About the most ludicrous incident that I remember occurred one day in
an ordinarily solemn village in the cow-counties. A worthy matron, who
had been absent looking after a vagrom cow, returned home, and pushing
against the door found it obstructed by some heavy substance, which,
upon examination, proved to be her husband. He had been slaughtered by
some roving joker, who had wrought upon him with a pick-handle. To one
of his ears was pinned a scrap of greasy paper, upon which were
scrambled the following sentiments in pencil-tracks:
“The inqulosed boddy is that uv old Burker. Step litely, stranger, fer
yer lize the mortil part uv wat you mus be sum da. Thers arrest for the
weery! If Burker heddenta wurkt agin me fer Corner I wuddenta bed to
sit on him. Ov setch is the kingum of hevvun! You don’t want to moov
this boddy til ime summuns to hold a ninquest. Orl flesh are gras!”
The ridiculous part of the story is that the lady did not wait to
summon the Coroner, but took charge of the remains herself; and in
dragging them toward the bed she exploded into her face a shotgun,
which had been cunningly contrived to discharge by a string connected
with the body. Thus was she punished for an infraction of the law. The
next day the particulars were told me by the facetious Coroner himself,
whose jury had just rendered a verdict of accidental drowning in both
cases. I don’t know when I have enjoyed a heartier laugh.