A Cow-County Pleasantry.
About the most ludicrous incident that I remember
occurred one day in an ordinarily solemn
village in the cow-counties. A worthy matron,
who had been absent looking after a vagrom cow,
returned home, and pushing against the door found
it obstructed by some heavy substance, which, upon
examination, proved to be her husband. He had
been slaughtered by some roving joker, who had
wrought upon him with a pick-handle. To one of
his ears was pinned a scrap of greasy paper, upon
which were scrambled the following sentiments in
pencil-tracks:
“The inqulosed boddy is that uv old Burker.
Step litely, stranger, fer yer lize the mortil part
uv wat you mus be sum da. Thers arrest for the
weery! If Burker heddenta wurkt agin me fer
Corner I wuddenta hed to sit on him. Ov setch is
the kingum of hevvun! You don't want to moov
this boddy til ime summuns to hold a ninquest. Orl
flesh are gras!”
The ridiculous part of the story is that the lady
did not wait to summon the Coroner, but took
charge of the remains herself; and in dragging
them toward the bed she exploded into her face a
shotgun, which had been cunningly contrived to
discharge by a string connected with the body.
Thus was she punished for an infraction of the
law. The next day the particulars were told
me by the facetious Coroner himself, whose jury
had just rendered a verdict of accidental drowning
in both cases. I don't know when I have enjoyed
a heartier laugh.
