, 7:<\ 



J. B. ADAMS. 



Thar she Hangs, stranger. Jes' look her all 

 over; 

 Not very purty, I'm free to confess; 

 Battered an' scarred an' time-worn, but I 

 love her 

 More 'n I love any human, I guess. 

 Nearly six feet from patch box to muzzle, 

 Lacked but an inch o' my grandaddy's 

 height ; 

 I've an id-ee Yd consid'ably puzzle 

 A now-a-days marksman to handle her 

 right. 

 But long afore you saw the glimmer o' day 

 She proved her efficiency many a way. 



Often when I was a barefooted rooster, 



Back in the hills o' the ol' State o' York, 

 Crouched in a nook by the fireplace I used 

 ter 

 Listen to grandaddy tell of her work. 

 Told o' the Injuns an' Johnny Bull tories, 

 Told of his fights with the panther and 

 bear, 

 Throwin' a thrillingness inter his stories 

 Sich as would raise any country boy's 

 hair; 

 An' often I've thought that fur courage an' 



vim 

 George Washin'ton wasn't a patchin' fur 

 him. 



Grandaddy said 'at whenever a squirrel 

 'D hide in the top of a hickory tree, 

 He'd throw up ol' Bess, give a squint 'long 

 her barrel, 

 An' bust out his eye jes' as slick as 

 could be. 

 Many a panther has fallen before it, 



Many a bear got a dose of its lead, 

 An' Injuns was skeered o' the feller 'at 

 bore it — 

 It stifled the warwhoop o' many a red ; 

 An' deer ! Thar ain't figgers enough in 



the backs 

 O' the 'rithmetic book fur to figger the 

 facks, 



274 



