The Baltimore County union., 1886-06-26
Jim Gibbs Yarns.
A Florida Humorst and His Adventures
by Field and Flood.

Correspondence Philadelphia Times
Jim Gibbs, the cracker humorist of
Suwanee county, is wiry young fellow
of about forty, hard working farmer
and semi-occasional lover of old red
liquor. He has bright, small eyes, a
face the color of old tripe and NOUS
tache that is the shadow of things hoped
for. Jim is good fellow, quiet, peace
able, hospitable and is saturated with
natural, genuine, purely American hu-
NOR. He has two voices, one a deep
bass coming up from the depths of his
inner economy, the other charming
falsetto, suggestive Of the ambitious
school girl, who attempts to reach high
c without first going through the neces
sary preparation. The humor of his
yarns is enhanced by his startling change
from one voice to the other. Many of
your readers will remember him, as they
have been delighted listeners when stop
ping over at Live Oak. Jim never
smiles or laughs himself and is at his
best when he is about one drink ahead
of the game.
A PRETTY HEFTY CRAWFISH.
I'll swear, boys, said Jim one day,
as he stopped his horse in front of the
saloon and swayed easily in his saddle,
4 don't want to see no more heavy
rains like we've had this week. They're
about spilled my crop. Woss'n that,
them blame crawfsh is crawlin' all over
my yard. My dog bagged one the
t'other night
'How was that, Jim?' inquired one
of the boys.
well, you see, I'd just gone to bed.
l couldn't go to sleep, for had been
sorter riled at the rain, and all ter onct
the pup commenced barkin' like the
devil. I thought twas coon out in
the yard after the chickens, so slipped
on my pants, took lantern and went
out. What do you think l saw7 Boys,
I'll swear hit was the biggest crawfish |
ever seed in all my life. Hit was on
hits hind legs sparrin' at the dog. I
sicked the pup on, but the crawfish
whipped him out in one round. went
into the house after my gun, but when
got back the doggoned thing was gone.
was sorry, for l was goin' to give hit
to my friend Senator Bill Bryson.'
'How big was it, Jim?' asked one
laughing listener.
r Boys, I'll swar hit was as big as that
goods box, pointing to dry goods box
about three feet square.
A MASSACRE OF WILD DUCKS.
'I'll bet hundred of fodder that I've
got the best gun there is in old Suwanee,
said Jim, 'and l onct killed more ducks
with hit than the hull blame town of
Live Oak could eat in day.
'Where is it, Jim?'
I've got hit right home now, amt l,
Jo7'
'How long is it, Jim?'
'Hit's twenty foot long, if hits a foot.
My old grandfather fit the Injins with
hit. You kin put yer whole arm down
the barrel. One day last winter I got
up right airly TO go down to the pond
duck hunting. l loaded the old gun
with pound of powder and six pound
of shot and started off. l had to use
about barrel of moss for wadding. The
gun was so heavy l couldn't carry hit,
so 1 drug the plagued thing through the
bushes. When 1 got to the pond it
wasn't quite sun up. The pond was
kivered with ducks. Boys, I'll swear |
never saw so many ducks in my material
life. l rested the gun on branch and
pulled the trigger. Gentlemen, the dog
gone thing kicked. Hit cup my lip
through, busted my snoot and kicked
me onto the head. Yes, sir, hit kilt
me dead. When l come to 1 was xiv
cred with blood and could skarcely see.
| hurried to the house quick's l could
and got my face fixed up. was that
weak that couldn't walk much and it
was two hours afore went back to the
pond. I'll swear, boys, the gun was
still smokin' and forty acre field
t'other side the pond was kivered with
ducks. l wisht I'd took better aim. l
b'lieve I'd kilt all they was in the
pond.
'How many did you kill, Jim?'
well, I on'y got seventeen hundred.
I'd got more, but some on 'em was so
badly shot up didn't keer to bother.
For all, that gun cuttin' up so and
Dustin of me an the load hadn't gone
outin' of it, fer about week after, Tom
put on fresh cap and kilt hawk with
it five hundred yards off,
what will you take for that gun, Jim2'
"Tain't for sale. I'm goin' to keep
hit ontil mex lection, and see eff can't
make some niger Democrats with HIT
A CURIOUS CIGAR.
Thank you, that smells like a good
cigar. The poorest cigar ever smoked
was one got at Houston some time
ago. Hit was at night. Tom and me
had been to party, think, and as we
passed through that place l 'cluded l
wanted smoke. We had plenty of
'old red with us, but no smokin' ter
| l. A. Il