Coon-Dog Wess

"Coon-dog Wess"--he allus went 'Mongst us here by that-air name. Moved in this-here Settlement From next county--he laid claim,-- Lived down in the bottoms--whare Ust to be some coons in thare!--

In nigh Clayton's, next the crick,-- Mind old Billy ust to say Coons in thare was jest that thick, He'p him corn-plant any day!-- And, in rostneer-time, be then Aggin' him to plant again!

Well,--In Spring o' '67, This-here "Coon-dog Wess" he come-- Fetchin' 'long 'bout forty-'leven Ornriest-lookin' hounds, I gum! Ever mortul-man laid eyes On sence dawn o' Christian skies!

Wife come traipsin' at the rag- Tag-and-bobtail of the crowd, Dogs and childern, with a bag Corn-meal and some side-meat,--Proud And as independunt--My!-- Yit a mild look in her eye.

Well--this "Coon-dog Wess" he jest Moved in that-air little pen Of a pole-shed, aidgin' west On "The Slues o' Death," called then.-- Otter- and mink-hunters ust To camp thare 'fore game vam-moosd.

Abul-bodied man,--and lots Call fer choppers--and fer hands To git cross-ties out.--But what's Work to sich as understands Ways appinted and is hence Under special providence?--

"Coon-dog Wess's" holts was hounds And coon-huntin'; and he knowed His own range, and stayed in bounds And left work for them 'at showed Talents fer it--same as his Gifts regardin' coon-dogs is.

Hounds of ev'ry mungerl breed Ever whelped on earth!--Had these Yeller kind, with punkin-seed Marks above theyr eyes--and fleas Both to sell and keep!--Also These-here lop-yeerd hounds, you know.--

Yes-and brindle hounds--and long, Ga'nt hounds, with them eyes they' got So blame sorry, it seems wrong, 'Most, to kick 'em as to not! Man, though, wouldn't dast, I guess, Kick a hound fer "Coon-dog Wess"!

'Tended to his own affairs Stric'ly;--made no brags,--and yit You could see 'at them hounds' cares 'Peared like his,--and he'd a-fit Fer 'em, same as wife er child!-- Them facts made folks rickonciled,

Sorto', fer to let him be And not pester him. And then Word begin to spread 'at he Had brung in as high as ten Coon-pelts in one night--and yit Didn't 'pear to boast of it!

Neghborhood made some complaints 'Bout them plague-gone hounds at night Howlin' fit to wake the saints, Clean from dusk tel plum day-light! But to "Coon-dog Wess" them-thare Howls was "music in the air"!

Fetched his pelts to Gilson's Store-- Newt he shipped fer him, and said, Sence he'd cooned thare, he'd shipped more Than three hunderd pelts!--"By Ned! Git shet of my store," Newt says, "I'd go in with 'Coon-dog Wess'!"

And the feller 'peared to be Makin' best and most he could Of his rale prospairity:-- Bought some household things--and good,-- Likewise, wagon-load onc't come From wharever he'd moved from.

But pore feller's huntin'-days, 'Bout them times, was glidin' past!-- Goes out onc't one night and stays! ... Neghbors they turned out, at last, Headed by his wife and one Half-starved hound--and search begun.

Boys said, that blame hound, he led Searchin' party, 'bout a half Mile ahead, and bellerin', said, Worse'n ary yearlin' calf!-- Tel, at last, come fur-off sounds Like the howl of other hounds.

And-sir, shore enugh, them signs Fetched 'em--in a' hour er two-- Whare the pack was;--and they finds "Coon-dog Wess" right thare;--And you Would admitted he was right Stayin', as he had, all night!

Facts is, cuttin' down a tree, The blame thing had sorto' fell In a twist-like--mercy me! And had ketched him.--Couldn't tell, Wess said, how he'd managed--yit He'd got both legs under it!

Fainted and come to, I s'pose, 'Bout a dozen times whilse they Chopped him out!--And wife she froze To him!--bresh his hair away And smile cheerful'--only when He'd faint.--Cry and kiss him then.

Had his nerve!--And nussed him through,-- Neghbors he'pped her--all she'd stand.-- Had a loom, and she could do Carpet-weavin' railly grand!-- "'Sides," she ust to laugh and say, "She'd have Wess, now, night and day!"

As fer him, he'd say, says-ee, "I'm resigned to bein' lame:-- They was four coons up that tree, And hounds got 'em, jest the same!" 'Peared like, one er two legs less Never worried "Coon-dog Wess"!

LINES TO PERFESSER JOHN CLARK RIDPATH A. M., LL. D. T-Y-TY!

[Cumposed by A Old Friend of the Fambily sence 'way back in the Forties, when they Settled nigh Fillmore, Putnam County, this State, whare John was borned and growed up, you might say, like the wayside flower.]

Your neghbors in the country, whare you come from, hain't fergot!-- We knowed you even better than your own-self, like as not. We profissied your runnin'-geers 'ud stand a soggy load And pull her, purty stiddy, up a mighty rocky road: We been a-watchin' your career sence you could write your name-- But way you writ it first, I'll say, was jest a burnin' shame!-- Your "J. C." in the copybook, and "Ridpath"--mercy-sakes!-- Quiled up and tide in dubble bows, lookt like a nest o' snakes!-- But you could read it, I suppose, and kindo' gloted on A-bein' "J. C. Ridpath" when we only called you "John."

But you'd work 's well as fool, and what you had to do was done: We've watched you at the woodpile--not the woodshed--wasent none,-- And snow and sleet, and haulin', too, and lookin' after stock, And milkin', nights, and feedin' pigs,--then turnin' back the clock, So's you could set up studyin' your 'Rethmatic, and fool Your Parents, whilse a-piratin' your way through winter school! And I've heerd tell--from your own folks--you've set and baked your face A-readin' Plutark Slives all night by that old fi-er-place.-- Yit, 'bout them times, the blackboard, onc't, had on it, I de-clare, "Yours truly, J. Clark Ridpath."--And the teacher--left it thare!

And they was other symptums, too, that pinted, plane as day, To nothin' short of College!--and one was the lovin' way Your mother had of cheerin' you to efforts brave and strong, And puttin' more faith in you, as you needed it along: She'd pat you on the shoulder, er she'd grab you by the hands, And laugh sometimes, er cry sometimes.--They's few that understands Jest what theyr mother's drivin' at when they act thataway;-- But I'll say this fer you, John-Clark,--you answered, night and day, To ev'ry trust and hope of hers--and half your College fame Was battled fer and won fer her and glory of her name.

The likes of you at College! But you went thare. How you paid Your way nobody's astin'--but you worked,--you hain't afraid,-- Your clothes was, more'n likely, kindo' out o' style, perhaps, And not as snug and warm as some 'at hid the other chaps;-- But when it come to Intullect--they tell me yourn was dressed A leetle mite superber-like than any of the rest! And there you stayed--and thare you've made your rickord, fare and square-- Tel now its Fame 'at writes your name, approvin', ev'rywhare-- Not jibblets of it, nuther,--but all John Clark Ridpath, set Plum at the dashboard of the whole-endurin' Alfabet!