The Orpheus C. Kerr Papers, Series 1. R. H. Newell
with a clash. "I'd rayther be as lonesome as a borryed pup, than see a piece of caliker as big as a pancake. What's wimmen but a tarnation bundle of gammon and petticoats. Powerful! Be you married folks, stranger?"
"Not yet," says I.
"Don't never be then," says he. "My name's Smith—one of the Smithses down to Salsbury, that's guaranteed to put away as much provender and carry as big a turkey as ever set on critters down in that deestrict. And whilst my name's Smith, there'll never be a younker to call me 'daddy,' ef a gal was to have Jerusalem tantrums after me. You'rn a stranger, and ain't married folks; but I don't mind tellin' ye about a golfired rumpus I got into down in Salsbury when I took to a gal that stuck out all around like a hay-stack, an' was a screamer at choir-meetin' and such like. Her name was Sal Green—one of the Greenses down in Pegtown—and the first time I took a notion to her was down to the old shingle meetin'-house, when Sam Spooner had a buryin'. When the parson gets out a hymn, she straightened up like a rooster at six o'clock of daybreak, and let out a string of screams that set all the babies to yelping as though big pins was goin' clean through their insides. Geewhillikins! how the critter did squawk and squeal, and turn up her eyes like a sick duck in a shower. I was jest fool enough to think it pooty; and when my old man says, says he, 'Jed, you're took all of a heap with that pooty creeter,' I felt as ef chills an' fever was givin' me partikiler agony. Says I, 'She's an armful fur the printze of Wales, and ef that Bob Tompkins don't stop makin' eyes at her over there, I'll give him sech a lacing that he won't comb his hair for six weeks.'
"The old man put a chaw into his meat-safe, and shut one eye; and, sez he: 'Jed, you're a fool ef you don't hook that gal's dress fur her before next harvestin'. She's a mighty scrumptious creetur, and just about ripe for the altar. Jest tell her there's more Smithses wanted an' she'll leave the Greenses 'thout a snicker.' I rayther liked the idee: but I told the old man that his punkin-pie was all squash; because it wouldn't do to let on too soon. When the folks was startin' from the church, I went up to Sal, and sez I, 'Miss, I s'pose you wouldn't mind lettin' me see you tu hum.' She blushed like a biled lobster, and sez she: 'I don't know your folks.' I felt sorter streaked; but I gev my collar a hitch, and sez I: 'I'm Mister Smith: one of the Smithses of this deestrict, an' always willin' for a female in distress.' Then she made a curtesy, an' was goin' to say somethin', when Bob Tompkins steps up, and sez he: 'There's a-goin' to be another buryin' in this settlement, ef some folks don't mind their own chores, an' quit foolin' with other folkses company!' This riled me rite up, and sez I: 'There's a feller in this deestrict that hain't had a spell of layin' on his back for some time: but he's in immediate danger of ketchin' the disease bad.' Bob took a squint at the width of my chist, and then he turned to Sal, who was shakin' like a cabbage leaf in a summer gale, and sez he: 'Sal, let's marvel out of bad company before it spiles our morials.' With that he crooked one of his smashin' machines, and Sal was jest hookin' on, when I put the weight of about one hundred pounds under his ear, an' sez I: 'Jest lay there, Bob Tompkins, until your parients comes out to look fur your body.' He went down as ef he'd been took with a suddint desire to examine the roots of the grass, and Sal screamed out that I'd murdered the rantankerous critter. Sez I: 'The tombstun that's fur his head ain't cut yet: but I calkilate it'll be took out of the quarry ef he comes smellin' around my heels ag'in.' Jest as I made this feelin' remark, the varmint began to scratch earth as ef he had a mind to see how it would feel to be on his pins ag'in, and I crooked my elbow to Sal and thought it was about time to marvel. She layed up to me like a pig to a rough post, and we peregrinated along for some distance until we were pretty nigh hum. I was askin' her ef it hurt her much when she sung, an' she was sayin' 'not partikeler,' when all of a suddint somethin' knocked Fourth-o'-July fireworks out of my eyes, and I went to grass with my heels up. It was Bob Tompkins, and sez he: 'Lay there, Mr. Smith, and let us here from you by the next mail.' For a minute, I thought I was bound for glory, but pooty soon I come to my oats, and then I rolled over and seen Bob a-squeezing Sal's hand. All right, my prooshian blue, thinks I, there'll be a 'pothecary's bill for some family in this here deestrict: but I won't say who's to pay it at present. I jest waited to see the feller try to put his nose into Sal's face, and then I stretched to my feet, and sez I: 'This here pasture wants a little mashin' down to make it fruitful, and it's my impreshun that I can do it.' Sal see that I was bound to make somebody smell agony, so she jist ripped away from Bob, and marveled for the house, screaming 'fire,' like a scrumptious fire-department. Bob looked after her for a minit, and then he turned to me, and sez he: 'I hope your folks have got some crape to hum; because there's goin' to be a job fur our wirtuous sexton.' I kinder smiled outer one eye, and sez I: 'When Sal and I is married, we'll drop a tear fur the early decease of an individual who never would hev been born if it hadn't been for your parients.' This riled Bob up awful, and he came right at me, like a mad bull at a red shawl. I felt somethin' drop on the bridge of my nose, and see a hull nest of sky rockets all at onct; but I only keeled for the shake of a tail, and then I piled in like a mad buffalo with the cholic. It was give and take for about five minutes; and, I tell you, Bob played away on my nose like a Trojan. The blood flu some, and I was sorry I hadn't said good-bye to the folks before I left them; but I gave Bob some happy evidences of youthful Christianity around his goggles, and pooty soon he looked as ef he'd been brought up to the charcoal business. We was makin' pooty good time round the lot, when, all of a suddint, Sal came running up with her father and mother; and, sez the old feller: 'Ef you two members of the church don't stop your religious exercises, there'll be some preachin' from the book of John.'
"With that, Bob took his paw out of my hair, and sez he: 'Smithses son hit me the first whack.' I jest promenaded up to the old man, and sez I: 'If you'll jest show me a good buryin'-place, I'll take pleasure in makin' a funeral for the Tompkinses.' The old man looked kinder queerious at Sally, and she commenced to snicker; and sez she: 'What are you two fellers rumpussin' about?' I looked lovin' at her, and sez I: 'It's to see who shall hev the pootiest gal of all the Greenses.' When I said this, the old man bust into a larf like a wild hyenner; and the old woman, she put her hands across her stummik and begin to larf like mad, and Sal she snickered right eout in my countenance, and sez she: 'Why, I'm engaged to Sam Slocum!'
"Strannger, there's no use of talkin'. My hair riz right up like a blackin'-brush, and Bob's eyes came out like peas out of a yaller pod. There was speechless silence for two minits, and then says Bob: 'There's a couple of golfired fools somewheres in this country, and it's a pity their dads ever seen their mothers.' I see he felt powerful mean, so I walked up to him, and sez I: 'Suppose we go and look for the New Jerusalem?' He jest hooked to my elbow, and without sayin' another word, we marveled for hum.
"Sence that, I hain't held no communion with petticoats, and ef I ever get married, you shall hev an invite to the funeral."
As I went home that night, my boy, after hearing the story of that rude, unlettered man, I made up my mind to have nothing more to do with the uncertain women of America, until my position should be such that they would not dare to "fool" me. The women of America, my boy, are equally apt at making a fool of a man in his own estimation, and a man of a fool in their own.
Yours, for celibacy,
Orpheus C. Kerr.
LETTER III.
OUR CORRESPONDENT BECOMES LITERARY, AND FATHOMS CERTAIN MYSTERIES OF JOURNALISM. HE PRODUCES A DISTINCTIVE AMERICAN POEM, AND GAINS THE USUAL REWARD OF YOUTHFUL GENIUS.
Washington, D.C., March 31st, 1861.
As far I can trace back, my boy, we never had a literary character in our family, save a venerable aunt of mine, on my mother's side, who commenced her writing career by refusing to contribute to the Sunday papers, and subsequently won much fame as the authoress of a set of copy-books. When this gifted relative found herself acquiring a reputation, she came in state to visit us, and so disgusted my very practical father by wearing slip-shod gaiters, inking her right hand thumb nail every morning, calling all things by European names, and insisting upon giving our oldest plough horse the romantic and literary title of "Lord Byron," that my exasperated parent incurred a most tremendous prejudice against authorship, my boy, and vowed, when she went away, that he never