "I'm gwine down in thar, and I'd gwine to lay this

money down so" -- showing how he would place it on the ground -- "and I'm gwine to git on these

here knees" -- slapping the right one -- "and I'm n-e-v-e-r gwine to quit the grit ontwell I feel it's got

the blessin'! And nobody aint got to be thar but me!"

Mr. Bugg greatly admired the Captain's fervent piety, and bidding him God-speed, turned off.

Captain Suggs "struck for" the swamp sure enough, where his horse was already hitched. "Ef them

fellers aint done to a cracklin," he muttered to himself as he mounted, " I'll never bet on two pair

agin! They're peart at the snap game, theyselves; but they're badly lewed this hitch! Well! Live and

let live is a good old motter, and it's my sentiments adzactly !" And giving the spur to his horse, off

he cantered.

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George Washington Harris

Sut Lovingood. Yarns Spun by a "Nat'ral Born Durn'd Fool.

Preface.

“You must have a preface, Sut; your book will then be ready. What shall I write?"

Well, ef I must, I must; fur I s'pose the perducktion cud no more show hitsef in publick wifout hit,

than a coffin-maker cud wif out black clothes, an' yet what's the use ove either ove em, in pint ove

good sense? Smells tu me sorter like a durned humbug, the hole ove hit - a littil like cuttin ove the

Ten Cummandmints intu the rine ove a warter-million; hits jist slashed open an' the inside et outen

hit, the rine an' the cummandmints broke all tu pieces an' flung tu the hogs, an' never tho't ove

onst - them, nur the 'tarnil fool what cut em thar. But ef a orthur mus' take off his shoes afore he

goes intu the publick's parlor, I reckon I kin du hit wifout durtyin my feet, fur I hes socks on.

Sumtimes, George, I wishes I cud read an' write, jis' a littil; but then hits bes' es hit am, fur ove all

the fools the worild hes tu contend wif, the edicated wuns am the worst; they breeds ni ontu all the

devilment a-gwine on. But I wer a-thinkin, ef I cud write mysef, hit wud then raley been my book. I

jis' tell yu now, I don't like the idear ove yu writin a perduckshun, an' me a-findin the brains. 'Taint

the fust case tho' on record by a durned site. Usin ether men's brains is es lawful es usin thar

plunder, an' jis' es common, so I don't keer much nohow. I dusn't 'speck this yere perduckshun will

sit purfeckly quiet ontu the stumicks ove sum pussons - them hu hes a holesum fear ove the devil,

an' orter hev hit, by geminey. Now, fur thar speshul well-bein herearter, I hes jis' this tu say: Ef yu

ain't fond ove the smell ove cracklins, stay outen the kitchin; ef yu is fear'd ore smut, yu needn't

climb the chimbley; an' ef the moon hurts yer eyes, don't yu ever look at a Dutch cheese. That's jis'

all ove hit.

Then thar's sum hu haint much faith in thar repertashun standin much ove a strain; they'll be

powerful keerful how an' whar they reads my words. Now, tu them I haint wun word tu say: they

hes been preached to, an' prayed fur, now ni ontu two thousand years an' I won't dart weeds whar

thuty-two poun shot bounces back.

Then thar's the book-butchers, orful on killin an' cuttin up, but cud no more perjuce a book, than a

bull-butcher cud perjuce a bull. S'pose they takes a noshun tu stick, skin, an' cut up this yere one. Ef

they is fond ove sicknin skeers, I advises em tu take holt tu onst; but fust I begs tu refer em

respectively tu the fate ove three misfortinit pussons menshun'd inside yere - Passun Bullin, Dock

Fabin, an Sheriff Dolton. Read keerfully what happened to them afore yu takes eny ove my flesh

ontu yer claws, ur my blood ontu yer bills, an' that I now is a durnder fool then I wer in them days,

fur I now considers mysef a orthur. I hes tuck my stan amung the nashuns ove the yeath, fur I, too,

hes made me a book, so ef enybody wants dish rags, I thinks hit wud be more healthy fur em not in

tare em ofen my flag.

Mos' book-weavers seem tu be skeery folks, fur giner'lly they cums up tu the slaughter pen, whinin

an' waggin thar tails, a-sayin they 'knows they is imparfeck' - that 'yu'd scace 'speck one ove my ge,'

of 36

an' so forth, so on, so along. Now ef I is a-rowin in that boat, I ain't awar ove hit, I ain't, fur I knows

the tremenjus gif I hes fur breedin skeers amung durned fools, an' then I hes a trustin reliance ontu

the fidelity, injurance, an' speed ove these yere laigs ove mine to tote me an' my sins away beyant

all human ritribushuns ur revenge. Now, 'zamin yer hans, ale ferrits an' weazels, an' ef yu don't hole

bof bowers an' the ace, yu jis' 'pass' hit.

Ef eny poor misfortinit devil hu's heart is onder a mill-stone, hu's raggid children am hungry, an' no

bread in the dresser, hu is down in the mud, an' the lucky ones a-trippin him every time he struggils

to his all fours, hu hes fed the famishin an' is now hungry hissef, hu misfortins foller fas' an' foller

faster, hu is so foot-sore an weak that he wishes he wer at the ferry - ef sich a one kin fine a laugh,

jis' one, sich a laugh as is remembered wif his keerless boyhood, atwixt these yere kivers - then, I'll

thank God that I hes made a book, an' feel that I hev got my pay in full.

“Make me a Notey Beney, George. I wants tu put sumwhar atween the eyebrows ove our book, in

big winnin-lookin letters, the sarchin, meanin words, what sum pusson writ ontu a 'oman's garter

onst, long ago - "

"Evil be to him that evil thinks."

Them's em, by jingo! hed em clost apas' yu, didn't yu? I want em fur a gineral skeer - speshully fur

the wimen.

“Now, George, grease hit good, an' let hit slide down the hill hits own way."

DEDICATORY.

“WELL, Sut, your stories are all ready for the printer; to whom do you wish to dedicate the work?"

"I don't keer much, George; haint hit a kine ove lickskillet bisness, enyhow - sorter like the waggin

ove a dorg's tail, when he sees yu eatin ove sassengers? But yere goes: How wud Anner Dickinson

du tu pack hit ontu?"

“Oh, Sut, that would never do. What! dedicate such nonsense as yours to a woman? How will this

do?

DEDICATED TO

THE MEMORY OF

ELBRIDGE GERRY EASTMAN,

THE ABLE EDITOR, AND FINISHED GENTLEMAN, THE FRIEND, WHOSE KINDLY

VOICE FIRST INSPIRED MY TIMID PEN WITH HOPE.

GRATEFUL MEMORY DROPS A TEAR AMONG THE FLOWERS, AS AFFECTION STREWS THEM

O'ER HIS GRAVE."

"Won't begin tu du, George. The idear ove Enybody bein grateful, ur rememberin a dead friend

now-a-days! Why, if that wer tu git out onto me, I'd never be able tu mix in decent s'ciety while I

lived. Tare that up, George."

"Well, what do you say to this, Sut?

of 36

TO

WILLIAM CRUTCHFIELD, OF CHATTANOOGA,

MY FRIEND IN STORM AND SUNSHINE, BRAVE ENOUGH TO BE TRUE, AND TRUE

ENOUGH TO BE SINGULAR; ONE WHO SAYS WHAT HE THINKS,

AND VERY OFTEN THINKS WHAT HE SAYS."

"That won't du either, hoss. 'Tis mos' es bad tu be grateful tu the livin es the dead. I tell yu hit ain't

smart. Ef ever yu is grateful at all, show hit tu them what yu expeck will du a favor, never tu the

'tarnil fool what hes dun hit. Never es yu expeck to git tu heaven, never pay fur a ded hoss. An'

more, every fice ur houn dorg what either him ur me has wallop'd fur thar nastiness, wud open

ontu our trail - ontu him fur buyin me, an' ontu me fur bein bought. No, George, I'll do ontill Bill

gets poor ur dus sum devilmint. I'll tell yu what I'll du, I'll jis' dedercate this yere perduction tu the

durndest fool in the United States, an' Massachusets too, he or she. An then, by golly, I'll jis' watch

hu claims hit."

"Very well, Sut; how shall I write it? how designate the proper one?"

"Jis' this way; hits the easiest dun thing in the world:

DEDERCATED

WIF THE SYMPERTHYS OVE THE ORTHUR,

TU THE MAN UR 'OMAN, HUEVER THEY BE,

WHAT DON'T READ THIS YERE BOOK.

Don't that kiver the case to a dot? Hu knows but what I'se dedercatin hit tu mysef at las'. Well, I

don't keer a durn, I kin stan hit, ef the rest ove em kin."

of 36

Sut Lovingood's Daddy, Acting Horse.

“HOLE that ar hoss down tu the yeath." "He's a fixin fur the heavings." "He's a spreadin his tail

feathers tu fly. Look out, Laigs, if you aint ready tu go up'ards." "Wo, Shavetail." "Git a fiddil; he's

tryin a jig." "Say, Long Laigs, rais'd a power ove co'n didn't yu?" "Taint co'n, hits redpepper."

These and like expressions were addressed to a queer looking, long legged, short bodied, small

headed, white haired, hog eyed, funny sort of a genius, fresh from some bench-legged Jew's

clothing store, mounted on "Tearpoke," a nick tailed, bow necked, long, poor, pale sorrel horse,

half dandy, half devil, and enveloped in a perfect net-work of bridle, reins, crupper, martingales,

straps, surcingles, and red ferreting, who reined up in front of Pat Nash's grocery, among a crowd of

mountaineers full of fun, foolery, and mean whisky.

This was SUT LOVINGOOD.

"I say, you durn'd ash cats, jis' keep yer shuts on, will ye? You never seed a rale hoss till I rid up;

you's p'raps stole ur owned shod rabbits ur sheep wif borrerd saddils on, but when you tuck the fus'

begrudgin look jis' now at this critter, name Tarpoke, yu wer injoyin a sight ove nex' tu the bes' hoss

what ever shell'd nubbins ur toted jugs, an' he's es ded es a still wum, poor ole Tickytail!

"Wo! wo! Tarpoke, yu cussed infunel fidgety hide full ove hell fire, can't yu stan' still an listen while

I'se a polishin yer karacter off es a mortul hoss tu these yere durned fools?"

Sut's tongue or his spurs brought Tearpoke into something like passable quietude while he

continued:

"Say yu, sum ove yu growin hogs made a re-mark jis' now 'bout redpepper. I jis' wish to say in a

gineral way that eny wurds cupplin redpepper an Tarpoke together am durn'd infurnal lies."

"What killed Tickeytail, Sut?" asked an anxious inquirer after truth.

"Why nuffin, you cussed fool; he jis' died so, standin up et that. Warn't that rale casteel hoss pluck?

Yu see, he froze stiff; no, not that adzactly, but starv'd fust, an' froze arterards, so stiff that when

dad an' me went tu lay him out an' we push'd him over, he stuck out jis' so, (spreading his arms and

legs,) like ontu a carpenter's bainch, an' we hed to wait ni ontu seventeen days fur 'im to thaw

afore we cud skin 'im."

"Skin 'im?" interrupted a rat-faced youth, whittling on a corn. stalk, "I thot yu wanted tu lay the

hoss out."

"The hell yu did! Aint skinin the natral way ove layin out a hoss, I'd like tu no? See a yere, soney, yu

tell yer mam to hev yu sot back jis' bout two years, fur et the rate yu'se a climbin yu stan's a pow'ful

chance tu die wif yer shoes on, an' git laid hoss way, yu dus."

The rat-faced youth shut up his knife and subsided.

of 36

"Well, thar we wer - dad, an' me, (counting on his fingers,) an' Sall, an' Jake, (fool Jake we calls 'im

fur short,) an' Jim, an' Phineass, an' Callimy Jane, an' Sharlottyann, an' me, an' Zodiack, an' Cashus

Clay, an' Noah Dan Webster, an' the twin gals, (Castur and Pollox,) an' me, an' Catherin Second, an'

Cleopatry Antony, an' Jane Barnum Lind, an' me, an' Benton Bullion, an' the baby what haint nam'd

yet, an' me, an' the Prospect, an' mam hersef, all lef in the woods alone, wifout ara hoss tu crop

wif."

"Yu'se counted yersef five times, Mister Lovingood," said a tomato-nosed man in ragged overcoat

"Yas, ole Still-tub, that's jis the perporshun I bears in the famerly fur dam fool, leavin out Dad in

course. Yu jis let me alone, an' be a thinkin ove gittin more troops ontu yu. Yus leakin now; see

thar." Ha! ha! from the crowd, and "Still-tub" went into the doggery.

Warnt that a devil's own mess ove broth fur a 'spectabil white famerly tu be sloshin about in? I be

durned ef I didn't feel sorter like stealin a hoss sumtimes, an' I speck I'd a dun hit, but the stealin

streak in the Lovingoods, all run tu durned fool, an' the onvartus streak all run to laigs. Jis look

down the side ove this yere hoss mos' tu the groun'. Dus yu see em?

"Well we waited, an' wished, an' rested, an' plan'd, an' wished, an' waited agin, ontil ni ontu

strawberry time, hopin sum stray hoss mout cum along; but dorg my cats, ef eny sich good luck

ever cums wifin reach ove whar dad is, he's so dod-dratted mean, an' lazy, an' ugly, an' savidge, an'

durn fool tu kill.

"Well, one nite he lay awake till cock-crowin a-snortin, an' rollin, an' blowin, an' shufflin, an'

scratchin hissef, an' a whisperin at mam a heap, an' at breckfus' I foun' out what hit ment. Says he,

'Sut, I'll tell yu what we'll du: I'll be hoss mysef; an' pull the plow whilst yu drives me, an' then the

"Ole Quilt" (he ment that fur mam,) an' the brats kin plant, an' tend, ur jis let hit alone, es they darn

pleze; I aint a carein.'

"So out we went tu the pawpaw thicket, an' peel'd a rite smart chance ove bark, an' mam an' me

made geers fur dad, while he sot on the fence a-lookin at us, an' a studyin pow'rful. I arterards

foun' out, he wer a-studyin how tu play the kar-acter ove a hoss puffectly.

"Well, the geers becum him mitily, an' nuffin wud du 'im but he mus hev a bridil, so I gits a

umereller brace - hit's a litil forked piece ove squar wire bout a foot long, like a yung pitch-fork, yu

no - an' twisted hit sorter intu a bridil bit snaffil shape. Dad wanted hit made kurb, es he hedn't

work'd fur a good while, an' said he mout sorter feel his keepin, an' go tu ravin an' cavortin.

"When we got the bridil fix'd ontu dad, don't yu bleve he sot in to chompin hit jis like a rale hoss,

an' tried to bite me on the arm, (he allers wer a mos' complikated durned ole fool, an' mam sed so

when he warnt about.) I put on the geers, an' while mam wer a-tyin the belly ban', a-strainin hit

pow'rful tite, he drapt ontu his hans, sed 'Whay-a-a' like a mad hoss wud, an' slung his hine laigs at

mam's hed. She step'd back a littil an' wer standin wif her arms cross'd a-restin em on her stumick,

an' his heel taps cum wifin a inch ove her nose. Sez she, 'Yu plays hoss better nur yu dus husban.'

He jis' run backards on all fours, an' kick'd at her agin, an' - an' pawd the groun wif his fis.

" 'Lead him off tu the field, Sut, afore he kicks ur bites sumbody,' sez mam. I shoulder'd the gopher

plow, an' tuck hole ove the bridil. Dad leaned back sulky, till I sed cluck cluck wif my tounge, then

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he started. When we cum tu the fence I let down the gap, an' hit made dad mad; he wanted tu

jump hit on all fours hoss way. Oh' geminy! what a durn'd ole fool kin cum to ef he gins up tu the

complaint.

"I hitch'd 'im tu the gopher, a-watchin him pow'ful clost, fur I'd see how quick he cud drap ontu his

hans, an' kick, an' away we went, dad leanin forard tu his pullin, an' we made rite peart plowin, fur

tu hev a green hoss, an' bark gears; he went over the sprowts an' bushes same as a rale hoss, only

he traveled on two laigs. I wer mitily hope up bout co'n; I cud a'mos' see hit a cumin up; but thar's a

heap ove whisky spilt twixt the counter an' the mouf, ef hit ain't got but two foot tu travil. 'Bout the

time he wer beginin tu break sweat, we cum tu a sassafrack bush, an tu keep up his kar-acter es a

hoss, he buljed squar intu an' thru hit, tarin down a ball ho'nets nes' ni ontu es big es a hoss's bed,

an' the hole tribe kiver'd 'im es quick es yu cud kiver a sick pup wif a saddil blanket. He lit ontu his

hans agin, an kick'd strait up onst, then he rar'd, an' fotch a squeal wus nur ara stud hoss in the

State, an' sot in tu strait runnin away jis es natral es yu ever seed any uther skeer'd hoss du. I let go

the line an' holler'd, Wo! dad, wo! but yu mout jis' es well say Woa! tu a locomotum, ur Suke cow

to a gal.

"Gewhillitins! how he run: when he cum tu bushes, he'd clar the top ove em wif a squeal, gopher

an' all. P'raps he tho't thar mout be anuther settilment ove ball ho'nets thar, an' hit wer safer tu go

over than thru, an' quicker dun eny how. Every now an' then he'd fan the side ove his hed, fust wif

wun fore laig an' then tuther, then he'd gin hissef a roun-handed slap what soundid like a waggin

whip ontu the place whar the breechbands tetches a hoss, a-runnin all the time an' a-kerrin that ar

gopher jis 'bout as fas' an' es hi frum the yeath es ever eny gopher wer kerried I'll swar.

When he cum tu the fence, he jis tore thru hit, bustin an' scatterin ni ontu seven panils wif lots ove

broken rails. Rite yere he lef the gopher, geers, close, clevis, an' swingltress, all mix'd up, an' not

wuf a durn., Mos' ove his shut staid ontu the aind ove a rail, an' ni ontu a pint ove ho'nets stop'd

thar a stingin all over; hits smell fool'd em. The balance on em, ni ontu a gallun, kep' on wif dad. He

seem'd tu run jis adzactly es fas' es a ho'net cud fly; hit wer the titest race I ever seed, fur wun hoss

tu git all the whipin. Down thru a saige field they all went, the ho'nets makin hit look like thar wer

smoke roun' dad's bald hed, an' he wif nuffin on the green yeath in the way ove close about im, but

the bridil, an' ni ontu a yard ove plow line sailin behine, wif a tir'd out ho'net ridin on the pint ove

hit. I seed that he wer aimin fur the swimin hole in the krick, whar the bluff am over-twenty five

foot pupendiculer tu the warter, an' hits ni ontu ten foot deep.

"Well, tu keep up his karacter es a hoss, plum thru, when he got tu the bluff he loped off, ur rather

jis' kep on a runnin. Kerslunge intu the krick he went. I seed the warter fly plum abuv the bluff from

whar I wer.

"Now rite thar, boys, he over-did the thing, ef actin hoss tu the scribe wer what he wer arter; fur

thars nara hoss ever foaldid durned fool enuf tu lope over eny sich place; a cussed muel mout a dun

hit, but dad warn't actin muel, tho' he orter tuck that karacter; hits adzactly sooted tu his

dispersition, all but not breedin. I crept up to the aidge, an' peep'd over. Thar wer dad's bald hed

fur all the yeath like a peeled inyin, a bobbin up an' down an' aroun, an' the ho'nets sailin roun

tuckey buzzard fashun, an' every onst in a while one, an' sum times ten, wud take a dip at dad's

bald head. He kep' up a rite peart dodgin onder, sumtimes afore they hit im, an' sumtimes arterard,

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an' the warter wer kivered wif drownded ball ho'nets. Tu look at hit frum the top ove the bluff, hit

wer pow'ful inturestin, an' sorter funny; I wer on the bluff myse'f, mine yu.

"Dad cudent see the funny part frum whar he wer, but hit seem'd tu be inturestin tu him frum the

'tenshun he wer payin tu the bisness ove divin an' cussin.

"Sez I, 'Dad, ef yu's dun washin yersef, an hes drunk enuff, less go back tu our plowin, hit will soon

be powful hot.' 'Hot - hell!' sez dad; 'hit am hot rite now. Don't (an onder went his hed) yer see

(dip) these cussed (dip) infun - (dip) varmints arter me?' (dip.) 'What,' sez I, 'them ar hoss flies thar,

that's nat'ral, dad; you aint raley fear'd ove them is yu?' 'Hoss flies! h---l an' (dip) durnation!' sez

dad, 'theyse rale ginui- (dip) ball ho'nets, (dip) yu infunel ignurant cuss!' (dip.) 'Kick em - bite em -

paw em - switch em wif yure tail, dad,' sez I. 'Oh! soney, soney, (dip) how I'll sweeten yure - (dip)

when these (dip) ho'nets leave yere.' 'Yu'd better do the levin yursef dad,' sez I. 'Leave yere! Sturn

yu d - n fool! How (dip) kin I, (dip) when they won't (dip) let me stay (dip) atop (dip) the warter

even.' 'Well, dad, yu'l hev tu stay thar till nite, an' arter they goes tu roos' yu cum home. I'll hev yer

feed in the troft redy; yu won't need eny curyin tu-nite will yu?' 'I wish (dip) I may never (dip) see

to-morrer, ef I (dip) don't make (dip) hame strings (dip) outer yure hide (dip) when I dus (dip) git

outen yere,' sez dad. 'Better say yu wish yu may never see anuther ball hornet, ef yu ever play hoss

agin,' sez I.

"Them words toch dad tu the hart, an' I felt they mus' be my las, knowin dad's onmollified nater. I

broke frum them parts, an' sorter cum over yere tu the copper mines. When I got tu the hous',

'Whar's yer dad?' sez mam. 'Oh, he turn'd durn fool, an' run away, busted every thing all tu cussed

smash, an's in the swimin hole a divin arter minners. Look out mam, he'll cum home wif a angel's

temper; better sen' fur sum strong man body to keep him frum huggin yu tu deth. 'Law sakes!' sez

mam; 'I know'd he cudent act hoss fur ten minutes wifout actin infunel fool, tu save his life.'

"I staid hid out ontil nex' arternoon, an' I seed a feller a-travelin'. Sez I, 'How de do, mister? What

wer agwine on at the cabin, this side the crick, when yu pass'd thar?' 'Oh, nuthin much, only a

pow'ful fat man wer a lyin in the yard ontu his belly, wif no shut on, an' a 'oman wer a greasin ove

his shoulders an' arms outen a gourd. A pow'ful curious, vishus, skeery lookin cuss he is tu b'shure.

His head am as big es a wash pot, an' he hasent the fust durned sign ove an eye - jist two black slits.

Is thar much small pox roun yere?' 'Small hell!' sez I, 'no sir.' 'Been much fightin in this

neighborhood lately?' 'Nun wuf speakin ove,' sez I. He scratched his head - 'Nur French measils?'

'Not jis clost,' sez I. 'Well, do yu know what ails that man back thar?' 'Jist gittin over a vilent attack

ove dam fool,' sez I. 'Well, who is he eny how?' I ris tu my feet, an' straiched out my arm, an' sez I,

'Strainger, that man is my dad.' He looked at my laigs an' pussonel feeters a moment, an' sez he,

'Yas, dam ef he aint.'

"Now boys, I haint seed dad since, an' I dusent hev much appertite tu see im fur sum time tu cum.

Less all drink! Yere's luck tu the durned old fool, an' the ho'nets too.

of 36

Sut's New-Fangled Shirt.

I MET Sut, one morning, weaving along in his usual rambling uncertain gait. His appearance

satisfied me at once that something was wrong. He had been sick - whipped in a free fight, or was

just getting on his legs again, from a "big drunk."

But upon this point I was soon enlightened.

"Why, Sut, what's wrong now?" you look sick.

"Heaps wrong, durn my skin - no my haslets - ef I haint mos' ded, an' my looks don't lie when they

hints that I'se sick. I is sick - I'se skin'd."

"Who skinned you - old Bullen?"

"No, hoss, a durnder fool nor Bullen did hit; I jis skin'd mysef."

"What in the name of common sense did you do it for?"

"Didn't du hit in the name ove common sense; did hit in the name, an' wif the sperit, ove plum

natral born durn fool.

"Lite ofen that ar hoss, an' take a ho'n; I wants two ove 'em, (shaking his constant companion, a

whisky flask, at me,) an' plant yersef ontu that ar log, an' I'll tell ef I kin, but hit's a'mos beyant tellin.

"I'se a durnder fool nor enybody outside a Assalum, ur Kongriss, 'sceptin ove my own dad, fur he

actid hoss, an' I haint tried that yet. I'se allers intu sum trap what wudn't ketch a saidge-field sheep.

I'll drownd mysef sum day, jis see ef I don't. I spects that wud stop the famerly dispersition tu act

durn fool, so fur es Sut's consarn'd."

"Well, how is it Sut; have you been beat playing cards or drinking?"

"Nara wan, by geminy! them jobs can't be did in these yere parts, es enybody no's on, but seein hits

yu I'll tell hit. I'se sick-sham'd-sorry-sore-an'-mad tu kill, I is. Yu no I boards wif Bill Carr, at his cabin

ontu the mountin, an' pays fur sich es I gits when I hes munny, an' when I hesent eny, why he takes

wun third outer me in holesum hot cussin; an' she, that's his wife Betts, takes tuther three thirds

out wif the battlin stick, an' the intrus' wif her sharp tongue, an' she takes more intrus' nur

principal. She's the cussedes' oman I ever seed eny how, fur jaw, breedin, an' pride. She kin scold a

blister rite plum ontu a bull's curl in two minits. She outbreeds enything frum thar tu the river, takin

in the minks - an' patterns arter all new fangl'd fashuns she hears tell on, from bussils tu britches.

Oh! she's wun ove em, an' sumtimes she's two ur three, she is.

"Well, yu see I'd got hole on sum homade cottin cloff, fur a shirt, an' coax'd Betts to make hit, an'

bout the time hit wer dun, yere cum a cussed stuck up lawyer, name Jonsin, an' ax'd fur brekfus' -

rite yere I wishes the bread had been asnick, an' the meat strikenine, an' that he'd a staid an tuck

dinner too, fur he hes ni ontu fotch about my aind, durn his sashararer mitimurs ole soul tu

thunder!

of 36

"I wonder hit didn't work 'im pow'ful es hit wer; fur Betts cooks up sum tarifyin mixtrys ove vittils,

when she tries hersef. I'se pizen proof my sef; fur thuty dollars, I jis' let a sluice ove aquafotis run

thru me fur ha'f a day, an' then live tu spen' the las' durn cent, fur churnbrain whiskey; ef I warnt

(holding up his flask and peeping through it,) I'd dun been ded long ago.

"Well, while he wer eatin, she spied out that his shut wer mons'ous stiff, an' es slick es glass, so she

never rested ontill she wurmed hit outen 'im that hit wer dun wif a flour preparashun. She went wif

'im a piece ove the way down the mountin, to git the purticulers, an' when she cum back she sed

she had em. I thot she had myse'f.

"She imejuntly sot in, an' biled a big pot ove paste, ni ontu a peck ove hit, an' tole me I wer gwine to

hev 'the gonest purty shut in that range.' Well, she wer sorter rite, fur when I las seed hit hit wer

purty - yas orful purty, tu a rat, ur a buzzard, ur eny uther varmint fon ove dirty, skary lookin things;

but frum the time I staid inside ove hit, I can't say that es. a human shut I'd gin a durn fur a dozin

ove em. 'Gonest purty shut' - the cussed ole hen jay bird, I jis' wish she hed tu war it wif a

redpepper linin' on till she gits a-pas' hatchin, an' that wud be ni ontu eleving year, ef she tells the

truff.

"She soused my shut intu the pot, an' soaked hit thar, ontil hit tuck up mos' ove the paste; then she

tuck hit an' iron'd hit out flat, an' dry, an' sot hit on hits aidge agin the cabin in the sun. Thar hit

stood, like a dry hoss hide, an' hit rattiled like ontu a sheet ove iron, hit did, pasted tugether all over

- 'gonest purty shut! - durn'd huzzy!

"When I cum tu dinner, nuffin wud du Betts, but I mus' put myse'f inside hit rite thar. She partid the

tails a littil piece wif a case nife, an' arter I got my hed started up intu hit, she'd pull down, fus' at

wun tail, an' then tuther, ontil I wer farly inside ove hit, an' button'd in. Durn the everlastin, infunel,

new fangled sheet iron cuss ove a shut! I say. I felt like I'd crowded intu a ole bee-gum, an' hit all

full ove pissants; but hit wer a 'born'd twin ove Lawyer Jonsin's,' Betts sed, an' I felt like standin es

much pussonal discumfurt es he cud, jis tu git tu sampil arter sumbody human. I didn't know, tu,

but what hit hed the vartu ove makin a lawyer outen me agin hit got limber.

"I sot in tu bildin ove a ash-hopper fur Betts, an' work'd pow'ful hard, sweat like a hoss, an' then the

shut quit hits hurtin, an' tuck tu feelin slippery. Thinks I, that's sorter lawyer like enyhow, an' I wer

hope up bout the shut, an' what mout cum outen hit.

"Arter I got dun work, I tuck me a four finger dost ove bumble-bee whisky, went up intu the lof' an'

fell asleep a-thinkin bout bein a rale sashararer lawyer, hoss, saddil bags, an' books; an' Bets went

over the top tu see her mam.

"Well, arter a while I waked up; I'd jis' been dreamin that the judge ove the supreme cort had me

sowed up in a raw hide, an' sot up agin a hot pottery kill tu dry, an' the dryin woke me.

"I now thort I wer ded, an' hed died ove rhumaticks ove the hurtines' kind. All the jints I cud muve

we my ankils, knees, an' wrists; cudn't even move my hed, an' scarsely wink my eyes; the cussed

shut wer pasted fas' ontu me all over, frum the ainds ove the tails tu the pints ove the broad-axe

collar over my years. Hit sot tu me es clost es a poor cow dus tu her hide in March. I worm'd an'

strain'd an' cuss'd an' grunted, till I got hit sorter broke at the shoulders an' elbows, an' then I dun

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the durndes' fool thing ever did in these yere mountins. I shuffl'd an' tore my britches off, an' skin'd

loose frum my hide bout two inches ove the tail all roun in orful pain, an quick-stingin trebulashun.

Oh! great golly grampus, how it hurt! Then I tuck up a plank outen the lof', an' hung my laigs down

thru the hole, sot in, an' nail'd the aidge ove the frunt tail tu the floor afore me, an' the hine tail I

nail'd tu the plank what I sot on. I flung the hammer outen my reach, tu keep my hart frum failin

me, onbutton'd the collar an' risbans, raised my hans way abuv my hed, shot up my eyes, sed a

short grace, an' jump'd thru tu the groun' floor, jis' thuteen foot wun inch clear ove jists."

Here Sut remarked, sadly shaking his head, "George, I'se a durnder fool nor dad, hoss, ho'nets, an'

gopher. I'll hev tu drown'd mysef sum ove these days, see ef I don't."

"Well, go on Sut; did the shirt come off?"

"I ---- t-h-i-n-k ---- h-i-t ------- d-id.

"I hearn a nise like tarin a shingle ruff ofen a hous' at wun rake, an' felt like my bones wer all what

lef the shut, an' reach'd the floor. I stagger'd tu my feet, an' tuck a moanful look up at my shut. The

nails hed hilt thar holt, an' so hed the tail hem; thar hit wer hangin arms down, inside out, an' jis' es

stiff es ever. Hi look'd like a map ove Mexico, arter one ove the wurst battils. A patch ove my skin

'bout the size ove a dullar, ur a dullar an' a'alf bill yere, a bunch ove har bout like a bird's nes' thar,

then sum more skin, then sum paste, then a littil more har, then a heap ove skin - har an' skin

straight along all over that newfangl'd everlastin', infunel pasted cuss ove a durnd shut! Hit wer a

picter tu look at, an' so wer I.

"The hide, har, an' paste wer about ekally devided atwix me an' hit. George, listen tu me: hit looked

adzactly like the skin ove sum wile beas' tore off alive, ur a bag what hed toted a laig ove fresh beef

frum a shootin match.

"Bill cum home wif Betts, an' wer the fust inter the cabin. He backed outen hit agin an' sez he,

'Marcyful payrint! thar's been murderin dun yere; hits been ole Bullen; he's skinn'd Sut, an' thars

his hide hung up tu dry.' Betts walked roun hit a zaminin hit, till at las' she venter'd clost, an' know'd

her sowin.

"Sez she, 'Yu dad dratted ole pot-head, that's his Sunday shut. Hes hed a drefful fite tho' wif

sumbody;didn't they go fur his har ofen?' 'An rine in 'bun dance,' sed Bill. 'Yas hoss,' sed Betts

agine, 'an' ef I'd been him, I'd a shed hit, I wudnt a fit es nasty a fite es that wer, in my fines' shut,

wu'd yu, Bill?'

"Now, George, I's boun tu put up Jonsin's meat fur im on site, wifout regardin good killin weather,

an' ef ever a 'oman flattins out a shut fur me agin, durn my everlastin picter ef I dont flattin her out,

es thin es a stepchile's bread an' butter. I'll du hit ef hit takes me a week.

"Hits a retribushun sartin, the biggest kine ove a preacher's regular retribushun, what am tu be

foun' in the Holy Book.

"Dus yu mine my racin dad, wif sum ho'nets, an' so forth, intu the krick?

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"Well, this am what cums ove hit. I'll drownd mysef, see ef I don't, that is ef I don't die frum that

hellfired shut. Now George, ef a red-heded 'oman wif a reel foot axes yu tu marry her, yu may du

hit; ef an 'oman wants yu tu kill her husbun, yu may do hit; ef a gal axes yu tu rob the bank, an' take

her tu Californy, yu may du hit; ef wun on em wants yu to quit whisky, yu mout even du that. But ef

ever an 'oman, ole ur yung, purty es a sunflower ur ugly es a skin'd hoss, offers yu a shut aninted

wif paste tu put on, jis' yu kill her in her tracks, an' burn the cussed pisnus shut rite thar. Take a

ho'n?

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Mark Twain

The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County

In compliance with the request of a friend of mine, who wrote me from the East, I called on good-

natured, garrulous old Simon Wheeler, and inquired after my friend's friend, Leonidas W. Smiley, as

requested to do, and I hereunto append the result. I have a lurking suspicion that Leonidas W.

Smiley is a myth; and that my friend never knew such a personage; and that he only conjectured

that if I asked old Wheeler about him, it would remind him of his infamous Jim Smiley, and he

would go to work and bore me to death with some exasperating reminiscence of him as long and as

tedious as it should be useless to me. If that was the design, it succeeded.

I found Simon Wheeler dozing comfortably by the barroom stove of the dilapidated tavern in the

decayed mining camp of Angel's, and I noticed that he was fat and bald-headed, and had an

expression of winning gentleness and simplicity upon his tranquil countenance. He roused up, and

gave me good-day. I told him a friend had commissioned me to make some inquiries about a

cherished companion of his boyhood named Leonidas W. Smiley—Rev. Leonidas W. Smiley, a young

minister of the Gospel, who he had heard was at one time a resident of Angel's Camp. I added that

if Mr. Wheeler could tell me anything about this Rev. Leonidas W. Smiley, I would feel under many

obligations to him.

Simon Wheeler backed me into a corner and blockaded me there with his chair, and then sat down

and reeled off the monotonous narrative which follows this paragraph. He never smiled, he never

frowned, he never changed his voice from the gentle-flowing key to which he tuned his initial

sentence, he never betrayed the slightest suspicion of enthusiasm; but all through the interminable

narrative there ran a vein of impressive earnestness and sincerity, which showed me plainly that, so

far from his imagining that there was anything ridiculous or funny about his story, he regarded it as

a really important matter, and admired its two heroes as men of transcendent genius in finesse. I

let him go on in his own way, and never interrupted him once.

"Rev. Leonidas W. H'm, Reverend Le—well, there was a feller here once by the name of Jim Smiley,

in the winter of '49—or may be it was the spring of '50—I don't recollect exactly, somehow, though

what makes me think it was one or the other is because I remember the big flume warn't finished

when he first came to the camp; but any way, he was the curiousest man about always betting on

anything that turned up you ever see, if he could get anybody to bet on the other side; and if he

couldn't he'd change sides. Any way that suited the other man would suit him—any way just so's he

got a bet, he was satisfied. But still he was lucky, uncommon lucky; he most always come out

winner. He was always ready and laying for a chance; there couldn't be no solit'ry thing mentioned

but that feller'd offer to bet on it, and take any side you please, as I was just telling you. If there was

a horse-race, you'd find him flush or you'd find him busted at the end of it; if there was a dog-fight,

he'd bet on it; if there was a cat-fight, he'd bet on it; if there was a chicken-fight, he'd bet on it;

why, if there was two birds setting on a fence, he would bet you which one would fly first; or if

there was a camp-meeting, he would be there reg'lar to bet on Parson Walker, which he judged to

be the best exhorter about here, and he was, too, and a good man. If he even see a straddle-bug

start to go anywheres, he would bet you how long it would take him to get to—to wherever he was

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going to, and if you took him up, he would foller that straddle-bug to Mexico but what he would

find out where he was bound for and how long he was on the road. Lots of the boys here has seen

that Smiley and can tell you about him. Why, it never made no difference to him—he'd bet on any

thing—the dangest feller. Parson Walker's wife laid very sick once, for a good while, and it seemed

as if they warn't going to save her; but one morning he come in, and Smiley up and asked him how

she was, and he said she was considerable better—thank the Lord for his inf'nit' mercy—and

coming on so smart that with the blessing of Prov'dence she'd get well yet; and Smiley, before he

thought, says, Well, I'll risk two-and-a-half she don't anyway.'"

Thish-yer Smiley had a mare—the boys called her the fifteen-minute nag, but that was only in fun,

you know, because, of course, she was faster than that—and he used to win money on that horse,

for all she was so slow and always had the asthma, or the distemper, or the consumption, or

something of that kind. They used to give her two or three hundred yards start, and then pass her

under way; but always at the fag-end of the race she'd get excited and desperate-like, and come

cavorting and straddling up, and scattering her legs around limber, sometimes in the air, and

sometimes out to one side amongst the fences, and kicking up m-o-r-e dust and raising m-o-r-e

racket with her coughing and sneezing and blowing her nose—and always fetch up at the stand just

about a neck ahead, as near as you could cipher it down.

And he had a little small bull-pup, that to look at him you'd think he warn't worth a cent but to set

around and look ornery and lay for a chance to steal something. But as soon as money was up on

him he was a different dog; his under-jaw'd begin to stick out like the fo'-castle of a steamboat, and

his teeth would uncover and shine like the furnaces. And a dog might tackle him and bully-rag him,

and bite him, and throw him over his shoulder two or three times, and Andrew Jackson—which was

the name of the pup—Andrew Jackson would never let on but what he was satisfied, and hadn't

expected nothing else—and the bets being doubled and doubled on the other side all the time, till

the money was all up; and then all of a sudden he would grab that other dog jest by the j'int of his

hind leg and freeze to it—not chaw, you understand, but only just grip and hang on till they

throwed up the sponge, if it was a year. Smiley always come out winner on that pup, till he

harnessed a dog once that didn't have no hind legs, because they'd been sawed off in a circular

saw, and when the thing had gone along far enough, and the money was all up, and he come to

make a snatch for his pet holt, he see in a minute how he'd been imposed on, and how the other

dog had him in the door, so to speak, and he 'peared surprised, and then he looked sorter

discouraged-like, and didn't try no more to win the fight, and so he got shucked out bad. He gave

Smiley a look, as much as to say his heart was broke, and it was his fault, for putting up a dog that

hadn't no hind legs for him to take holt of, which was his main dependence in a fight, and then he

limped off a piece and laid down and died. It was a good pup, was that Andrew Jackson, and would

have made a name for hisself if he'd lived, for the stuff was in him and he had genius—I know it,

because he hadn't no opportunities to speak of, and it don't stand to reason that a dog could make

such a fight as he could under them circumstances if he hadn't no talent. It always makes me feel

sorry when I think of that last fight of his'n, and the way it turned out.

Well, thish-yer Smiley had rat-tarriers, and chicken cocks, and tom-cats and all of them kind of

things, till you couldn't rest, and you couldn't fetch nothing for him to bet on but he'd match you.

He ketched a frog one day, and took him home, and said he cal'lated to educate him; and so he

never done nothing for three months but set in his back yard and learn that frog to jump. And you

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bet you he did learn him, too. He'd give him a little punch behind, and the next minute you'd see

that frog whirling in the air like a doughnut—see him turn one summerset, or may be a couple, if he

got a good start, and come down flat-footed and all right, like a cat. He got him up so in the matter

of ketching flies, and kep' him in practice so constant, that he'd nail a fly every time as fur as he

could see him. Smiley said all a frog wanted was education, and he could do 'most anything—and I

believe him. Why, I've seen him set Dan'l Webster down here on this floor—Dan'l Webster was the

name of the frog—and sing out, "Flies, Dan'l, flies!" and quicker'n you could wink he'd spring

straight up and snake a fly off'n the counter there, and flop down on the floor ag'in as solid as a gob

of mud, and fall to scratching the side of his head with his hind foot as indifferent as if he hadn't no

idea he'd been doin' any more'n any frog might do. You never see a frog so modest and

straightfor'ard as he was, for all he was so gifted. And when it come to fair and square jumping on a

dead level, he could get over more ground at one straddle than any animal of his breed you ever

see. Jumping on a dead level was his strong suit, you understand; and when it come to that, Smiley

would ante up money on him as long as he had a red. Smiley was monstrous proud of his frog, and

well he might be, for fellers that had traveled and been everywheres, all said he laid over any frog

that ever they see.

Well, Smiley kep' the beast in a little lattice box, and he used to fetch him downtown sometimes

and lay for a bet. One day a feller—a stranger in the camp, he was—come acrost him with his box,

and says:

"What might be that you've got in the box?"

And Smiley says, sorter indifferent-like, "It might be a parrot, or it might be a canary, maybe, but it

ain't—it's only just a frog."

And the feller took it, and looked at it careful, and turned it round this way and that, and says,

"H'm—so 'tis. Well, what's he good for?"

"Well," Smiley says, easy and careless, "he's good enough for one thing, I should judge—he can

outjump any frog in Calaveras county."

The feller took the box again, and took another long, particular look, and give it back to Smiley, and

says, very deliberate, "Well," he says, "I don't see no p'ints about that frog that's any better'n any

other frog."

"Maybe you don't," Smiley says. "Maybe you understand frogs and maybe you don't understand

'em; maybe you've had experience, and maybe you ain't only a amature, as it were. Anyways, I've

got my opinion and I'll risk forty dollars that he can outjump any frog in Calaveras County."

And the feller studied a minute, and then says, kinder sad like, "Well, I'm only a stranger here, and I

ain't got no frog; but if I had a frog, I'd bet you."

And then Smiley says, "That's all right—that's all right—if you'll hold my box a minute, I'll go and get

you a frog." And so the feller took the box, and put up his forty dollars along with Smiley's, and set

down to wait.

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So he set there a good while thinking and thinking to his-self, and then he got the frog out and

prized his mouth open and took a teaspoon and filled him full of quail shot—filled! him pretty near

up to his chin—and set him on the floor. Smiley he went to the swamp and slopped around in the

mud for a long time, and finally he ketched a frog, and fetched him in, and give him to this feller,

and says:

"Now, if you're ready, set him alongside of Dan'l, with his forepaws just even with Dan'l's, and I'll

give the word." Then he says, "One—two—three—git!" and him and the feller touched up the frogs

from behind, and the new frog hopped off lively, but Dan'l give a heave, and hysted up his

shoulders—so—like a Frenchman, but it warn't no use—he couldn't budge; he was planted as solid

as a church, and he couldn't no more stir than if he was anchored out. Smiley was a good deal

surprised, and he was disgusted too, but he didn't have no idea what the matter was, of course.

The feller took the money and started away; and when he was going out at the door, he sorter

jerked his thumb over his shoulder—so—at Dan'l, and says again, very deliberate, "Well," he says,

"I don't see no p'ints about that frog that's any better'n any other frog."

Smiley he stood scratching his head and looking down at Dan'l a long time, and at last says, "I do

wonder what in the nation that frog throwed off for—I wonder if there ain't something the matter

with him—he 'pears to look mighty baggy, somehow." And he ketched Dan'l up by the nap of the

neck, and hefted him, and says, "Why blame my cats if he don't weigh five pounds!" and turned

him upside down and he belched out a double handful of shot. And then he see how it was, and he

was the maddest man—he set the frog down and took out after that feller, but he never ketched

him. And——

(Here Simon Wheeler heard his name called from the front yard, and got up to see what was

wanted.) And turning to me as he moved away, he said: "Just set where you are, stranger, and rest

easy—I ain't going to be gone a second."

But, by your leave, I did not think that a continuation of the history of the enterprising vagabond

Jim Smiley would be likely to afford me much information concerning the Rev. Leonidas W. Smiley,

and so I started away.

At the door I met the sociable Wheeler returning, and he buttonholed me and recommenced:

"Well, thish-yer Smiley had a yaller, one-eyed cow that didn't have no tail, only jest a short stump

like a bannanner, and——"

However, lacking both time and inclination, I did not wait to hear about the afflicted cow, but took

my leave.

Southwestern Humor

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