Old Spookses' Pass, Malcolm's Katie, and other poems Part 13

Old Spense was one 'ov them thar chaps Thet in this life of tussle An' rough-an'-tumble, sort ov set A mighty store on muscle; B'liev'd in hustlin' in the crop, An' prayin' on the last load top!

An' yet he hed his p'ints--his heart Wus builded sort ov s.p.a.cious; An' solid--ev'ry beam an' plank, An', Stranger, now, veracious.

A wore-out hoss he never shot, But turn'd him in the clover lot!

I've seed up tew the meetin' house; The winkin' an' the nudgin', When preacher sed, "No doubt that Dives Been drefful mean an' grudgin'; Tew church work seal'd his awful fate Whar thar ain't no foolin' with the gate!"

I mind the preacher met old Spense, Beneath the maples laggin', The day was hot, an' he'd a pile Ov 'cetrees in his waggin'; A sack of flour, a hansum hog, Sum b.u.t.ter and his terrier dog.

Preacher, he halted up his hoss, Ask'd for Miss Spense an' Deely, Tew limber up his tongue a mite, And sez right slick an' mealy: "Brother, I really want tew know Hev you got religion? Samson, whoa!"

Old Spense, he bit a n.o.ble chaw, An' sort ov meditated; Samson he nibbl'd at the gra.s.s, An' preacher smil'd and waited; Ye'd see it writ upon his face-- "I've got Spense in a tightsome place!"

The old man curl'd his whip-lash round An alto-vic'd muskitter, Preacher, sort ov triumphant, strok'd His ornary old critter.

Spense p'ints tew flour, an' hog, an' jar, Sez he, "I've got religion thar!

"Them's goin' down tew Spinkses place, Whar old man Spinks is stayin'; The bank he dealt at bust last month, An' folks is mostly sayin': Him bein' ag'd, an' poor, an' sick, They'll put him in the poor-house slick!

"But no, they don't! Not while I own The name ov Jedediah; Yer movin'? How's yer gran'ma Green, An' yer cousin, Ann Maria?

Boss, air they? Yas, sirree, I dar Tew say, I've got religion thar!"

Preacher, he in his stirrups riz, His visage kind ov cheerin'; An' keerful look'd along the road, Over sugarbush an' clearin'; Thar wa'n't a deacon within sight; Sez he, "My brother, guess you're right."

"You keep your waggon Zionward, With that religion on it; I calculate we'll meet"--jest here A caliker sun bonnet, On a sister's head, c.u.m round the Jog, An' preacher dispars'd like mornin' fog!

One day a kind ov judgment come, The lightnin'-rod conductor Got broke--the fluid struck his aunt, An' in the root-house chuck'd her.

It laid her up for quite a while, An' the judgment made the neighbors smile.

Old Spense he swore a mighty swar, He didn't mince nor chew it; For when he spoke, 'most usual, It had a backbone tew it.

He sed he'd find a healthy plan Tew square things with the agent man,

Who'd sold him thet thar useless rod To put upon his roofin'; An' ef he found him round the place, He'd send the scamp a-hoofin'.

"You sort ov understand my sense?"

"Yes, pa,"--said pooty Deely Spense.

"Yes, pa," sez she, es mild es milk Tew thet thar strong oration, An' when a woman acts like _that_-- It's bin my observation-- (An' reckin that you'll find it sound) She means tew turn creation round,

An' fix the univa.r.s.e the way She sort ov feels the notion.

So Deely let the old man rave, Nor kick'd up no commotion; Tho' thet cute agent man an' she Were know'd es steady company.

He'd chance around when Spense was out, A feller sort o' airy; An' poke around free's the wind, With Deely in the dairy.

(Old Spense hed got a patent churn, Thet gev the Church a drefful turn).

I am a married man myself, More sot on steddy plowin', An' cuttin' rails, than praisin' gals, Yet honestly allowin'-- A man must be main hard tew please Thet didn't freeze tew Deely's cheese.

I reckon tho' old Spense hed sign'd With Satan queer law papers, He'd fill'd that dairy up chock full Of them thar patent capers.

Preacher once took fur sermon text-- "Rebellious patent vats.--What next?"

I've kind of stray'd from thet thar scare That c.u.m on Spense--tho', reely, I'll allus hold it was a s.h.i.+ne Of thet thar pooty Deely: Thar's them es holds thro' thin an' thick, 'Twas a friendly visit from Old Nick.

Es time went on, old Spense he seem'd More sot on patent capers; So he went right off tew fetch a thing He'd read ov in the papers.

'Twas a moony night in airly June, The Whip-poor-wills wus all in tune;

The Katydids wus callin' clar, The fire bugs was glowin', The smell ov clover fill'd the air.

Thet day old Spense'd bin mowin'-- With a mower yellin' drefful screams, Like them skreeks we hear in nightmare dreams.

Miss Spense wus in the keepin'-room, O'erlookin' last yar's cherries; The Help wus settin' on the bench, A-hullin' airly berries; The hir'd man sot on the step, An' chaw'd, an' watch'd the crickets lep.

Not one ov them thar folks thet thought Ov Deely in the dairy: The Help thought on the hir'd man, An' he ov Martin's Mary; Miss Spense she ponder'd thet she'd found Crush'd sugar'd riz a cent a pound.

I guess hed you an' I bin thar, A peepin' thro' the shutter Ov thet thar dairy, we'd a swore Old Spense's cheese an' b.u.t.ter Wus gilded, from the manner thet Deely she smil'd on pan an' vat.

The Agent he had chanc'd around, In evenin's peaceful shadder; He'd glimps'd Spense an' his tarrier go Across the new-mown medder-- To'ard Crampville--so he shew'd his sense, By slidin' o'er the garden fence,

An' kind of una.s.sumin' glode, Beneath the bendin' branches, Tew the dairy door whar Deely watch'd-- A-twitterin' an' anxious.

It didn't suit Miss Deely's plan Her pa should catch that Agent man.

I kind ov mind them days I went With Betsy Ann a-sparking'.

Time hed a'drefful sneakin way Ov pa.s.sin' without markin'

A single blaze upon a post, An' walkin' noiseless es a ghost!

I guess thet Adam found it thus, Afore he hed to grapple With thet conundrum Satan rais'd About the blam'd old apple; He found Time sort ov smart tew pa.s.s Afore Eve took tew apple sa.s.s.

Thar ain't no changes c.u.m about Sence them old days in Eden, Except thet lovers take a spell Of mighty hearty feedin'.

Now Adam makes his Eve rejice By orderin' up a lemon ice.

He ain't got enny kind ov show To hear the merry pealins'

Of them thar weddin' bells, unless He kind ov stirs her feelins'-- By treatin' her tew ginger pop, An' pilin' peanuts in a-top.

Thet Agent man know'd how to run The business real handy; An' him an' Deely sot an' laugh'd, An' scrunch'd a pile o' candy; An' talk'd about the singin' skule-- An' stars--an' Spense's kickin' mule--

An' other elevatin' facts In Skyence an' in Natur.

An' Time, es I wus sayin', glode Past, like a champion skater,-- When--Thunder! round the orchard fence.

Come thet thar tarrier dog an' Spense,

An' made straight for the dairy door.

Thar's times in most experrence, We feel how trooly wise 'twould be To make a rapid clearance; Nor wait tew practice them thar rules We larn tew city dancin' skules.

The Agent es a gen'ral plan Wus polish'd es the handles Ov my old plough; an' slick an' smooth Es Betsey's tallow candles.

But when he see'd old Spense--wal, neow, He acted homely es a ceow!

His manners wusn't in the grain, His wool wus sorter shoddy; His courage wus a poorish sort, It hadn't got no body.

An' when he see'd old Spense, he shook Es ef he'd see'd his gran'ma's spook.

Deely she wrung her pooty hands, She felt her heart a-turnin'

Es poor es milk when all the cream Is taken off fur churnin'.

When all to once her eyes fell pat Upon old Spense's patent vat!

The Agent took no sort ov stock Thet time in etiquettin; It would hev made a punkin laugh Tew see his style of gettin'!

In thet thar empty vat he slid, An' Deely shet the hefty lid.