The Wit of Women

“Anniky Hobbleston,” he began, “dat weddin’ ain’t a-gwine ter come off. You cleans up too much ter suit me. I ain’t used ter so much water splashin’ aroun’. Dirt is warmin’. ‘Spec I’d freeze dis winter if you wuz here. An’ you got too much tongue. Besides, I’s got anudder wife over in Tipper. An’ I ain’t a-gwine ter marry. As fur havin’ de law, I’s a leavin’ dese parts, an’ I takes der pigs wid me. Yer can’t fin’ dem, an’ yer can’t fin’ me. Fur I ain’t a-gwine ter marry. I wuz born a bachelor, an’ a bachelor will I represent myself befo’ de judgment-seat. If you gives yer promise ter say no mo’ ‘bout dis marryin’ business, p’r’aps I’ll come back some day. So no mo’ at present, from your humble worshipper,

“NED CUDDY.”

“Isn’t that last part rather inconsistent?” said I, greatly amused.

“Yes, honey, if yer says so; an’ it’s kind o’ soothin’ to de feelin’s of a woman, yer know.”

I wrote it all down and read it aloud to Uncle Ned.

“Now, my chile,” he said, “I’m a-gwine ter git on my mule as soon as der moon rises, an’ drive my pigs ter Col’ Water Gap, whar I’ll stay an’ fish. Soon as I am well gone, you take dis letter ter Anniky; but min’, don’t tell whar I’s gone. An’ if she takes it all right, an’ promises ter let me alone, you write me a letter, an’ I’ll git de fust Methodis’ preacher I run across in der woods ter read it ter me. Den, ef it’s all right, I’ll come back an’ weed yer flower-garden fur yer as purty as preachin’.”

I agreed to do all uncle Ned asked, and we parted like conspirators. The next morning Uncle Ned was missing, and, after waiting a reasonable time I explained the matter to my parents, and went over with his letter to Aunt Anniky.

“Powers above!” was her only comment as I got through the remarkable epistle. Then, after a pause to collect her thoughts, she seized me by the shoulder, saying: “Run to yo’ pappy, honey, quick, an’ ax him ef he’s gwine ter stick ter his bargain ‘bout de teef. Yer know he pintedly said dey wuz a weddin’ gif’.”

Of course my father sent word that she must keep the teeth, and my mother added a message of sympathy, with a present of a pocket-handkerchief to dry Aunt Anniky’s tears.

“But it’s all right,” said that sensible old soul, opening her piano-lid with a cheerful laugh. “Bless you, chile, it wuz de teef I wanted, not de man! An’, honey, you jes’ sen’ word to dat shif’less old nigger, ef you know whar he’s gone, to come back home and git his crap in de groun’; an’, as fur as I’m consarned, yer jes’ let him know dat I wouldn’t pick him up wid a ten-foot pole, not ef he wuz to beg me on his knees till de millennial day.”—_From “Dialect Tales,” published in 1883 by Harper Brothers._

It is not easy to tell what satire is, or where it originated. “In Eden,” says Dryden, “the husband and wife excused themselves by laying the blame on each other, and gave a beginning to those conjugal dialogues in prose which poets have perfected in verse.” Whatever it may be, we know it when it cuts us, and Sherwood Bonner’s hit on the Radical Club of Boston was almost inexcusable.

She was admitted as a guest, and her subsequent ridicule was a violation of all good breeding. But like so many wicked things it is captivating, and while you are shocked, you laugh. While I hold up both hands in horror, I intend to give you an idea of it; leaving out the most personal verses.

THE RADICAL CLUB.

BY SHERWOOD BONNER.

Dear friends, I crave attention to some facts that I shall mention

About a Club called “Radical,” you haven’t heard before;

Got up to teach the nation was this new light federation,

To teach the nation how to think, to live, and to adore;

To teach it of the heights and depths that all men should explore;

Only this and nothing more.

It is not my inclination, in this brief communication,

To produce a false impression—which I greatly would deplore—

But a few remarks I’m makin’ on some notes a chiel’s been takin,’

And, if I’m not mistaken, they’ll make your soul upsoar,

As you bend your eyes with eagerness to scan these verses o’er;

Truly this and something more.

And first, dear friends, the fact is, I’m sadly out of practice,

And may fail in doing justice to this literary bore;

But when I do begin it, I don’t think ‘twill take a minute

To prove there’s nothing in it (as you’ve doubtless heard before),

But a free religious wrangling club—of this I’m very sure—

Only this and nothing more!

‘Twas a very cordial greeting, one bright morning of their meeting;

Such eager salutations were never heard before.

After due deliberation on the importance of the occasion,

To begin the organization, Mr. Pompous took the floor

With an air quite self-complacent, strutted up and took the floor,

As he’d often done before!

With an air of condescension he bespoke their close attention

To an essay from a Wiseman versed in theologic lore;

He himself had had the pleasure of a short glance at the treasure,

And in no stinted measure said we had a treat in store;