He ain't got enny kind ov show
To hear the merry pealins'
Of them thar weddin' bells, unless
He kind ov stirs her feelins'—
By treatin' her tew ginger pop,
An' pilin' peanuts in a-top.
Thet Agent man know'd how to run
The business real handy;
An' him an' Deely sot an' laugh'd,
An' scrunch'd a pile o' candy;
An' talk'd about the singin' skule—
An' stars—an' Spense's kickin' mule—
An' other elevatin' facts
In Skyence an' in Natur.
An' Time, es I wus sayin', glode
Past, like a champion skater,—
When—Thunder! round the orchard fence.
Come thet thar tarrier dog an' Spense,
An' made straight for the dairy door.
Thar's times in most experrence,
We feel how trooly wise 'twould be
To make a rapid clearance;
Nor wait tew practice them thar rules
We larn tew city dancin' skules.
The Agent es a gen'ral plan
Wus polish'd es the handles
Ov my old plough; an' slick an' smooth
Es Betsey's tallow candles.
But when he see'd old Spense—wal, neow,
He acted homely es a ceow!
His manners wusn't in the grain,
His wool wus sorter shoddy;
His courage wus a poorish sort,
It hadn't got no body.
An' when he see'd old Spense, he shook
Es ef he'd see'd his gran'ma's spook.
Deely she wrung her pooty hands,
She felt her heart a-turnin'
Es poor es milk when all the cream
Is taken off fur churnin'.
When all to once her eyes fell pat
Upon old Spense's patent vat!
The Agent took no sort ov stock
Thet time in etiquettin;
It would hev made a punkin laugh
Tew see his style of gettin'!
In thet thar empty vat he slid,
An' Deely shet the hefty lid.
Old Spense wus smilin' jest es clar
Es stars in the big "Dipper";
An' Deely made believe tew hum
"Old Hundred" gay an' chipper,
But thinkin' what a tightsome squeeze
The vat wus fur the Agent's knees.
Old Spense he sed, "I guess, my gal,
"Ye've been a sort ov dreamin';
"I see ye haven't set the pans,
"Nor turn'd the mornin's cream in;
"Now ain't ye spry? Now, darn my hat
"Ef the milk's run inter thet thar vat."