BART OF BRIGHTON
’Tis the tale of Bart of Brighton—meaning
Brighton up in Maine;
It’s the tale of Uncle Bart, sir, and his racker-
gaited mare;
I have toned it down a little where the language
was profane,
But the rest is as he told it—this remarkable
affair.
It is very wrong to swear;
Bart admits the fact—but there!
Times occur when human nature simply is
obliged to “r’ar.”
“It’s all along o’ givin’ lifts to Uncle Isr’el
Clark,
—His folks don’t like him stubbin’ round the
village after dark,—
And old Mis’ Clark has asked of folks that see
him on the road
To take him in and bring him home, if ’tain’t too
much a load.
The day this ’ere affair come off I’d took in
Uncle Pease,
With a pail of new molasses that he hugged be-
tween his knees.
We see old Clark ahead of us, a-lugging home
a gun.
Says I to Pease, ‘Now brace yerhat: we’ll have
a leetle fun.’
‘Set in behind, old Clark,’ I says. ‘Hop in be-
hind,’ says I.
‘Prowidin’ these ’ere tngs don’t bust I’ll take
you like a fly.’
He piled aboard, s’r, master quick, there warn’t
no need to tease,
And there he sot, the gun straight up, the butt
between his knees.
“I’ll tell you ’bout that mare of mine—the
more you holler ‘whoa,’
I’ve larnt the whelp to clench her teeth, and
h’ist her tail—and go!
And when we got clus’ down to Clark’s I thought
for jest a sell
I’d make believe we’d run away. So I com-
menced to yell,
And old man Pease he hugged his knees and
gaffled to his pail.
And now, my boy, purraps you think that turn-
out didn’t sail!
He hugged his gun, did Uncle Clark, and set and
hollered’ Oh!’
While I kep’ nudgin’ Uncle Pease and bellered,
’Durn ye, whoa!’
“I larfed, suh, like a lunytick, I larfed and
thought ’twas fun
To look around and see old Clark a-hangin’ to
his gun,-
Eor he was scart plum nigh to death, and so was
Uncle Pease,
Who doubled clus’ above that pail he clenched
between his knees.
But while I larfed I clean forgot the Jackson
corderoy,
And when we struck that on the run, we got
our h’ist, my boy.
Old Clark went up jest like a ball and, next the
critter knowed,
Come whizzlin’ down, s’r, gun and all, starn-
fust there in the road.
And when the gun-butt struck the ground, ker-
whango, off she went,
—Both barrels of her, all to onct, and then—
wal, ’twas—hell-bent!
The off-rein bust, the wheels r’ared up—the old
mare give a heave,
That runaway was on for sure—there warn’t
no make-believe;
With t’other rein I geed the mare up-hill to’ards
Clarkses yard,
—We struck the doorstep, struck her fair, and
struck her mighty hard!
And long as Lord shall give me breath I shan’t
forget the eye
That old Aunt Clark shot out at me as we went
whoopin’ by.
Then I went out and Pease went out and things
got kinder blue
—’Twas sev’ral minits by the clock ’fore this
old cock come to.
And there the old mare’d climbed the fence and
stood inside the gate,
With eyes stuck out and ears stuck back and
head and tail up straight.
And from the way she looked at me ’twas master
evident
She wasn’t catchin’ on to what this celebration
meant.
And I was clutchin’ jest about two feet of one
the reins,
While Uncle Pease was dodderin’ round, a-yellin’
‘Blood and brains!’
For, bless my soul, when he had lit he’d run
himself head-fust
Right down in that molasses pail;—he thought
his head had bust!
And that the stuff a-runnin’ down and gobbed
acrost his face
Was quarts of gore, and so old Pease had clean
give up his case.
And there he stood like some old hen a-drippin’
in the rain,
And hollered stiddy, ‘Blood and brain, I’m
dead; oh, blood and brain!’
Old Uncle Clark was on his back, a-listening to
the fuss,
And wonderin’ whuther that old gun had
murdered him or us.
“Now that’s the way the thing come off. Best
is,” concluded Bart,
“They warn’t nobody hurt a mite: three-fifty
fixed the cart.”
But as he spoke he sought to hide a poultice
with his hat
And curtly said, “Oh, jest a tunk! you see,
Aunt Clark done that.”
'Tis the tale of Bart of Brighton—mean-
ing Brighton up in Maine,
—It’s the tale of Uncle Bart, sir, and his
racker-gaited mare;
I have toned it down a little where the language
was profane,
But the rest is as he told it, this remarkable
affair.