Then suddint like one Sart’day night They took a hoss ’t hed died (They ’lowed it wan’t no pleasant sight), An’ lugged it right inside The Baptis’ church ’ithout a sound, An’ cut it all ter bits, Which they throwed ever’whar around, A-laffin’ mos’ ter fits. It seems like sackerlege or libel, But fac’s is allers fac’s; Thet hoss’es head laid on the Bible, All bludjunned with a ax. The sexton cleaned the mess some way, An’ services was held; But no one hed no word ter say— Jes’ prayed an’ sang an’—smelled. The foll’rin’ week some roughneck pup Shet caows up in the church; Which kind o’ het the members up— Enough ter start a search. But nothin’ doin’ till one dark night Thet rummy boozin’ crew Blowed up the church with dynamite, An’ then lit aout an’ flew. Say, jevver see a Baptis’ _hot_, Not Christyun hot but human? The kind thet kin, jes’ ’s easy’s not, Coagerlate albewman? That’s what they was, jes’ reg’lar hellers; No more o’ heapin’ coals! They swore they’d jug them bootleg fellers ’F it cost their mortal souls. They done it tew. Some tracks they seen They kivered up with pails; ’N’ a coupl’ o’ “bloods” thet wasn’t green Was sicked upon the trails. They chased the bums ter Hick’ry Run, An’ thar the Baptis’s tarred An’ feathered ev’ry doggone one, An’ chucked ’em under guard. Them boys is crackin’ stun terday; A new church stan’s in Sims’, An’ now in peace they watch an’ pray An’ sing their Baptis’ hymns. * * * * * Yep, Egyp’s dry; ’z a gin’ral thing The toughs don’t dast ter dicker With enny kind o’ Baptis’ ring— Leastways when ’t comes ter likker. III The Mocking Bird I was drinkin’ in the glory on a day Late in May, Feelin’ dreamy an’ delishus, like a chick’n, When she’s pick’n Tiny pebbles out o’ gravel, or a-fluffin’ An’ a-puffin’ All her feathers in a sunny nest o’ dust; An’ I cussed Sich a foolish world fer sweatin’ an’ a-swinkin’, An’ a-thinkin’ Thet a feller hez ter rustle an’ be snappy Tew be happy. ’Twas a nawful loafy mornin’—tell ye thet— An’ I set Watchin’ ev’ry livin’ critter feel ’is oats. My, them shoats! Say, yew’d orter heerd ’em gruntin’ an’ a-crunchin’ An’ a-munchin’, Jessif nuthin’ ever mattered in their creed ’Ceptin’ feed. An’ the pidjuns was a-cooin’ quite aloof On the roof; Thar was hosses, thar was heffers, thar was steers, Chanticleers,