I NEBBER shall begin to go for to forget de time when Bill Ball-heel an' Joe Gingerless stole some whiskey from de stillhouse by suckin' it through two straws; an' some milk from de ole cow, by drawen it out in de nat'ral way; an' den carried it out in de ole ryefield, to make punch, to wash down a stolen luncheon. Arter dey had got all safe into de fiel', so dat nobody at neider de winder nor de house-chimbley could see dem, Ballheel took an' coaxed some 'lasses out ob a sugar-cane stalk, an' stirred up de punch till de froth stuck up in bubbles big as a nigger's eye; an' dey danced an' yelled round it, licken dar lips like black snakes' tongues winken at a a toad; an' dey did it all to dis tune.

  An' jist as dey were walken into it, a big hairy beary looken animal walked into dem, an' de way dey shivered, shouted, an' shot off, was about as if dey had got de punch, ob ole Nick. But it was no oder debbil dan Sam Swaller, drest in a wild puss skin; an ' de way he swallered up dat punch, was equal to a gin-gine suction pump.