They would coral thar mules in the forest, Unsling knapsacks and build a fire, Of pine logs, dry knots, or rails from the farms; Then, chuck full of pork, they’d rertire Ter slumbers disturb’d by the dyin’ squeals Of swine they had slaughter’d for tea, ’Til they thought the devils had come back from Those Jesus druv inter the sea! As I have told ye, I jin’d the bummers With my mule, my gun and canteen, And the days that I roam’d about with ’em War the jolliest I have seen; But as we pars’d out of Berks one mornin’, Far erhead of the “acorn” corps, We soon diskiver’d a fine old homestead, And a fair young gal in the door. Now while I did not do any stealin’, And paid cash for all I seized, If thar’s one thing I love it is wimin, And, if thar pretty, I am pleas’d; And when I saw more than a dozen bee hives Lercated right thar in the yerd, And the boys goin’ quickly terwards ’em, I felt that it war mighty hard. I spurr’d up my mule, and then prertested Not one should be tak’n from thar; But the fellers jist snickered right out, And told me ter go comb my ha’r— And dry up, for they would have them hives If they had ter eat bees berside, And if I did not like it I could jist Crawl out of my pesky old hide. Objections war no use erbout them days; And, like a cornsumate old fool, I drew rein at the gate ef the house, and Watch’d ’em from the back of my mule. Then them soldiers made a sortie on the bees With thar ponchos, and tuk ’em quick Ter the stream near by whar they drowned them, And lifted the hives from the creek. While this war doin’ I sat on that mule, Till Dick Mullens upset a hive, And a swarm of mad bees came tearin’ out, And, soarin’ around, made a dive Right squar for my mule; they lit on his flanks, And his neck, his ears and back:— He rear’d and snorted, threw his head in air, Then quickly tuk a le’ard tack! And erway on a fearful race he broke Over fences, lorgs, ditches and rocks, Headin’ for the water under the hill— He near shook me out of my socks! On his break-neck race for that brook berlow It war needless ter pull on the rein, For that ugly mule war dead set upon Gittin’ rid of his bitin’ pain! With me the siteration war quite bad— That mule’s hide war thicker than mine; And when they lit on me I fit a while: Then foller’d the mule’s bee line! We reach’d the creek—ye may not berlieve it— But that mule went down on his knees In that ere stream, and roll’d over on me, Jist ter rid himself of the bees! [Illustration]