enjoyin’ ’emselves. They had sack races and wheelbarrow races. That was
the day blindfold Tom Moody ran the wheelbarrow through the grocer’s
window, and Old Shulkin knocked him down with a ham, and a dog ran away
with it. He charged Tom with the ham in the bill, along with the broken
winder.
“They had a greased pole standin’ thar with a ten-dollar greenback
tacked on top of it, but no person could get within ten feet of the
bill. The hungry crowds were standin’ around all day gazin’ longin’ly up
at the flutterin’ greenback, like dogs at a coon in a tree-top.
“I didn’t try the pole, but when they brought out the greased pig—a
great, slab-sided critter, jest in good condition for racin’,—I got sort
o’ interested in the performance. His tail was more’n a foot long, and
it was greased until it would slip through a feller’s fingers like a
newly caught eel.
“Several of the boys started arter him, but they’d jest make one catch,
and before they were certain whether they had hold of it, they would go
one way and the hog would go another. And then the crowd would holler.
“I was standin’ thar a leanin’ over the fence watchin’ of ’em for some
time, and I see the pig was in the habit of formin’ a sort of ring with
his tail; leastwise he’d lap it over so that it e’enmost formed a
knot—all it lacked was the end wanted drawin’ through. I cal’lated that
a feller with pooty nimble fingers could make a tie by jest slippin’ his
fingers through the ring and haulin’ the end of the tail through. That
would make a plaguey good knot, and prevent his hand from slippin’ off.
Arter thinkin’ over it for some time I concluded if I could git up a bet
that would pay for the hardships that a feller would be likely to
experience, I would try a catch anyhow.
“So I ses to Jake Swasey, who stood alongside of me, ‘Jake, I believe
that I kin hold that pig until he gins out.’
“‘Hold?’ he ses, surprised like and raisin’ his eyebrows just that way;
‘what’s the matter of ye? hain’t ye slept well? Ye mout as well try to
hold old Nick by the tail as that big, slab-sided critter.’
“‘Wal, now, jest wait a bit,’ ses I; so I went on and told him what I
cal’lated to do, and arter he looked awhile, he ses, ‘Wal, go ahead,
Jim, I’ll back ye. I reckon we can git any amount of odds so long as we
keep the knot bus’ness to ourselves.’
“So pullin’ off my coat I gin it to Jake to hold, and jumpin’ on the
fence, I hollered, ‘I’ll bet ten to twenty that I kin freeze to the
pig’s tail till he gins out!’
“Great fish-hooks! you ought to have seen ’em a-rustlin’ towards me. I
couldn’t see anythin’ but hands for five minutes, as they were holdin’
of ’em up, and signalin’, an’ a-hollerin’, ‘I’ll take that bet, Dudley,
I’ll take that bet!’ I got rid of what money I had about me pooty soon,
and Jake Swasey was jest a-spreadin’ out his greenbacks like a
paymaster, and arter he exhausted his treasury he started arter his
sister to git what money she had. I hollered to him to come back—I was
fearin’ he’d tell her about the knot bus’ness; but he wasn’t no fool and
knowed too well what gals are to trust her with any payin’ secret.
“Old Judge Perkins was thar, jolly as a boy on the last day of school.
Wal, he was holdin’ of the stakes, and his pockets were crammed
chockfull of greenbacks. He was a pooty good friend of mine, and
couldn’t conceive how in thunder I was a-gwine to get my money back.
[Illustration: JUDGE PERKINS.]
“Beckonin’ of me one side—‘Dudley,’ ses he, kind of low that way, and
confidentially like, ‘I know you’re as hard to catch as an old trout
with three broken hooks in its gill; but I can’t help thinkin’ a greased
pig’s tail is a mi’ty slippery foundation to build hopes on.’
“‘Never mind, Judge,’ ses I, winkin’, ‘I can see my way through.’
“‘Yes, Dudley,’ he ses, a-shakin’ of his head dubious like, ‘that’s what
the fly ses when he’s a-buttin’ his head against the winder.’
“‘Wal,’ ses I, ‘without the tail pulls out, I cal’late to travel mi’ty
close in the wake of that swine for the next half hour;’ and with that I
moved off to where the pig was standin’ and listenin’ to all that was
gwine on.
“I fooled round him a little until I got betwixt him and the crowd, and
when he flopped his tail over as I was tellin’ ye, I made one desperate
lunge, and made a go of it the fust time. I jest hauled the end through
while he was turnin’ round, and grabbin’ hold above my hand, rolled it
down into the tightest knot you ever sot eyes on. It was about two
inches from the end of the tail, and he scolloped around so amazin’
lively nobody could see it. The crowd allowed I was hangin’ on the
straight tail, and they didn’t know what to make of the performance
anyhow.
“‘Go it, piggy,’ I ses to myself, just that way, ‘I guess it’s only a
question of endurance now, as the gal said when she had the flea under
the hot flat-iron.’
“The gate was open, and arter a few circles around the lot, the hog
p’inted for it, and away he went, pig fust and I arter. He ran
helter-skelter under old Mother Sheehan, the fruit woman, jest as she
was comin’ through the gateway with a big basket of apples on each arm.
I did hate like snakes to hoist the old lady, bounce me if I didn’t! I
would ruther have run around a mountain than do it, ’cause you see she
had jest been gittin’ off a bed of sickness that came nigh shroudin’
her, and she wasn’t prepared for a panic, by any means. I did my best to
swing the critter around and git him off the notion of goin’ through,
but his mind was made up. Thar was plenty of room outside for him to
pass along without disturbin’ the old lady, but a hog is a hog, you
know—contrary the world over. Besides, he allowed he could brush me off
by the operation, but I wasn’t so easily got rid of. The money was up,
you see, and I had no choice but to follow where he led and stick to the
rooter till he gin out. ‘Where thou goest, I will go,’ I ses to myself,
rememberin’ the passage in the Scriptures, and duckin’ my head to follow
him. I scrouched down as low as I could and keep on my feet; for I
cal’lated, do my best, the old woman would git elevated pooty lively.
[Illustration: BAD FOR THE FRUIT BUSINESS.]
“She hollered as though a whole menagerie—elephants, kangaroos, snakes
and all—had broke loose. Her sight wasn’t any too clear, and the whole
proceedin’s had come upon her so sudden that she didn’t exactly know
what sort of an animal was thar. She would have been satisfied it was a
hog if it hadn’t taken so long to git through. I followed so close to
his hams that she reckoned we both made one animal. The hog gin a snort
when he started in to run the blockade, and she ses to herself, ‘Thar
goes a big hog,’ but about the time she reckoned he had got out on the
other side, I come a humpin’ and a boomin’ along in my shirt-sleeves,
and gin her a second boost, throwin’ the old woman completely off her
pins and out of her calculations at once.
“She did holler good, thar’s no mistake about that.
“The crowd hoorayed and applauded. The older ones of course sympathized
with the poor old woman; but they could do nothin’ more, ’cause the
whole catastrophe come as sudden as an earthquake and nobody seemed to
be to blame. I wasn’t, and they all could see that plain enough. The
young uns went for the scattered apples, but the pig and I kept right on
attendin’ to business. Now and agin he’d double back towards the crowd,
and they’d commence scatterin’ every which way, trampin’ on each other’s
feet. Si Grope, the cashiered man-of-wars-man, stepped on Pat Cronin’s
bunion, and he responded by fetchin’ the old salt a welt in the burr of
the ear, and at it they went, tooth and nail, right thar. A few stopped
to see fair play, but the heft of the crowd, about three hundred, kept
right on arter me and the hog.
“Jake Swasey managed to git up pooty nigh to us once and hollered, ‘How
are you makin’ it, Jim?’
“‘Fustrate,’ I answered; ‘I cal’late to stick to this swine through bush
and bramble till I tire him out.’
“‘That’s the feelin’,’ he shouted, and with that we left him behind. The
old judge was a puffin’ and a blowin’, strivin’ his best to keep up, and
for some time he actewally led the crowd, but he didn’t hold out very
long, but gradewelly sank to the rear.
[Illustration: BOW-LEGGED SPINNY.]
“Rod Munnion, the tanner, stumbled and fell while crossin’ the street.
His false teeth dropped out into the dirt, and while he was scramblin’
on all fours to git ’em ag’in, a feller named Welsh, who was clatterin’
past, slapped his foot down and bent the plate out of all shape. Munnion
snatched ’em up ag’in as quick as the foot riz, and wipin’ ’em on his
overalls as he ran, chucked ’em back into his mouth ag’in, all twisted
as they were. They did look awful though, stickin’ straight out from his
mouth, and pressin’ his lip chock up ag’inst his nose. You couldn’t
understand what he was sayin’ any more than if he was Chinnook.
“Bow-legged Spinny, the cabbagin’ tailor, was thar. He met the crowd
while carryin’ home Squire Lockwood’s new suit, and catchin’ the
excitement of the moment, tossed the package into Slawson’s yard, and it
bounded into the well quicker than ‘scat.’ He didn’t know it though, but
hollered to the old woman, as he ran past the window, to look arter the
package until he got back. Not seein’ any package she allowed he was
crazy as a cow with her head stuck in a barrel, and flew to boltin’ of
her doors pooty lively. He had been once to the Lunatic Asylum, you see,
and they were still suspicious of him.
“The crowd thought to head us off by takin’ down a narrow lane, and it
was while they were in that, that they began to surge ahead of Judge
Perkins. He was awful quick tempered, and pooty conceited, and when
bow-legged Spinny was elbowin’ past him he got mad. Catching the poor
stitcher by the coat tail, he hollered: ‘What! a miserable thread-needle
machine claimin’ precedence?’ and with that he slung him more’n ten
feet, landin’ him on his back in a nook of the fence.
“That was the day they buried old Mrs. Redpath, that the doctors
disagreed over. Dr. Looty had been doctorin’ her for some time for bone
disease. He said her back-bone war decayin’. He didn’t make much out of
it though, and they got another doctor. The new feller said he
understood the case thoroughly; he ridiculed the idea of bone disease,
and went to work doctorin’ for the liver complaint. He said it had
stopped workin’ and he was agwine to git it started ag’in. I reckon he’d
have accomplished somethin’ if she had lived long enough, but she died
in the meantime. When they held a post-mortem, they found out the old
woman, some time in her life, had swallered a fish-bone which never
passed her stomach, and eventually it killed her.
“‘Thar,’ ses Dr. Looty, ‘what did I tell ye? You’ll admit, I reckon, my
diagnosis of the disease was right arter all, only I made a slight error
in locatin’ the bone!’
“‘Bone be splintered!’ ses the other feller, ‘hain’t I bin workin’
nigher the ailin’ part than you?’ So they went on quackin’ thar and
disagreein’ over her until old Redpath got mad and hollered, ‘You old
melonheads, isn’t it enough that I’m a widderer by your fumblin’
malpractice, without havin’ ye wranglin’ over the old woman!’ So he put
’em both out, and chucked their knives and saws arter ’em.
“But as I was sayin’, that was the day of the funeral, and while it was
proceedin’ from the church to the buryin’ ground with Parson Coolridge
at the head, with his long white gown on, we hove in sight comin’
tearin’ down to’ards the parsonage. The minister was a feller that
actewelly doted on flowers. When he wasn’t copyin’ his sermons’ he was
fussin’ around among the posies. He had his gardin chock full of all
kinds of plants and shrubs. Thar you could see the snapdragon from
Ireland, the fu-chu from China, the snow-ball from Canada, the
bachelor’s button from Californy, and every kind you could mention.
“He had noticed the gardin gate was open when the funeral passed, and it
worried him considerable. So when he heered the hootin’ and hollerin’,
and got sight of the crowd surgin’ down the street, and see the pig and
I pointin’ in the direction of the house, he couldn’t go ahead nohow.
“Turnin’ around to the pall bearers who were puffing along behind him,
he ses, ‘Ease your hands a minit, boys, and let the old woman rest ’till
I run back and see if that Dudley is agwine to drive that hog into my
gardin. Confound him!’ he contin’ed, ‘he’s wuss to have around the
neighborhood than the measles.’ With that he started back on the run,
his long, white gown a-flyin’ away out behind, the most comical lookin’
thing you ever see. And he could run, that Parson Coolridge, in a way
that was astonishin’. I reckon he hadn’t stirred out of a walk before
for thirty years, and yit he streaked it over the ground as though it
was an every-day occurrence.
“His j’ints cracked and snapped with the unusual motion, like an old
stairs in frosty weather, but he didn’t mind that so long as he could
git over the ground. He was thinkin’ of his favorite plants and the
prospect of their gittin’ stirred up and transplanted in a manner he
wasn’t prepared to approve. He did jerk back his elbows pooty spiteful,
now I can tell you. He tried to make the gateway fust, and put in his
best strides. But when he saw he couldn’t, he hollered, ‘Keep that hog
out of my gardin, Dudley, or I’ll take the law of ye.’
[Illustration: NIP AND TUCK.]
“‘Don’t git wrathy, Parson Coolridge,’ I shouted. ‘I can’t prevent the
pig from gwine in. I have hold of the rudder, but I’ll be boosted if I
can steer the ship.’ With that, through the openin’ we went, pig fust
and me arter, and the hul crowd a clatterin’ behind us. The judge was
amongst ’em, but got left in the hind end of it, where the women were
a-trottin’. The Parson’s flowers went down with broken necks quicker
than lightnin’. It wasn’t more’n ten seconds until they were six inches
under ground, for the hog kept a circlin’ around and the hoorayin’ crowd
follerin’ arter, payin’ no more attention to the Parson than if he had
been a young ’un a-runnin’ around. When they saw the crowd, the pall
bearers and most of the people who were jest follerin’ the remains
through sympathy, turned back on the run and left the mourners standin’
thar by the coffin.
“Oh! it was the most excitin’ time the village ever seed. The ground was
too soft in the gardin for the pig to git around well, and pooty soon he
gin out. I was awful tired, too, and was hangin’ a dead weight on him
for the last ten minutes.
“When the boys see the knot on the tail you ought to hear ’em
a-hollerin’, ‘Bets off! bets off!’ They were set on claimin’ a foul, and
surrounded the old judge demandin’ thar money.
“But, as the crowd was increasin’ and the Parson was e’enmost crazy, the
judge told ’em to come with him to the Court-house—he wouldn’t decide
nothin’ in the gardin. As the hog couldn’t walk, the judge took his
tobacco knife and cut the tail off and took it along with him to
introduce as proof. He decided in my favor. He said that I had held on
to the tail and touched nothin’ else, and if I managed to tie a knot
while runnin’ I had performed a feat never before heard of in the
country, so he paid over the money.
“But Parson Coolridge was the most worked up of any of ’em. He had legal
advice on the matter, but the lawyer told him to gin it up, for the
judge was on my side. Besides, he shouldn’t have left the gate open, if
he didn’t want the pig to go in thar. Arter a while he gin up the notion
of suin’ me, but while he stopped in the village he never got over it.
[Illustration: MORE LIGHT ON THE SUBJECT.]
“The boys had pictures chalked up on the fences and shop doors, so that
wherever you’d look you’d see sketches of the Parson runnin’ back from
the funeral, and me a holdin’ on to the pig’s tail. He paid out more’n
ten dollars in small sums to one boy, hirin’ him to go round and rub out
the pictures wherever he’d happen to see ’em. But every time the Parson
would start out through the village, thar on some fence or door, or side
of a buildin’, would be the same strikin’ picture of him, a streakin’ it
to head off the hog, so he would start the rubbin’-out boy arter that
one.
“One evenin’ he happened to ketch that selfsame little rascal hard at
work chalkin’ out the identical sketch on the cooper’s shop door, and
the Parson was so bilin’ mad he chased him all over the village. The
young speculator had bin carryin’ on a lively business, but arter that
discovery thar was a sudden fallin’ away in his income. I tell ye it
made a plag’y stir thar for awhile, and I reckon if Judge Perkins hadn’t
been on my side I’d have been obliged to git out of the place.”
[Illustration]
CORA LEE.
Would you hear the story told
Of the controversy bold,
That this day I did behold,
In a court of low degree,
Where his Honor sat like fate,
To decide betwixt the state
And a wanton villain’s mate,
Named Cora Lee?
The bold chief of stars was near,
As a witness to appear.
(By his order, Cora dear
Was languishing below.)
And for counsel she had got
A descendant of old Wat—
Noted for his daring plot,
Some years ago.
It was he commenced the fuss,
“For,” said he, “by this and thus,
Here I smell an _animus_[1]
As strong as musk of yore;
And it’s my condensed belief,
That in language terse and brief,
I can trace it to the chief,
E’en to his door.”
Then to all it did appear
That the chief was seized with fear;
To the lawyer he drew near,
And to him muttered low:
“I could never think that ye
Would be quite so hard with me;
You had better let me be,
And travel slow.”
Then the lawyer quit his chair
As if wasps were buzzing there,
And with quite a tragic air,
Addressed his Honor thus—
“At your hands I claim protection.
Keep your eyes in this direction,
Take cognizance of his action,
This _animus_!”
Then arose the chief of stars,
And his visage shone like Mars,
When he recks not battle scars,
But charges to the fray.
And his hand began to glide
To his pocket deep and wide,
Where a weapon well supplied
In waiting lay.
[Illustration: THE CHIEF.]
“Ho!” he cried, “you shyster hound,
If you go on nosing round
Till an _animus_ you’ve found,
My dear sir, hearken you:
I will open, by my soul!
In your carcass such a hole,
You will think a wagon pole
Has run you through.
“_You_ would prate about the law?
_You_ would magnify a flaw?
_You_ would touch me on the raw?
So now, sir, say no more!
Keep a padlock on your jaw,
Not a sentence, or I’ll draw,
And I’ll scatter you like straw
Around the floor!”
Now the Judge’s face grew red
As a turkey gobbler’s head
When a scarlet robe is spread
On the lawn or fence.
“I adjourn the court,” he cried,
“’Till that _animus_ has died,
And is buried head and hide
Far from hence.”
Then the rush was for the door;
From the corridors they pour,—
Three old women were run o’er
Within the justice hall;
And above the tramp and patter,
And the cursing and the chatter,
And the awful din and clatter,
Rose their squall.
When the open air was gained,
Then the epithets were rained,
And the passer’s ear was pained
With profanity flung loose,
Back and forth the wordy pair,
Shameless swapped opinions there;
’Till all parties got their share
Of vile abuse.
When the man of “briefs” would flee,
Chieftain followed like a bee,
Or a shark a ship at sea
When hunger presses sore;
’Till, enraged, the lawyer, he
Cried, “If fight you want of me,
Wait with patience minutes three,
Not any more;
“’Till I hasten up the stair
To my office, and prepare,
Like yourself for rip and tear,
And piling bodies dead.
Then, if you can blaze it faster,
Carve designs for probe or plaster,
Quicker work a soul’s disaster,
Just waltz ahead.”
But alas! his hasty tongue,
Vulgar name or sentence flung,
And the chieftain’s pride was stung
Down to the marrow bone.
Now upon him, head and tail,
Pitched policemen, tooth and nail,
Hot as bees when they assail
A lazy drone.
And upon the evening breeze
Rose the “begorras” and the “yees”
Of a dozen Mulroonees,
As they roughly hale
The poor lawyer through the street,
Sometimes lifted from his feet,
Sometimes o’er the noddle beat,
Toward the jail.
Now upon a truss of straw,
Lies the counsellor-at-law,
Wishing Satan had his paw
On wily Cora Lee.
For himself to grief is brought,
While the _animus_ he sought
Running is, as free as thought,
Or like his fee.
Footnote 1:
Private enmity towards the prisoner.
[Illustration]
A BRILLIANT FORENSIC EFFORT.
Having learned that a highly-educated and respectable lady of this city
had instituted a suit in one of our courts for the purpose of obtaining
a divorce from her husband, I stepped into the hall of justice to learn
how the case progressed. The fact of a young wife demanding a separation
in a country like this, which is proverbial for its separations, is
nothing to be wondered at, and I was considerably surprised, on reaching
the court room, to find it so full of people that I could hardly gain
admittance. I was not so much astonished at the great rush, however,
when informed by the bailiff that the ground on which the lady rested
her case was that her husband snored. As I entered, the plaintiff’s
lawyer commenced addressing the court. He entered into the case with the
spirit and fire of a Clay or a Webster. After reviewing and commenting
largely upon the testimony given in the case, he ended his argument in
the following words:—
[Illustration: THE ADVOCATE.]
“Now, sir, whatever other people may think of this application, I take a
bold stand, regardless whose corns or bunions I tread upon, so long as I
put my foot down where it belongs. We have too many snorers among us.
They are in our places of amusement, introducing groans and thunder
where none were intended in the play. We find them in our places of
worship, breaking forth in the midst of the pastor’s prayer, or while he
is picturing to the congregation the wreck of ages and the crash of
worlds. I maintain that this application is a righteous one; that it is
a shot in the right direction, which will in all likelihood eventually
bring down the game; and were I a judge invested with power to decide a
peculiar case of this kind, I would show no hesitation, but grant the
plaintiff her natural and very reasonable request more readily than if
the grounds on which she sued for a separation were drunkenness or
desertion.
“The absurdity of an irascible wife seeking a divorce from a husband
because he indulges too freely in the flowing bowl must be apparent to
all. She rushes into the crowded court room, and, figuratively speaking,
catches the astonished justice by the ear, as Joab in the extremity of
his distress laid hold upon the horns of the altar, and requests him to
sever the chafing bonds with his legal shears. Again: what a pitiable
lack of discretion that woman exhibits who appeals to the court merely
because her husband deserts her, leaving her to pursue the even tenor of
her way. Why, in nine cases out of ten this is a ‘consummation devoutly
to be wished;’ she is left untrammeled, and has no husband to support.
“I will not allude to the many other failings which wreck the home and
put out the cheerful light of many a hearthstone.
“But, sir, it is with no ordinary thrill of pride that I espouse the
cause of the woman who seeks a divorce from a snoring husband. I say,
and I may remark that I say it boldly, that I rejoice it was reserved
for me to raise my voice in her defence. I hold that a man who with
malice aforethought takes from her peaceful home a tender and confiding
maiden without first informing her of his trouble, commits a grave and
unpardonable crime. The dogs of justice should be loosened at his heels
to hound him from Puget’s Sound to Passamaquoddy Bay. He should be made
to repent his villainous act. Think how the tender nerves of a sensitive
creature must be shocked on being awakened by such an outburst. Picture
to yourself her husband, not breathing her name in words of love, but
lying flat on his back, and snoring with the vehemence of a stranded
porpoise.