Republican Herald

Jim Black was one of those persons usually designated "hard customers," and in his case the term is aptly applied. A careless devil, that could whip his weight in wild cats, and care no more for a tussle with a bear than a fisticuff with one of his neighbors, for Jim was "cock of the walk," on the head waters of the Beargrass. Although he had the good will of most of the neighbors, yet none of the folks in "the diggings" felt inclined to a nearer relationship with him. Of this fact he seemed purty well satisfied, for he never attempted any flirtation with any of the fair ones of Beargrass. It happened that when Jim had reached his 28th year, a new family arrived in which were two of the "tallest galls you ever did see," as Jim described them. One of them, Nancy, took his eye "tarnation strong," and he concluded to "sit right up to her." Jim had heard it always took two to make a bargain; but the possibility of a third person coming in contact never for a moment entered his mind.

Things progressed smoothly, we may say rapidly, for a short time, when Nancy's father took it into his head that he ought to have something to say in the matter. This bothered Jim "tarnationly," and came near a broken bone or two for the old gentleman; with a request that he would keep as far as possible from that plantation. This was a sad go for Jim; but, in the earnestness of a stout heart, he determined never to give it up so, and he set his wits to outgeneral the old man. The gal was on his side, and why shouldn't he? The track of the real genuine lover always was crooked, as the poet didn't express it, but Jim did. Jim laid his plans, and waited for an opportunity to carry them into effect.

It was not long before he obtained a sight of the fair one, who readily entered into his plot; and as the family were to vacate on the following Sunday, and be gone the whole day, it was proposed that Jim should spend the day with Nancy, that they might mature their plan for putting the blind upon the old folks.

Sunday came, and according to agreement, the family left home, to visit a neighbor, and Jim left home to visit Nancy. The day passed off as days will under like circumstances until near sun down. It occurred to Nancy that there could be no impropriety in just stepping to the door to see if the old folks were coming.

"O, cracks, Jim, here they come; hide yourself, or the old man will hide me. Here, jump into this barrel, quick!"

"Tarnation," said Jim, as he soused himself into the barrel. "By golly, Nance, there's soap in this ere barrel, and it smarts like all creation."

"Well it does, hoss, but you must do it—they are right here, so keep still."

Nancy had hardly time to cover the barrel, before the old folks entered the door. All were seated around the room, and commenced talking about the way they had passed the day, when it came to Nancy's turn to speak. She said—

"Well, I'd done very well I spose, if it hadn't been for that ugly bear that was trying to carry the pigs off."

"What pigs?" asked the old man.

"Why, the pigs out t'other side of the cornfield."

No sooner were the words out of her mouth, than the old folks, and the young ones too, except Nancy and Jim, were off to see after the pigs.

"I say, Nance, it's a mighty hot place here," said Jim; "can't a feller come out now?" asked he.

"Well, I guess you can, Jim; but you must clear out quick, for they will be back right away."

Jim cleared the barrel at one bound, and said:

"If that ain't the hottest place about this house, then I give in. But I say, Nance, that yarn o' yourn about the pigs is full out as thick as the soft soap; but it don't hurt half so bad. So good bye; I'm for the Beargrass—darn the stuff how it burns. Good bye, Nance I'm off—gosh, I'm raw all over!"

His doings at the creek we must give in his own words:

"Well, in I went—for may be I warn't mad. The water felt mighty cool and comfortable, I tell you. I scrubbed and washed not I got the infernal stuff off me, when I began to feel a little better. But if Beargrass didn't run soap suds for a week after that I wouldn't tell you so."—New Albany Gazette.