Ah! this is no country to appreciate genius; as they wrote upon the tomb of my early friend, the sweet-singing Arkansaw Nightingale, whose last sad manuscript to me described "A BIG DOG FIT. "Lige Simmons is as cute a chap As ever you did see, And when the feller says a thing, It's sure as it can be. "He owns a dog--and sich a brute For smellin' round a chap, I never see in all my life, You'd better bet your cap. "Now Lige is proud of this here dog, And says the critter'll whip As many wild-cats in an hour As go to load a ship. "'But, law,' says Lige, 'that animile Is awful in a row, And other pups 'longside of him An't no account, nohow.' "In fact, one day, I saw the same Contemporaneous pup Pitch into a Newfounlander And chaw him slightly up. "He's such a plaguy little cuss, You'd laugh to see him come; But when there's chawin' up to do, I tell you, boss, he's some! "One day, a pedler came to town With ginger-beer and things, And patent clocks, and pious books, And fancy finger-rings. "And underneath his cart was tied A bull-dog of the kind That tears your musn't-mention-'ems, In angry frame of mind. "Now, Lige's dog was smellin' round, And when he see this here, He cocked his eye in agony, And acted awful queer. "The bull-dog gin a rousin' shout, As Lige's dog went by, And gev him such a sassy nip That fur began to fly. "Then Lige's dog unfurled his tail And gev the wound a lick, And then pitched into that ere dog A way that _wasn't_ sick. "The critters had it nip and tuck, And made such awful noise, That Lige himself came up to see, With all the other boys. "The pedler see him, and says he, Like one to fits inured: 'I'm sorry, strannger; but I hope Your yaller dog's insured.' "I tell you, boys, 'twas fun to see The grin that Lige put on, As in his cheek he put a chaw And winked his eye at one. "'Oh, let the varmints fit,' says Lige, 'My pup is awful thin, And this here row will make him look Jist like himself ag'in.' "And all this while the fit went on, With such a mess of dust We couldn't tell the upper dog, If all our eyes should bust. "'Twas yell and yowl, and shout and growl, And stompin' awful hard, And sometimes they'd a tail stick out From where the dust was bar'd. "Byme-by the noise began to die, And as it fainter grew, The dust began to settle down, And you could just see through. "At last it cleared away entire, But all that we could see Was Lige's dog a squattin' down Beneath the axletree.