Bart of Brighton

'Tis the tale of Bart of Brighton--meaning
Brighton up in Maine;
It's the tale of Uncle Bart, sir, and his rackergaited mare;
I have toned it down a little where the language was profane,
But the rest is as he told it--this remarkable affair.
It is very wrong to swear;
Bart admits the fact--but there!
Times occur when human nature simply is obliged to "r'ar."

"It's all along o' givin' lifts to Uncle Isr'el Clark,
--His folks don't like him stubbin' round the village after dark,--
And old Mis' Clark has asked of folks that see him on the road
To take him in and bring him home, if 'tain't too much a load.
The day this 'ere affair come off I'd took in Uncle Pease,
With a pail of new molasses that he hugged between his knees.
We see old Clark ahead of us, a-lugging home a gun.

Says I to Pease, 'Now brace yerhat: we'll have a leetle fun.'
'Set in behind, old Clark,' I says. 'Hop in behind,' says I.
'Prowidin' these 'ere tngs don't bust I'll take you like a fly.'
He piled aboard, s'r, master quick, there warn't no need to tease,
And there he sot, the gun straight up, the butt between his knees.

"I'll tell you 'bout that mare of mine--the more you holler 'whoa,'
I've larnt the whelp to clench her teeth, and h'ist her tail--and go!
And when we got clus' down to Clark's I thought for jest a sell
I'd make believe we'd run away. So I commenced to yell,
And old man Pease he hugged his knees and gaffled to his pail.
And now, my boy, purraps you think that turnout didn't sail!
He hugged his gun, did Uncle Clark, and set and hollered' Oh!'
While I kep' nudgin' Uncle Pease and bellered,
'Durn ye, whoa!'
"I larfed, suh, like a lunytick, I larfed and thought 'twas fun
To look around and see old Clark a-hangin' to his gun,-
Eor he was scart plum nigh to death, and so was
Uncle Pease,
Who doubled clus' above that pail he clenched between his knees.
But while I larfed I clean forgot the Jackson corderoy,
And when we struck that on the run, we got our h'ist, my boy.
Old Clark went up jest like a ball and, next the critter knowed,
Come whizzlin' down, s'r, gun and all, starnfust there in the road.
And when the gun-butt struck the ground, kerwhango, off she went,
--Both barrels of her, all to onct, and then-- wal, 'twas--hell-bent!
The off-rein bust, the wheels r'ared up--the old mare give a heave,
That runaway was on for sure--there warn't no make-believe;
With t'other rein I geed the mare up-hill to'ards
Clarkses yard,
--We struck the doorstep, struck her fair, and struck her mighty hard!
And long as Lord shall give me breath I shan't forget the eye
That old Aunt Clark shot out at me as we went whoopin' by.
Then I went out and Pease went out and things got kinder blue
--'Twas sev'ral minits by the clock 'fore this old cock come to.
And there the old mare'd climbed the fence and stood inside the gate,
With eyes stuck out and ears stuck back and head and tail up straight.
And from the way she looked at me 'twas master evident
She wasn't catchin' on to what this celebration meant.
And I was clutchin' jest about two feet of one the reins,
While Uncle Pease was dodderin' round, a-yellin'
'Blood and brains!'
For, bless my soul, when he had lit he'd run himself head-fust
Right down in that molasses pail;--he thought his head had bust!
And that the stuff a-runnin' down and gobbed acrost his face
Was quarts of gore, and so old Pease had clean give up his case.

And there he stood like some old hen a-drippin' in the rain,
And hollered stiddy, 'Blood and brain, I'm dead; oh, blood and brain!'
Old Uncle Clark was on his back, a-listening to the fuss,
And wonderin' whuther that old gun had murdered him or us.

"Now that's the way the thing come off. Best is," concluded Bart,
"They warn't nobody hurt a mite: three-fifty fixed the cart."
But as he spoke he sought to hide a poultice with his hat
And curtly said, "Oh, jest a tunk! you see,
Aunt Clark done that."

'Tis the tale of Bart of Brighton--meaning Brighton up in Maine,
--It's the tale of Uncle Bart, sir, and his racker-gaited mare;
I have toned it down a little where the language was profane,
But the rest is as he told it, this remarkable affair.