These articles was like the bustin’ of a lot of bombshells in this usually quiet boro.

The Deekins called a church meetin’, and played a game of old sledge, to see who would call and demand satisfaction for the insult.  As they all smoked, they couldn’t tell who was hit, as their tobacker bill was small all around.

Deekin PERKINS got beat when they come to “saw off.”

Said this pious man: 

“If old GREEN don’t chaw his words, I’ll bust his gizzard.”

The farmers met at SIMMINSES store.  After tryin’ on the garment about steelin’ wood, it was hard to decide who the coat fit the best, but each one made up his mind to pay off an old grudge and “pitch into the Lait Gustise.”

All the old mades met together in the village milliner shop, where the Sore-eye-siss society held meetin’s once a week, and their false teeth trembled like a rattlesnake’s tail, when they read my artickle about old mades.

It was finally resolved by this anshient lot of caliker to “stir up old GREEN.”

Headed by SARY YOUMANS, the crossest old made in the U.S., and all armed with broom-sticks and darnin’-needles, the door of my editorial offis was busted open, and the whole caboodle of wimmen, famishin’ for my top hair, entered.

They foamed at the mouth like a pack of dissappinted Orpheus—­C—­Kerrs, as they brandished their wepins over my bald head.

“Squire GREEN,” sed a maskaline lookin’ specimen of time worn caliker, holdin’ a copy of the Fish Horn in her bony fingers, “did you rite that ’ere?”

“Wall,” sed I, feelin’ somewhat riled at the sassy crowd, “s’posen I did or didn’t, what on it?”

“We are goin’ to visit the wrath of a down-trodden rase upon your frontispiece, that’s what we is, d’ye hear, old Pilgarlick?” said the exasperated 16th Amendmenter, as she brought down her gingham umbrella over my shoulders.

At this they all rushed for me.  With paste-brush and shears I kept them off, until somebody pushed me over a woman who had got tripped up, when the army of infuriated Amazons piled onto my aged form.

This round dident last more’n two minutes, for as soon as they got me down, they all stuck their confounded needles into me, and then left me lookin’ more like a porkupine than a human bein’.

I hadent more’n had time to pull out a few quarts of needles, before in walks 2 big strappin’ farmers.

“Old man, we’ve come for you,” said one of ’em.  “We’ll larn you to slander honest fokes.”

At this he let fly his rite bute at my cote skirts.

I was home-sick, you can jest bet.  Then t’other chap let me have it.

“Down stairs with him,” sed they both, and down I went, pooty lively for an old man.

Just as I got to the bottom I lit on a man’s head.  It was Deekin PERKINS comein’ to “bust my gizzard.”

“Hevings and airth,” sed the Deekin as he tumbled over in the entry way.  I jumped behind a door, emejutly, and as the farmers proceeded to polish off the Deekin, I was willin’ to forgive both of ’em, as the Deekin groaned and yelled.