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Updated: June 13, 2025
"About farming, Morton," she continued deliberately, "the 'Courier' has fun every now and then over the poor but honest farmer, and prints pictures of him when he comes to town for the State Fair that make him look like a scarecrow. Farming, Morton, is a profession, nowadays, and those poor yaps Eggleston wrote about in 'The Hoosier Schoolmaster' were all dead and buried before you were born.
There were Albert and Isabel Charlton, bridegroom and bride. There was Gray, the Hoosier Poet, with a poem of nine verses for the occasion. "I'm sorry the stage is late," said Albert. "I wanted Jim." One likes to have all of one's best friends on such an occasion. Just then the coach rattled up to the door, and Albert went out and brought in the Superior Being.
"Whar'd yo' come from, Brad?" repeated Shorty as the newcomer made his way up the narrow, stony path. "Jest from the Yankee camps," answered the newcomer. "Me an' Jim Wyatt's bin over thar by that Hoosier camp tryin' to git the drop on their Kurnel as he was gwine t' Brigade Headquarters. We a'most had him when a company o' Yankees that'd bin out in the country for something a'most run over us.
When Yankee children think a playmate conceited, they call him "stuck up;" but Hoosier children say he has "the big head." No one spoke in this way of Horace, however, for there was something about him which made everybody like him, in spite of his faults.
A correspondent of The Nation calls attention to the use of "dagon" as Scotch dialect in Barrie's "Little Minister," a recent book. On examining that story, I find that the word has precisely the sense of our Hoosier "dog-on," which is to be pronounced broadly as a Hoosier pronounces dog "daug-on." If Mr. Barrie gives his a the broad sound, his "dagon" is nearly identical with "dog-on."
Thousands of years ago, Theseus left Ariadne tearing the ripples of her amber-bright hair, and tossing her white arms with the tossing surf, in a vain agony of distraction and appeal: poets have sung the flirtation, painters have painted it; the story is an eternal legend of pain and passion, illuminated with lucent tints of age and the warm South, outlined with the statuesque purity of classic scenery and classic diction: but I myself never for a moment believed that Ariadne was a particle more unhappy or pitiable than Nancy Bunker, our seamstress, was, when Hiram Fenn went West to peddle essences, and married a female Hoosier whose father owned half a prairie.
Then, as we pulled out of one town, two of what but for their color and size I should have taken for peons raced for the last car-step, one shouting to the other in the strongest of Hoosier accents: "Come on, Bud, let's jemp 'er!" Which both did, riding some sixty feet, and dropped off like men who had at last had their one daily excitement.
"Yes," chimed in Willy Snow, "and he asks, 'Is school took up? just as if it was knitting-work that was on needles." "How he rolls his r's!" said Peter Grant. "You can't say hor-r-se the way he does! I'll bet the ain't a boy can do it, unless it's a Cahoojack." Peter meant Hoosier. "Well, I wouldn't be seen saying hoss," returned Horace, with some spirit; "that's Yankee."
In October following his visit to Professor Kelton, Harwood was sent to Fraserville, the seat of Fraser County, to write a sketch of the Honorable Morton Bassett, in a series then adorning the Sunday supplement under the title, "Home Life of Hoosier Statesmen."
"Why, certainly; anything to accommodate. I think we can show you some useful evolutions." Little time was lost in changing the saddles from the tired to the fresh horses, the hoosier boys aiding in the work, and soon the Confederates, delighted with the exchange, were in their saddles and ready for the word. Morgan rode up and down the column, then moved to the front, took off his hat, and said,
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