JIM DUDLEY’S SERMON.
Hereafter I shall have no faith in reports. Last week I heard that Jim Dudley had left the city, and was congratulating myself on at last escaping him. But my congratulations were premature. Last night he called upon me, and kept me in torture for fully two hours; at a time, too, when I should have been asleep. But what cared he for that? The scoundrel! there was no shaking him off. He sticks to a person like mortar to a brick. I had to sit and listen, though I do honestly believe every word the fellow uttered was an unqualified lie; but he swears to its truth, and how can I prove it otherwise. It is better to take it as it comes and ask no questions for conscience’ sake.
“I never told you about the sermon I preached over in Misertown one Sunday. I had a time of it thar and no mistake. Hold on a minute and I’ll tell you how it was.
“You see, Gil Bizby—that plaguey shirk, I never mention his name but what I feel like trouncin’ of him—but he was a genius though and no foolin’ about it, a natural born inventor, chock full of notions as a toy shop.
SOMETHING NEW.
“But somehow or another he never could bring anythin’ to a payin’ focus. Allers whittlin’ and borin’ and plannin’ around though. Wherever you’d meet him he’d be haulin’ out of his pocket some old drawin’, with more wheels and contrivances pictured out on it than you could think of in a twelve hours’ dream. He never could git the cap sheaf onto his endeavor though. Allers somethin’ amiss; a wheel too many, or another one wantin’, or too many cogs to have the thing work just right.
“He invented a contrivance for pluckin’ chickens.
“That was a rustler. He shoved the fowls through a machine somethin’ like a corn sheller, an gin ’em an electric shock while passin’ along, and shot ’em out of a spout at t’other end of the machine as bare as weavers’ shuttles. He didn’t make anythin’ out of it though. He had to chuck ’em through while alive, you see, and that clashed with the law. When he took the machine down to the city to introduce it to the pultry dealers, the society fellers who look out for the interests of dumb critters got arter him and sewed him up. They put a reef in his jib pooty quick now, I tell you.
“They were passin’ along through the market one day, and they saw Gil just a humpin’ himself showin’ off the apparatus to the market men. He was crankin’ and pumpin’ away, like a sailor when there’s fifteen feet of water in the hold and still rizin, and the chickens were a screamin’ and a scootin’ through the contrivance, close as if they were run on a string head ag’inst tail, and just a cloud of feathers hoverin’ around over it. Didn’t they fasten on to that Gil Bizby though? They snatched him up quicker than if he had been hoss-stealin’, and confiscated his plucker, and tucked an alfired heavy fine onto him besides.
“Meetin’ with such poor encouragement in that direction he went back to Sculleyville, and set out to invent a thunderin’ great machine for layin’ cobble-stones. That was just him all over; allers startin’ in to git up some outlandish lookin’ thing. This machine was a crusher and no gettin’ ‘round it. It was fearful enough to make a cow slip her cud, I’ll be shot if it wasn’t. It looked somethin’ like Noah’s ark set on wheels and filled with all kinds of machinery.
“He started in to experiment one moonlight night in front of the court house, but got the main belt crossed or somethin’, I disremember just what, and Jerusalem! in less than ten minutes he ran the whole population out to the foot-hills in thar night clothes. There wasn’t no stoppin’ the consarned thing. Poor Gil was knocked senseless at the first revolution, and nobody else knowed how to control it. It rolled the whole length of the square, tearin’ up the stones it had pounded down the day before and sendin’ of ’em buzzin’ over the village in all directions.
“No home was sacred, and no head was safe, as the poet has it. Poor old Mrs. Scooley lived just long enough to learn this, and no longer. She was goin’ once too often to git her pitcher filled at the corner grocery that night, and a stone took her in the small of the back as she was enterin’ the door, and it h’isted her clear over the counter on top of a barrel; it’s true as I’m tellin’ it to you. Poor old body; she was the pioneer female of the village too. The first woman to wash a shirt in Sculleyville. But arter all, the town wasn’t much loser by her passin’ away.
“She was a sort of panicky old critter anyhow, always scary about catchin’ the smallpox or any other prevailin’ disease that come around. The old village physician said he would ruther see the very old scratch makin’ towards him on the street than old Mrs. Scooley.
THE DOCTOR’S SCOURGE.
“Comin’ from church or market, as the case might be, she would fasten on to him like a wood-tick to a leaf, and he couldn’t git rid of her nohow. She would have him time her pulse right thar on the sidewalk; and be a shovin’ of her tongue out for his inspection. And she did have such an unlimited, wallopin’ great tongue too; it seemed when she was shovin’ all of it out, as though she was actewelly disgorgin’ her liver. It’s so, by Jingo! People would be a stoppin’ and standin’ thar, wonderin’ what was the matter with the old gal—that is, people that didn’t know her peculiarities; though most everybody in the village had seen her standin’ in that position so often, that they would be more surprised to see her with her tongue in her mouth than projectin’ out in the rain.
“The old Doctor used to be terribly annoyed. He would say, kind of hurriedly like, because he would be itchin’ to git away from her:
“‘Oh! you’re all right I reckon, Mrs. Scooley; but you had better be a gittin’ along home, and not stand too long in the cold air, with so much of your vital organs exposed to the weather; the result may be fearful if not fatal!’
“That would ginnerally start her off pooty lively towards her shanty. They say the first time the Doctor saw her tongue he was surprised so much that he looked actewelly skeered. Says he: ‘I’ve been nigh unto eight and thirty years a practicin’ physician, and until this moment I flattered myself that I was familiar with all the ins and outs of the profession. But I begin to think I gin over the dissectin’ knife too soon, for here’s somethin’ that I was not prepared for.’
“But that’s not tellin’ you about the sermon, is it? but when I mentioned that Gil Bizby, I sort of wandered off arter him and his contrivances. Wal, as I was about to tell you, Gil and I were saunterin’ around Misertown one Sunday, and we saw any number of gals goin’ into the school-house where the preachin’ was carried on. So we concluded to step in and git a better look at some of ’em. I didn’t know many of the people round thar, but from what I heard I judged they were the meanest, close-fistedest set of sinners that ever had the gospel dispensed with amongst ’em.
“I understood they had treated their minister plaguey mean when he fust come thar to look arter them. Thar was no regular place for him to stop, you see, and they agreed amongst themselves to take turns a keepin’ him until they could get a house up for him. He was one of those young, easy, green kind of fellers that had seemin’ly never been so far away from home before but what he could see the smoke of his father’s chimney, or smell his mother’s corn-dodgers burnin’. And they soon took advantage of it, and sort of played button with him, shovin’ him around from one to another as though he was too hot to hold.
“He fust went to a feller by the name of Wigglewort. Ses Wig, ‘I’m really very sorry, Mr. Sermonslice, but we unfortunately have no accommodations for you at present. We have no place for you to sleep ’thout we put you in the barn, and the nights are ruther cold for that, besides the rats might annoy you. Sorry you happened to come just at this time, of all others the most embarrassin’. It’s not but what I would like to have you stop with us; I would indeed, Mr. Sermonslice, consider it an honor to have you.’
“The minister, takin’ his books under his arm, started out into the night as though his life depended upon the most prompt kind of action. He wasn’t within hailin’ inside of two minutes. He went over and succeeded in gettin’ lodgin’s with a feller named Joe Grimsby, who lived over by Frog Marsh.
JOE GRIMSBY.
“Joe was too derned lazy to do his own prayin’, and while the parson stopped with him he got rid of it. They do say he was the laziest old curmudgeon that ever turned up his eyes. He used to say a praar at the beginnin’ of the month, and on the followin’ nights he would always allude to it in a sort of matter-offact way. ‘You know my feelin’s towards ye. Nothin’ hid from ye I reckon. I haven’t changed my sentiments yet. If I do I’ll let ye know of it. I’ll keep nothin’ back from you, though it should take the har off.’ He would go on in that business-like way, and the hul time be a crawlin’ into bed.
“Wal, as I was goin’ to tell you, Gil and I poked into the buildin’, and sat down thar amongst the congregation.
“The minister hadn’t come yet, and pooty soon an old feller got up, and ses he, ‘It may be the minister has had a late breakfast and will not git here for some time yet. In the meantime, as it’s a dry season and our crops need a shower of rain, we mout as well have a little prayin’ goin’ on. We can’t do much harm anyhow, and we may be the means of bringin’ down a good smart shower that will be money in our pockets in the long run.’
“He asked several to take hold and do somethin’ in that way, but one had a cold, and another one was just gettin’ over the mumps. And so on they went makin’ excuses. Finally the old feller turned to me, and ses he: ‘Perhaps you would lead us, you look like one who has had some experience that way.’
“I thanked him for the compliment, but told him I was somethin’ like the officers in the army—I would ruther foller than lead. But he stuck to me like a Jew to a customer. Arter a while I consented, and jest as I was about startin’ in, a feller come in and said the minister had got a terrible ticklin’ in his throat caused by partly swallowin’ a har in the butter over to old Joe Grimsby’s, and couldn’t attend to his duties that day. So the old chap got up ag’in, and ses:—
“‘We won’t have any preachin’ then, without some person present will volunteer to act in our pastor’s place this mornin’.’ But no one spoke up. ‘Perhaps,’ he ses, turnin’ to me, ‘you would favor us by conductin’ the service, young man. You doubtless are competent to perform that duty.’
“This sort of got me. Then the thought struck me perhaps I’d make somethin’ out of ’em by it. Besides didn’t want to plead ignorance right thar amongst ’em, so gettin’ up, I ses: ‘This is somewhat unexpected. Honors foller one another pooty fast.’ With that I got into the pulpit and began to look down at ’em pooty seriously. Thar was no Bible on the desk, so I asked if thar was any person that would loan me one for the occasion.
“Some of ’em spoke up and said they had books, but were in the habit of keepin’ em to foller along arter the minister, and correct him when he made a mistake. Besides they liked to see how he worked out the text. I looked at ’em some time pooty hard. I thought they beat anythin’ I had come across for some time, and I had a good mind to git down ag’in, only I allowed they’d laugh at me. So I ses, ‘all right. You can keep your books. I reckon I know enough by heart to git along with.’ I then gin out somethin’ for them to sing.
“‘Short or long meter?’ inquired the leader of the singers, who were settin’ over in the corner. I didn’t exactly understand him. As I knowed he was in the habit of meetin’ Sal Clippercut over to Mrs. Curry’s every Sunday afternoon, I allowed he was askin’ for somethin’ shorter, as he was longin’ to meet her. I spoke up pooty sharp, and ses, ‘You will please sing what I gin you to sing. I reckon you aren’t longin’ to meet her so bad but what you can wait until arter the service is over. She’ll keep that long, I reckon, without spilin’. I know her. She isn’t none of your Spring chickens nuther,’ I contin’ed, just like that, and you ought to have seen the way he looked; and the gals commenced to snicker and crowd thar handkerchiefs into thar mouths.
“One little red-faced critter that sat alongside of him tittered right out. Her mother who was sittin’ near by jumped up and ses: ‘Becky Jane, you go right straight hum this minute, and go to peelin’ the ‘taters for dinner.’ But a feller who looked as though his mother had been a mullator, or even somethin’ of a darker shade, got up and ses:
“‘The gal isn’t to blame in the least. It’s that feller in the pulpit thar. I for one don’t want to hear any more of his lingo.’
“‘Wal, then, you can stuff wool in your ears,’ I ses, ‘and you won’t have far to go to get it nuther,’ I contin’ed, just that way, alludin’ to his own har, which seemed pooty woolly.
“You ought to see how they looked, fust at him, then at me. He colored up, I reckon, but he was too black to show it. I heard him grit his teeth from whar I was standin’. He didn’t say any more, but an old woman who was settin’ near jumped up, and ses she:
“‘The meetin’-house is turned into a thayeter! When a muntybank gets into the pulpit it is high time for respectable people to be movin’. I’ll leave!’ she exclaimed, pullin’ her shawl around her shoulders and beginnin’ to bustle out of her seat.
“‘Wal, ye kin go!’ I hollered, jest that way, for I was beginnin’ to git sort of riled at the way things war a goin’. When I’m talkin’ politics or arguin’ over the merits of whisky, I can bear crossin’ and any amount of contradiction. But right thar, where a feller had to be choice of his language, it was different business. ‘Ye kin go,’ I ses. ‘We kin git along without you, I reckon. We’re willin’ to chance it, anyhow. Take your knittin’ along; don’t leave that behind,’ I contin’ed, pointin’ to the seat as though I saw it lyin’ thar. I didn’t though, but I wanted to give her a mi’ty hard rub, for I suspected her piety was put on, and that she was displeased because nobody was noticin’ her new bonnet.
“The hul congregation took it for granted that the knittin’ was thar, and you ought to have seen ’em stretchin’ and cranin’ out thar necks as far as they could to get a look into the pew.
TRUTH IS POWERFUL.
One old feller that was settin’ back pooty far, craned out kind of quarterin’ ruther suddenly and his neck gin a crack like a bon bon. He commenced oh! ohin’ and tryin’ to git it back to its old position ag’in, but he couldn’t make any headway until his wife went to rubbin’ and chafin’ of it, right thar.
“But that old woman, whew! She was as mad as a wet hen. She couldn’t hardly find the door, she was so mixed up. When she finally got thar she turned round and straightenin’ of herself up she ses, ‘Young man!’—Before she got any further I broke in on her, for I judged she had a tongue that was hung in the middle. So I ses, ‘That’ll do, that’ll do, Mrs. You kin move along. You’re disturbin’ the peace of the congregation, and besides all that you’re showin’ your false teeth mi’ty bad in the bargain.’
“She got out arter that pooty lively, now I can tell you. I could see her as she went up the road towards her home, and two or three times she stopped and turnin’ around acted as though she had half a mind to come back and try the hul thing over ag’in. But arter standin’ thar a while thinkin’ like a pig when it’s listenin’ to the grass takin’ root, she would shake her head and move along up the turnpike as though she concluded she had enough of that kind of pie.
“This piece of performance sort of throwed me off the track. While I was standin’ thar thinkin’ where to start in with the discourse, Gil Bizby come a crawfishin’ up the steps to one side of me and whisperin’ ses, ‘I say, Jim, you haven’t got to chock blocks already, have ye?’
“‘No,’ I answered, ‘I ain’t got to chock blocks, but I’ve got the ropes twisted around and things look ginnerally mixed jist now, I can tell ye.’
“‘Wall, start in on the sermon at once then,’ he urged, ‘for they are gettin’ mi’ty impatient now I can tell you. You’ve got to be doin’ somethin’ pooty quick. But whatever you do,’ he contin’ed, ‘don’t git up very high without havin’ some idea how you are goin’ to git down ag’in. Keep steerin’ around waters that you’ve piloted over before. Remember a blind mouse shouldn’t venture very far from its hole, especially if thar’s a whole generation of cats watchin’ of it.’
“With that he backed down to his seat ag’in, and took out his pencil and began to design a machine for pickin’ the bones out of fish, on the fly-leaf of a book that was lyin’ thar. So I started in on the sermon. It wasn’t much of a sermon, to be sure. It was more like a lectur’. I couldn’t think of any passages of scriptur’ just then, so I gin ’em the line from the philosopher, ‘Why does the frightened dog depress his tail when he runneth?’
MR. SPUDD.
“You ought to have seen ’em rustlin’ and turnin’ the leaves, huntin’ to find the passage. One old feller by the name of Spudd commenced to paw over the pages, and his wife ses, ‘Don’t go that way; turn back to the Book of Job.’ He looked round at her with his under lip stickin’ out jest that way, arter wettin’ of his thumb to start turnin’ over ag’in, and ses, ‘Job be biled and buttered! I kin pick old Solomon from amongst a thousand of ’em. He was sound on the goose, he was.’
THE OLD INTERROGATOR.
“Two or three of ’em started in to ask me where the text was located, but I kept on talkin’ right straight along, lookin’ around to all of ’em at once and no one in particular. I didn’t gin ’em a chance to stop me ag’in, or git a word in edgeways. One singular-lookin’ old coon with a weed on his hat got up and stood signalin’ of me, and waitin’ and watchin’ for a chance to ask me somethin’. But I never let on to see him. I reckon he stood thar five minutes with his finger up pointin’ to attract my attention, and his mouth open so wide, that from my elevated position I could tell what he had swallowed for breakfast.
“I gin ’em a sort of ramblin’ discourse, alludin’ to the prevailin’ passions, and errors of the age. Amongst other things I touched on jealousy a little,—I wanted to stir ’em up a trifle on that subject, because there was a great deal of jealousy in that neighborhood. The green-eyed monster was a-rantin’ and a-ravin’ round in a good many households, and as it ginnerally turns out, there was least cause for it where it was most prevailin’. One old feller was moved by the first remark. When I said—quotin’ from the poet—‘Jealousy in the wife is wuss than trichina in the pork,’ he leaned over to the man settin’ in the next pew and ses, ‘I can’t tell you for the life of me whar he gits the passage, but it’s the solid truth, anyhow.’
“So I went on and finished the sermon, or lectur’ ruther, and then I ses, ‘The choir will please sing the hymn beginnin’ “Give, give, give to the needy,” arter which I will pass around amongst the congregation and take up a collection for the benefit of the heathen in furrin parts.’
“Je-whitteker! You ought to have seen ’em turn around and look at each other when I said that. I can’t describe it to you. I can’t do the scene justiss. If I had told ’em I was goin’ to stay with them through the season, I could hardly have started ’em to thinkin’ any more than I did by tellin’ ’em about that collection for the heathen in furrin parts.
“Arter two or three attempts the singin’ began. I closed my eyes, and leanin’ back in my chair minister-like, commenced to estimate the probable yield of each pew. While I was thinkin’ thar, and cal’latin’ how much I would make by the preachin’ business, I noticed the singin’ dyin’ out, and a dyin’ out slowly like, as the prisoner said his hopes were when the sheriff was a-fumblin’ around his neck adjustin’ the rope. So I opened my eyes easy like, as though comin’ back to earthly scenes reluctantly, and you can water my whiskey if I wasn’t just in time to see ole Ned Scullet’s coat-tails whiskin’ around the door jamb, the hindmost rag of the congregation. Women and children and all were gone sure enough. On lookin’ out of the winder I see ’em a-scatterin’ and a-hustlin’ and elbowin’ themselves ahead of each other along the turnpike, as though thar was great danger in bein’ left behind.
“Would you believe it, thar was that plaguey shirk Gil Bizby a-cranin’ up the hill a-leadin’ the crowd. I sat thar a while lookin’ after ’em and then, comin’ down I began to look around a little, and pooty soon I noticed that several of ’em left thar hats, they were in such a hurry to git out. So I selected a good one, only ’twas a little out of fashion, and puttin’ it on I ses to myself, ‘If you think I’m interested enough in your welfare here or hereafter to preach to you for nothin’, you’re mistaken, I reckon.’ With that I walked out, but not until I had kicked the remainin’ hats around the room pooty lively.
“The next day I noticed an old feller with a dilapidated beaver on, that looked as if it had done duty on a scarecrow for several seasons, sidlin’ up to me, and circlin’ around two or three times lookin’ mi’ty close at my tile. I’ll allers think it was his stove-pipe, but he was too much ashamed to come right out and lay claim to it.
“But that Gil Bizby! I didn’t wonder so much at the congregation dustin’, arter all, cause they didn’t know me, but he!—well, no matter, I’ll git even on him yet.”
