to tail, so clost yu cudent a-sot down a grain ove wheat fur bees, an' they wer a-fitin one another in the air fur a place on the bull. The hous' stood on sidlin' groun', an' the back door were even wif hit. So Sock happen to hit hit plum, jes' backed intu the hous' onder 'bout two hundred an' fifty poun's of steam, bawlin' orful, an' every snort he fotch he snorted away a quart ove bees ofen his sweaty snout. He wer the leader ove the bigges' an the maddest army ove bees in the worild. Thar wer at leas' five solid bushels ove 'em. They hed filled the baskit, an' hed lodgd onto his tail ten deep, ontil hit wer es thick es a waggin tung. He hed hit stuck strait up in the air, an' hit looked adzackly like a dead pine kivered wif ivey. I think he wer the hottes' an' wus hurtin' bull then livin'; his temper, too, seemed to be pow'fully flustrated. Ove all the durn'd times an' kerryins on yu ever hearn tell on ere thar an' tharabouts. He cum tail fust agin the ole two-story Dutch clock, an' fotch hit, bustin' hits runnin' geer outen hit, the littil wheels a-trundlin' over the floor, an' the bees even chasin' them. Nex' pass, he fotch up agin the foot ove a big dubbil injine bedstead, rarin' hit on aind an' punchin' one ove the posts thru a glass winder. The nex' tail-fus' experdishun wer made aginst the caticorner'd cupboard, outen which he made a perfeck momox. Fus' he upsot hit, smashin' in the glass doors, an' then jis sot in an' stomp'd everything on the shelves intu giblits, a-tryin' tu back furder in that direckshun, an' tu git the bees ofen his laigs. "Pickil crocks, perserves jars, vinegar jugs, seed bags, yarb bunches, paragorick bottils, aig baskits, an' delf war-all mix'd dam permiskusly, an' not worth the sortin', by a duller an' a ha'f. Nex', he got a far back acrost the room agin the board pertishun; he went thru hit like hit hed been paper, takin' wif him 'bout six foot squar ove hit in splinters an' broken boards intu the nex' room, whar they wer eatin' dinner, an' rite yere the fitin' becum gineral, an' the dancin', squawkin', cussin' an' dodgin' begun. Clapshaw's ole mam wer es deaf es a dogiron, an' sot at the aind ove the tabil, nex' to whar ole Sock busted thru the wall; tail fus' he cum agin her cheer, a-histin' her an' hit ontu the tabil. Now, the smashin' ove delf, an' the mixin' ove vittils begun. They hed sot severil tabils tugether tu make hit long enuf. So he jis rolled 'em up a-top ove one anuther, and thar sot ole Missis Clapshaw a-straddil ove the top ove the pile, a-fitin' bees like a mad wind-mill, wif her calliker cap in one han', fur a wepun', an' a cract frame in tuther, an' a-kickin' an' a-spurrin' like she wer ridin' a lazy hoss arter the doctor, an' a-screamin' fire and murder es fas' es she cud name 'em over. "Taters, cabbige, meat, soup, beans, sop, dumplins', an' the truck what yu wallers 'em in; milk, plates, pies, puddins, an' every durn fixin' yu cud think ove in a week, were thar, mix'd an' mashed, like hid had been thru a thrashin'-meesheen. Ole Sock still kep' a-backin', an' backed the hole pile, ole 'oman an' all, also sum cheers, outen the frunt door, an' down seven steps intu the lane, an' then, by golly, turn'd a fifteen hundred poun' summerset hisself arter 'em, lit a-top ove the mix'd up mess, flat ove his back, an' then kicked hissef ontu his feet agin. About the time he ris, ole man Burns-yu know how fat an' stumpy, an' cross-grained he is, enyhow-made a vigrus mad snatch at the baskit, an' got a savin holt ontu it, but cudent let go quick enuf; fur ole Sock jis snorted, bawled, an' histed the ole cuss heels fust up intu the air, an' he lit on the bull's back, an' hed the baskit in his han'. "Jis' es soon as ole Blackey got the use ove his eyes, he tore off down the lane, tu outrun the bees, so durn'd fast that ole Burns wer feard tu try tu git off. So he jis socked his feet intu the rope loops, an' then cummenc'd the durndes' bull-ride mortal man ever ondertuck. Sock run atwixt the hitched critters an' the rail-fence, ole Burns fust fitin' him over the head wif the baskit to stop him, an' then fitin' the bees wif hit. I'll jis' be durn'd ef I didn't think he hed four or five baskits, hit wer in so meny places at onst. Well, Burns, baskit, an' bull, an' bees skared every durn'd hoss an' muel loose frum that fence-bees ontu all ove 'em; bees, by golly, everywhar. Mos' on 'em, too, tuck a fence-rail along, fas' tu the bridil-reins. A heavy cloud ove dus', like a harycane hed been blowin', hid all the hosses, an' away abuv hit yu cud see tails an' ainds ove fence-rails a-flyin' about; now an' then a par ove bright hine shoes wud flash in the sun like two sparks, an' away ahead were the baskit a-sirklin' roun' an' about at randum. Brayin', nickerin', the bellerin' ove the bull, clatterin' ove runnin’ hoofs, an' a mons'ous rushin' soun' made up the noise. Lively times in that lane jis' then, warnt thar? "I swar ole Burns kin beat eny man on top ove the yeath a-fitin bees wif a baskit. Jis' set 'im a-straddil ove a mad bull, an' let thar be bees enuf tu exhite the ole man, an' the man what beats him kin break me. Hosses an' muels were tuck up all over the county, an' sum wer forever los'. Yu cudent go eny course, in a cirkil ove a mile, an' not find buckils, stirrups, straps, saddilblankits, ur sumthin' belongin' to a saddil-hoss. Now don't forgit that about that hous' thar wer a good time bein' had ginerally. Fellers an' gals loped outen windows, they rolled outen the doors in bunches, they clomb the chimleys, they darted onder the house jis tu dart out agin, they tuck tu the thicket, they rolled in the wheat-field lay down in the crick, did everything but stan' still. Sum made a strait run fur home, an' sum es strait a run frum home; livelyest folks I ever did see." BALLAD. BY CHARLES G. LELAND. HARLES GODFREY LELAND, the author of the "Hans Breitmann Ballads," and the accomplished translator of "Heine," was born at Philadelphia, in 1824, and graduated at New Jersey College in 1845. He afterwards pursued his studies in the Universities of Heidelberg, Munich and Paris; and then returned to Philadelphia, took up the law, but soon relinquished it for a literary life. He is the author of various works, and is a student of many modern literatures; he is especially known for his researches in the language and history of the Gypsies. He has lived chiefly in England during the last ten or fifteen years. DER noble Ritter Hugo Von Schwillensaufenstein, Rode out mit shpeer and helmet, Und he coom to de panks of de Rhine. Und oop dere rose a meer maid, Vot hadn't got nodings on, Und she say, "Oh, Ritter Hugo, Vhere you goes mit yourself alone?" • Und he says, "I rides in de creenwood Till I cooms into em Gasthaus, Und den outshpoke de maiden "You'd petter coom down in de wasser, Und have a shplendid tinner Und drafel along mit me. "Dere you sees de fisch a schwimmin, Vot hadn't got nodings on. "Dere ish drunks all full mit money In ships dat vent down of old; "Shoost look at dese shpoons und vatches! Shoost see dese diamant rings ! Coom down und full your bockets, Und I'll giss you like avery dings. Vot you vantsh mit your schnapps und lager? Der ish pottles der Kaiser Charlemagne Dat fetched him--he shtood all shpell pound; She pooled his coat-tails down, She drawed him oonder der wasser, THE quickest way to take the starch out wuss blameing himself, iz to agree with him. looking for. ov a man who iz allThis aint what he iz JOSH BILLINGS |